floralguccistyles @floralguccistyles - Tumblr Blog

May 22, 2022

i was made for loving you: part I

A/N: Thank you for loving Rhea and Harry. Welcome back to their world. This part contains smut, 18+ only please.

Also, this is very long, so if you can't open it on the app I suggest reading on Wattpad. And Tumblr only lets me add 10 images to a post so I couldn't use all my scene dividers SORRY!!!!

[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ] / [ read 'timeless ] / [ story tag ] / [ talk to me ]

December 2015

It's fitting, Rhea thinks, to be finishing where they all first started.

It's been a few years since she's been here, at the studio, the stage where it all began. Some things are different. The master control station for lights, sound, and picture is no longer directly off to the right of the famous X-Factor stage. They've expanded both the size and extent of backstage dressing rooms for the contestants. They've become much better at tucking any wires out of the way, away from stumbling, fledging pop-stars to be.

But it's also the same in many ways.

[[MORE]]

The way Simon runs the show, even if he rarely steps foot back here. The silent command and efficient skill of all of those behind-the-scenes who help make each and every show run. Most of all, though, Rhea recognizes the persistent buzz — the anticipation gliding through each and every person she passes backstage. Maybe she's imagining it, this golden aura she can see around everyone as they rush to make this the best finale yet.

It won't be hard, considering who is performing, but today is not just a welcome back trip to the show that formed One Direction all those years ago. It's a goodbye. It's a the end. It's a... a precarious pause of sorts.

It was here, on this stage, amongst these halls and in the company of some of the same, original people that the world's biggest boyband in recent years was formed. 5 boys — now 4 — all young, all hungry for a shot at following their dreams. They all defined what it meant to have the X-Factor.

And it's here, on this stage, where they'll bid the world farewell.

Rhea smiles at familiar faces that she passes on the way to the main dressing room, her heart hammering in her chest more furiously than it ever has before. If she trusted herself to not get misty, she'd stop, maybe chat with them. Reminisce with people on how far not only the boys have come — but she has too.

She's thought about it a lot — how much she has changed — even with the whirlwind of the decision to go on hiatus, between the final album and all the work that came with it. The last time she was here, she was young too. A different person entirely. Working for this show gave her a shot, but more than that, it gave her a found family.

For 5 years now, she's grown alongside the boys, alongside the phenomenon that is One Direction. And now, it's all coming to an end.

No longer will her days consist of working with these boys, with this team. She'll not have to worry about them fooling around too close to when they have to go on stage, or making sure their mics are working, or guiding and booking and scheduling.

It'll all stop, after tonight.

All of it.

Her nights will no longer be filled with drinking and playing card games in hotel rooms, making Louis swear like a sailor when he loses. Or talking with Liam, when he's desperately missing his family. Spending every waking moment laughing with Niall, the very best friend she has ever had.

As she rounds the corner into the hallway that leads to the dressing room, Rhea lets her mind drift to him.

After tonight, they'll no longer be able to use their proximity as an excuse for their arrangement. She won't wake up early, when it's still dark outside in whatever city they are in, to see him slipping back into his clothes from the night before to sneak back to his room. There will be no more stolen backstage kisses, or longing stares, or the heart-wrenching need to be with him, near him. No more stolen photos between the sheets, for their eyes only. No more knowing his tattooed skin better than her own.

No more Harry.

Rhea stops in front of the shut dressing room door for a moment. She can hear the lads inside, talking away at their usual loud volume. Niall's laugh echoes around the room and it makes her smile, a tiny bit.

Ever since they had the meeting, and the resulting meetings to follow after Harry suggested the hiatus, she's been running from this truth. Clinging to the late nights, the familiar, if not toxic routine she's established with him.

She's not ready to say goodbye to any of it. To him. For so long, it's been go, go, go. Onto the next show, next hotel, next event. And now it's all going to come to an abrupt, screeching end and they'll all part ways. For the first time in half a decade, she and Harry will be apart for more than a couple of weeks.

And really, it shouldn't matter. They've never put a label on this — this situation — of theirs. He's not been shy to meet other people. And she's never had the guts to ask him for more. She's been willing to love him halfway for so long now, she doesn't know any other way how to.

How much of their relationship was based on convenience? Of being near each other? Will he think about her as much as she'll think about him?

For so long, she's been afraid to acknowledge that maybe she and Harry were never meant to be. At least, not in the way she wanted them to be. She's not meant for that kind of love. And she knows it's pathetic, but so many of her formative years have been spent in his company. He's grown around her and she him; their roots intertwined so messily that pulling them apart now is akin to pure torture.

She loves Harry so thoroughly, if she lets herself think about it in depth, she gets embarrassed. It's never easy to be the one who is more into the other person.

And as much as she hates to admit it, a part of her is relieved. Playing this game for years has been exhausting, and though she's scared to be without him, she knows it's time. If she doesn't make a clean break now, she never will.

The moment she opens that dressing room door, it's the first domino in the row. It'll trigger the rest of the downfall. The performance. The after party. Saying goodbyes.

This is it, she thinks, lifting her hand and letting it hover a few inches away from the door. This is the motion that sets it all into action. This is the beginning of the end.

For some reason, it feels like her heart is dangling from her own fingers. It's in her hands to save it, or let it fall to the floor and shatter. Rhea looks down, her hair cascading around her face. She takes a deep breath, blinks back the water in her eyes, and raps her fist against the door.

It's Louis who yells a "come in" and when Rhea steps inside, shutting the door behind her, she leans her back against it, taking in the room. Lou is packing away her supplies at the vanity, tucking hairbrushes and products into the case she's had for years. She turns toward the door and meets Rhea's eyes, her own misty. Cal is sitting on one of the couches, tinkering with his beloved camera.

Niall and Louis are standing in front of the mirror, fixing their hair. Liam is scrolling through his phone, leaning against the wall across from Rhea. Harry is seated on the other couch, bent over and tying the laces on the black dress shoes he's wearing. No boots tonight, it seems.

There's an empty presence in the room, lingering as it has been since Zayn left, but still, Rhea stands there looking around at them and she's transported back to the last time they were at an X-Factor finale. She can remember how young they were, more energetic, less tarnished by the harsh conditions of stardom. Full of dreams, ecstatic for what was to come.

It knocks the wind out of her, the comparison, the realization of how far they've come. They've been so busy these past few years, there's rarely been a moment for them to stop and simply take it all in.

"Lou's threatened to kill us if we cry and that applies to you too," Niall says, breaking the silence and pulling Rhea out of her head. She glances over at him, his reflection in the mirror giving her a knowing look.

"Because every time someone cries, I cry, and I've already redone my makeup three times," the woman grumbles. "I'm just wasting product now."

Rhea laughs softly under her breath, leaning away from the door and stepping further into the room. "No tears from me," she promises, half-heartedly. She can feel Harry's eyes on her from where he is on the couch. She's been trying to force herself not to be so attuned to him, to his presence, these past few weeks. It takes everything in her not to turn her entire attention to him. "You boys ready then?"

"According to Lousie, yes," Louis rumbles, stepping towards her. "Will you help me with this mic? Forgot how much I hated these." He takes a seat on one of the makeup chairs as Rhea accepts the mic and steps closer.

"We should've used your tour ones," she mumbles, helping him pin it securely onto the lapel of his jacket and hiding it at much as she can. "They've always used clunky equipment here."

"The earpieces used to fall out of my ears," Liam adds with a nostalgic laugh.

Lou has packed all her things up, and she's headed toward the doorway now. "I'll see you lot after," she says, opening the door. Harry opens his mouth and she shoots him a glare, "No speeches, Styles. It's not goodbye yet."

With that, she leaves, and Cal shuffles out after her a few moments later. Letting the room fall into silence.

Rhea bites the inside of her cheek as she helps Niall with his mic. The silence is odd. In all the years she's known these boys, really, these men, they've never been silent. But today is different. And she'd bet that the weird, sinking feeling she has going on inside her is something they all have too. It's the end of an era.

When she's done with Niall, she takes a step back and clasps her hands together. They're all ready to go. She glances at each of them, her heart a stone in her chest. Over her headset, she can hear them asking for the boys to come to stage, almost ready to have them on stage for their final performance.

"They're asking for you guys," she says, quietly, leaning back against the edge of the makeup table. It's all she can manage.

"Right," Harry says, standing up from the couch. His voice sends a shiver up Rhea's spine, but she forces herself to remain still. "Where'd you lads put it?"

"Back here," Liam says, walking around the room to a small closet. He opens it and pulls out two wrapped packages and heads back.

"From all of us," Niall adds as the four boys gather around her.

Rhea frowns, her brows pulling together, scanning each of their faces. "Guys... you didn't have to get me anything."

"We wanted to," Louis insists as Liam hands her the gifts. "Wouldn't be here without you, love."

Rhea touches his arm with her free hand, setting down one of the packages. She tears away the wrapping on the first and it reveals a navy blue embossed notebook with her initials on it. RTW.

"For all your notes on all your clients at the firm who are going to drive you crazy," Niall offers with a grin. "But you better not forget we were the first to do that."

"Shut up," Rhea bites back with a grin, running her fingers across the embossed initials. She's due on a flight to New York tomorrow morning. Her recently launched firm kicks off next week. Her apartment is half furnished, boxes everywhere. She sets the notebook aside and starts opening the other package.

It's a photo frame, she realizes. But when she sees the photo, her hands fall still. Inside it is a picture of all 5 of the lads and her on the first night of WWA tour. She's squashed between Niall and Harry with Liam and Zayn on the right and Louis on the left. It's backstage, right before they ran outside to put on the show.

Her fingers glide over the glass, ever so gently. This time, when tears rush to her eyes, she doesn't blink them back. "Oh, guys..." she trails off, her voice faint. She finally looks up at them, "It's perfect."

"Don't cry," Harry says, shaking his head. For the first time since she walked into the room, she lets herself look at him. He's wearing a red floral patterned suit with a simple black dress shirt inside. His hair is so long these days. His eyes, a piercing green she'll never be able to forget. He's giving her a soft smile and Rhea blinks and tears are slipping down her cheek.

"Aw, Rhe," Niall groans, closest to her side he steps to her, swinging an arm around her neck, pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head. "Come on now, it's alright."

"I'm sorry," she blubbers, rubbing at her cheek with her free hand. She's hugging the frame to her chest now as Liam slips in on her other side. She's squished in a hug between the two of them. "I just... it's all ending."

"We'll still talk, love, just won't be annoying each other each and every day," Louis says, giving her a grin.

Rhea nods, her face resting against Niall's chest. She wipes at her cheeks again and takes a deep breath. "Alright, enough of that. Thank you for these," she says quietly, taking time to look at each of the boys. Harry is still watching her with those caring, inquisitive eyes and it makes her stomach flip. "Thank you for... for everything. You've all changed my life." She pauses, and adds, "We're a family."

"Reckon that justifies a group hug then," Liam says, opening his arm and gesturing Louis closer. Harry squeezes in on Niall's side, and suddenly, Rhea finds herself actually squished between all four of them.

"All your cologne is suffocating me," she whines, and after a few moments the boys are stepping away, grabbing their phones and heading to the door. Liam and Louis head out first, but Harry lingers close to Rhea's side.

Niall pauses in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two of them. "I'll... tell them you two are coming." Rhea swears, he shoots Harry a narrow-eyed look before he leaves and closes the door behind him.

Harry's stepping closer to her before the door even shuts, his hand settling on her elbow. "Alright?" He murmurs, reaching his free hand up and using his thumb to wipe away the wet tracks her tears have left on her cheek.

She nods her head, still hugging the frame to her body. "Yeah," she murmurs, watching him with hesitant eyes. He looks so much older in this moment. Suddenly, she's recalling the first time Zayn had all the boys over. She'd been so nervous. Harry had made her feel... normal, safe. Even in his outrageous purple trainers and wild mop of chestnut curls.

Harry watches her right back for a moment before swallowing. He reaches for the edge of the frame, and reluctantly, Rhea lets him take it. He stares down at the photo, "Niall and Louis picked it. Liam and I got the notebook."

"They're wonderful," Rhea says, watching Harry step to the side to set her frame away. She takes off her headset and Harry takes it from her, setting it on the table.

When he comes back, he reaches for her, and she steps to him like they're magnets. His hands land on her waist, and hers settle against his chest, holding onto the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," he admits, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He brushes her hair away from her face and Rhea's eyes flutter shut at the contact. "It's weird, being here for this."

She hums in agreement, and a steady quiet falls between them. She's waiting for him to say it, to make a move. To ask what comes next. Part of her is waiting for her to do it herself, to take the leap. To add some sort of definition here. Because after tonight, everything will change.

"Look at me," Harry says, quietly. "My love."

The pet name stings, more than usual, but Rhea opens her eyes. Harry looks conflicted, and maybe she's projecting, but it almost seems like he can't decide what exactly he wants to say. Finally, he sighs, and pulls her impossibly closer to him. He leans down and rests his forehead against hers. "I..." he begins, "I can't believe all of this brought me you."

In that moment, Rhea knows. Without a doubt, she knows this is the closest either of them will ever get to admitting anything real. She's a coward, and Harry... well, he may not love her like she loves him. But somehow, it's enough, a bittersweet but fitting ending to this saga. She has no doubt that in the coming months, in the darkness of her apartment, in the unfamiliarity of the new era of her life, she will miss him terribly. So much so that it might make her question everything.

"Technically, I think Simon Cowell brought me you," she says with a laugh. "And my internship application."

Harry laughs, and both of them still when they hear Rhea's headset beep from the table. "You have to go," she whispers, as she has so many times before to him.

"I know," Harry says. "Gonna give me a hug before I do?"

It's a tradition, after all, and who knows if Rhea will ever get to see Harry like this again? To be backstage with him before a show.

So she nods her head, and she pushes up on her toes, and throws her arms around his neck and he brings her body tight against his. One arm anchors her waist, the other wrapped around her shoulder. She buries her face in his neck, taking a deep breath. They'll hug again tonight — there will be many hugs from everyone, but this is the last one, just for them. For good luck.

Neither one of them seems to want to let go, but ultimately, it's Rhea who forces herself to pull away. Harry doesn't let her get far, though, his face ducking down over hers. "Rhe..." his hand is on her cheek and Rhea is leaning towards him, meeting him halfway and pressing her lips to his.

It's not a goodbye kiss, but it feels like one, and she puts her entire self into it. His fingers are in her hair, matching her intensity, and she feels like the world is being pulled out from under her and all she wants to do is stop time, or rewind it, because she doesn't want to lose this, lose him-

And there's a knock on the door, startling them both, and Harry is glaring over his shoulder at the door. When he turns back to her, the moment is gone, and Rhea is pulling herself away from him, from his warmth. She gathers her gifts and puts her headset back on. "We should go," she offers quietly.

Harry clears his throat, and nods, running his fingers through his hair. "You're coming tonight, yeah? To the party?"

"Of course," Rhea says, giving him a smile as she heads toward the door.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief and after a final look around the room, follows after her.

Harry's been swimming in nostalgia, and a little bit of regret all day.

It's been a lot, coping with his decision to ask the others to hit pause on the band. They've done so much, in so little time. And while he's excited to have a break, to explore new things for himself, he'll never deny how much this experience has changed him. It's shaped who he is, and who he will be, and that's something that isn't easy to part with.

He knew he'd be emotional today, everyone is, but even then... there are so many people he wants to thank, to spend time with before it all comes to an end.

And this helps the fact that he's been trying so hard to distance himself from Rhea.

Rhea, his sweet, beautiful girl who is across the room laughing at something Niall's mum has said, her face full of joy, eyes bright and smile shining. Harry wonders, absentmindedly, if he'll ever be able to be in the same room as her and not be immediately drawn to her presence. He wonders if this magnetic pull between them will ever dim. If it will ever become easier.

Maybe, the distance will help. If he isn't around her all day, every day, then he won't have to think about her all the time. Maybe he'll finally be able to set her free, and let go of his selfish need to keep her safe and all to himself.

Part of him regrets getting involved with her — not in a bad way, because he wants her with every fiber of being in his body, but because he's put her through hell. He's pushed and pulled and hurt her when all he's ever wanted was to keep her safe. And it's taken until tonight for him to realize that the best way to do that is to let her go once and for all.

It's hard for him to imagine his life without Rhea. In all the change he's gone through these past few years, she has been one of the only constants. She's always been there. Every misstep, every triumph, every bad day. Harry's become too used to ending his days with her, he's not sure how he'll cope with not doing it.

But he's older now, and so is she, and in a weird way, he realizes that she's grown up right in front of his eyes. He's been a part of her growth; and she his, and now... now they're supposed to separate and learn how to be without one another.

And if he weren't a coward, he'd march across that room and ask her to be his — completely, fully — but he can't do that to her. He won't. Maybe, if he's lucky, after this break, his life will calm down just enough for him to be able to take that step. But until then, he can't fight his gut instinct to want to keep her out of harm's way.

That's the thing about Rhea. She's the one pure thing left in his life; untouched by the blemishes of being in such a bright, everlasting spotlight. He knows a single walk together, a glimpse of them being intimate, of him doing the bare minimum that a boyfriend should do to let his girlfriend know he loves her — the public and the press alike will latch onto it.

And that pure, unfiltered, untarnished thing will vanish. It will become the focus of another dozen rag articles. And Rhea doesn't deserve to have to deal with those things just because this is the life Harry has chosen for himself.

Even with all this swimming in his mind, with the drinks he's had coursing through his veins, he can't help but wonder what if? What if he took a chance? Would she say yes? Would she be her stubborn self and tell him that she could handle it, all the things he wants to protect her from, that they'd figure it out together?

Or would she put him out of his misery and tell him goodbye first?

Harry takes a sip of his drink, nodding along at whatever it is Simon is droning on about and has been for the past few minutes. Rhea meets his eyes from across the room, her smile fading a bit, but not entirely. She raises her brows at him in question as Harry lowers his glass from his lips.

The night is winding down now. The after party is still roaring away, but that's to be expected of a 'goodbye, One Direction' one. He and the lads have already said their goodbyes, made vows to stay in touch. He's had a pointed conversation with Niall who told him he has to make a clean break after tonight. For his sake, and for Rhea's.

And now, all that's left is saying goodbye to her.

Harry's eyes drift up her figure, one that he has memorized, that he can bring to his mind the moment he closes his eyes. She's wearing a navy blue dress for the party, and under the warmth of the lights in this party venue, she looks more stunning than ever before.

Maybe it's the panic talking — because this goodbye will be the hardest for Harry. The one that will take everything out of him. This is the one he's been avoiding as much as he's been trying to avoid her — to get himself used to the idea that they will no longer orbit around each other on a daily basis.

If he's going to let Rhea Trivedi-Williams go, he has to do so completely, irrevocably.

Because this — this he can't do halfway.

And so he makes a polite exit from his conversation with Simon, promising to stay in touch about what he's working on next, and Harry sets his glass down on a tray. He runs his fingers through his hair, and hopes that nobody stops him as he starts walking across the room.

Rhea's watching his every move, her own eyes drifting over the red suit he's donned for tonight. When he stops in front of her, his voice is low, meant only for her ears.

"Ready t'go?"

For a moment, Harry senses hesitation in her features. Features that he adores. In her brown eyes, he's seen every emotion. He's pressed his lips against her own so many times now, but he feels as if he still has yet to memorize the exact shape. The slope of her nose. The sharpness of her gaze. How is he ever supposed to move on?

But then, she smiles, and takes a step closer to her, inclining her head in a silent nod.

And perhaps in a game of risk, Harry reaches for her hand with abandon, and when Rhea places her palm in his, he squeezes, tight and begins to lead them out of the room and toward the elevators that lead up to everyone's hotel rooms.

When they make it into the hotel room, Rhea's starting to lose her nerve. She's the one who swipes the key card, so Harry doesn't get to see how her hands are shaking ever so slightly. When he files past her into the room and begins taking his shoes off on the other side of the bed, she watches every one of his movements, mesmerized by it.

Because this is the last time. The last hotel room. The last... everything.

And she's had that knowledge with her for some time now, she's known that this was coming for ages. But now that it's here, she's not ready to let go. She wants to cling to this until her fingers are raw and bleeding from how tight her grip is.

After tonight, Harry will leave. And so will she. And as this chapter of their lives closes, she realizes that the chapter about them is over too.

Harry lifts his head and catches her staring, cocking his head to the side, but before he can say anything, Rhea turns around. She drops the keycard on the table. She moves methodically away from him, putting space between them in the vast hotel room.

It's an interesting scene for their final act. It's better than some of the hotels they've been at before, but not the best. It's comfortable and unnerving all at once. She'll remember every inch of this room in her memories, despite her best attempt not to.

Rhea stands in front of the mirror on the wall outside the bathroom, looking at herself for a moment. She should say something, anything to break the silence in this room. But perhaps for the first time, she doesn't know what exactly to say in Harry's presence.

How is she supposed to start this, their last night together?

She doesn't trust herself enough to do that, to be able to open her mouth and not burst into tears. All night, the urge has been building. She wants it to be perfect, a crystal clear memory that she can turn to whenever she wants. But that means acknowledging that... that this is the last memory, the last bit of time she'll get to spend with Harry.

His hands are pressing on either side of her hips, making Rhea jump a bit. She lifts her face to see Harry behind her, staring at her face in the mirror with concern. He bends his head and presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Didn't mean t'scare you."

"You didn't," she replies in a soft voice, one barely above a whisper. She lets him pull her body back against his and Rhea lets her eyes close when Harry's head dips close to the side of hers, his lips against her temple now.

It's all too much, because this is it, the final domino of the night. And she feels a tsunami of emotion rushing through her. She's turning in his arms and burying her face in his chest.

Harry's body reacts a second too late at her sudden movement, but he's slipping his arms around her again, burying his face into the top of her head and hugging her tight.

"I don't want to talk," she says, finally, the words muffled yet audible to him in the quiet of the hotel room.

He knows exactly what she means.

He doesn't want to say goodbye either. He doesn't have the words. He didn't on the elevator ride up, or when she was watching him take off his shoes. He's been thinking about what he'll say to her during this moment for weeks now.

But it's not possible, saying goodbye to someone you love in a way that doesn't completely and utterly destroy you both in the process.

So he closes his eyes, and kisses the top of her head, and he gets a whiff of that coconut shampoo scent he's smelled for years. "Okay. Okay. We don't have to talk."

This seems to relax her, because the small amount of hesitancy in her muscles ebbs away and her body is completely sinking into his. Harry holds her up with ease against him, falling quiet again.

He's thinking of all the time they've spent together in hotel rooms over the years. Of all the memories, the firsts she's shared with him, and how important that is to him. He's thinking about how every time he had to pull himself away from her to wake up early and sneak back to his own room. He's thinking about how much he loves her and how much it kills him that he can't express this to her.

He's thinking, wishing, willing that he deserved her. Forever.

He's not sure how long they stand there like that, him, holding her in the foyer of the hotel room. But when she finally extricates herself from his neck, Harry can spot a familiar look in her eyes. Rhea's sliding her hands down from where they were clasped behind his neck, down his chest, under the lapels of his jacket.

He watches her face as she slowly opens the first button of his dress shirt, then the next, and so on until it's billowing open and his butterfly tattoo is peeking out in greeting. Her eyes flicker up to his as she brushes her hands against his skin, under the fabric of his shirt, untucking it and trailing her fingers across the width of his shoulder blades. The shirt falls back a little, and the suit jacket too, and then Rhea is bending her head, trailing kissing down his skin in a line that's identical to where the shirt buttons were before.

He closes his eyes, tipping his head back and bringing one hand to rest gently on the back of her head. He can feel his eyes stinging and fuck, fuck, fuck he's going to miss this; miss her. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to say goodbye. He doesn't want to lose her.

Rhea's in front of him now, almost on her knees, her fingers dipping just below the waistband of his trousers. He helps her tug them off, just barely over the thick of his thighs, and she's kissing the skin there, lips soft. When her lips press close to where he's hardening, his head snaps up, looking down at her with his chest rising and falling.

"No," he says, shaking his head. He bends down and reaches for her, bringing her back up, "No, love."

She frowns at him as he pushes her hair out of her face, "But-"

Harry pulls her flush to him, laying a heavy kiss on her mouth. She melts into it and he takes advantage of it, gripping the backs of her thighs, urging her to jump. He guides her legs to wrap around his waist, turning them, walking back to the bed and laying her down on it.

Her dark hair is spread across the white hotel sheets, and she props up on her elbows to watch him when he backs up to step completely out of his pants. "Later," he promises her, swooping down to press a kiss to her pouty lips. "Can get your mouth on me later, I promise, but right now..."

Harry straightens up, kicking his trousers aside, walking back to the bed. He wraps his fingers around one of Rhea's ankles, dragging her down the bed and closer to him in one swift movement. He leans his body over hers, hand brushing over the top of her head. "Right now, let me take care of you, yeah?"

It's spoken like a prayer, a plea even and he stares into her eyes for a few seconds before kissing her. Rhea's fingers glide into his curls, holding him close to her. His right-hand presses against her leg, sliding up, under the hem of her dress.

His suit jacket strains against his shoulders, and he pulls his lips away from Rhea's reluctantly, mumbling a "for fucks sake" under his breath as he pulls back, stripping one arm out of his jacket.

"No," Rhea cries, scrambling up onto her knees. "Let me," she murmurs, pushing the fabric off his shoulder, helping him take it off. The shirt is easier, since it's already open. It falls to the floor and Rhea's kissing along his chest again.

Harry reaches around her, pulling down the zipper of her dress. It falls away, pooling around her knees. He brings his hand down her body, from her shoulder, trailing down her arm, brushing the fabric of her dress aside to make room. His hand settles on her thigh, fingers dancing across the impossibly soft skin as Rhea's lips find the spot on his neck that makes his eyes roll back.

There are no rules tonight. No worry of someone spotting hickies the next day. No need to be careful.

He has to angle his hand a certain way to brush against her heat from how she's kneeling, but he's able to do so, to feel the wet patch against her panties. He presses his index and middle finger against her, savoring the gasp that falls out of her mouth from the action. "Wet for me?"

It's a rhetorical question, because he's slipping his fingers under the lace, and he has the answer in seconds. "That's my girl," he says, smirking as he trails his fingers up and down her slit. He slips one inside after teasing her for a bit, and then another, and Rhea's clinging to his neck, panting warmly against his skin as he curls his fingers just how he knows she likes it.

He knows her body so well, all the tell-tale signs. What each moan means, how to get her to cling to him tighter, how to get the exact reaction he's craving. How to make her feel good, better than anyone else ever will.

Harry's wrist begins to ache from the angle he has it at, his fingers no longer pushing as far as he'd like them to, but Rhea's clinging to his shoulders, and from the way she's clenching around him he knows she's getting close.

He turns his head, kissing the top of hers, wincing as he pulls his fingers out. The arm that's wrapped around her, helping keep her propped up squeezes her body to his. "Baby," he murmurs, fingers lifting, brushing through her soft hair. "Lie back for me," he says, coaxing Rhea out of the hiding place she's made in his neck. "I'm not done with you yet," he promises when she whines under her breath.

He tosses her dress to the floor, bracing himself on one hand as he leans over her body. Rhea watches him with quiet admiration, meeting his lips when he offers a quick kiss. Harry's hands slide around the sides of her hips, fingers dipping under the waistband of her panties. He meets her eyes, the question silent but clear. He asks every time. No matter how many times they've done this. Even if this is the last time.

Rhea's eyes soften and she nods and Harry slides the panties off her legs, and tosses them over his shoulder before spreading her thighs. He brushes open-mouthed, hot kisses against the inside of them as her hands settle in his curls. He spends time loving on that birthmark of hers, the one on the inside of her thigh that only he knows about. "Keep watching me," he instructs, keeping his eyes on her as he lowers his mouth to her.

It doesn't take long for Rhea to come all over his tongue, but even then, Harry keeps one of his palms spread over her tummy to keep her in place as he gets her there. He has to use both of his arms to keep her thighs spread when she finishes with an echoing moan of his name, and when she's done and trembling, he lifts his face and licks his lips, watching her.

Her eyes are closed now, and he helps guide her fingers from his hair, brushing kisses to both sets of her knuckles before helping her close her legs and crawling back up her body, brushing his own fingers across the apple of her right cheek.

Harry can't help himself, he bends down and presses kisses against her jaw, her chin, her lips. When he lands one on the bridge of her nose, Rhea opens her eyes, glassy and fucked out. She bites her lip as she lifts a hand to his face.

He kisses the inside of her palm, watching her silently. It's in moments like these — these brief, slow reprises between making her his that really unnerve him. Because Rhea is looking at him like she always looks at him, like he's the only one she'll ever have eyes for, and that makes him want to hold her against him and never let go.

Maybe he should tell her. He could. Right now. Just open his mouth and confess that he loves her so much it's terrifying. That he doesn't want her to leave, that he doesn't want this to end. That he wants her to be his forever.

Instead, he swallows back the tide of emotion, and he brushes the baby hairs that rest at the front of her hairline. "Think you can take me? Or do you want to stop?"

Rhea's eyebrows pull together and she shakes her head, "I want to. I can," she adds, in a voice that is confident, and Harry's all too aware of the fact that he's helped her gain that confidence. and something about that sets a fire ablaze in his chest.

And when he pulls away from her enough to take his boxers off and roll a condom over himself, they don't break eye contact. Rhea's watching him from the bed and Harry is reminded of every single instance in which they've done this. From the first, to this the last.

He doesn't want to think of it as him stealing her innocence, because he hadn't, and that's not what this is. What it ever was. But still, Harry can't ignore the pang in his chest at how this all started. How shy she was. How willing. How gentle.

There's a sense of trust there, trust that can only be felt with your first, if you're lucky enough.

And Harry doesn't ever want to break that.

When he crawls over her again, linking one set of their hands together and settling them by her head. He hums, brushing a kiss to her lips, "I know you can," he replies, finally. "Gonna show me how well you can take me?" When she nods, he grips himself at the base and teases her, pressing forward, watching every minute change in her features as he gathers her wetness against his head.

Tears are building in Rhea's eyes and finally, she squeezes his hand impatiently, "Harry, please."

It's killing him too, the suspense. He's killing time because he doesn't want this to end.

"I got you, Rhe," he says, kissing her cheek as he finally slides in. He wonders if it's the same for her, the familiar stretch of her taking him. Every single time he's been inside her, it has floored him. "M'right here," he says, for her, or him he's not sure.

Harry tells himself to take it slow, to pace himself, but Rhea fits him so snug — she always has — and he's finding a bruising pace, and she's wrapping her legs and arms around him, clinging to his body, taking each of his thrusts in stride, whining encouragements into his neck about how good it feels and how good he is and-

He grips her thigh, fingers digging into her skin as he presses him closer, closer, as close as he can get without completely crushing her. Harry glances down at himself disappearing inside her, and then lifts his eyes, feeling like a madman. He wants to go faster and slower all at once. His mind is spinning, his vision dazed. "Gimmie a kiss, love, let me-" he cuts off with a brutal moan when she clenches around him, "Rhea, please."

"Come here," she breathes, pressing her hands to his cheeks, guiding him down. She obliges, kissing him fully, completely, their breath mingled.

Harry's losing it, he can feel the tension of release clawing at him, and his hips stutter against Rhea's, trying to calm down. He pulls away from their kiss and brings a hand between her legs, circling her bundle of nerves. He's talking to himself under his breath, "Come on, come on..."

Rhea's fingers card through his curls and she gives them a tug, and that's when he realizes she's not just moaning his name but trying to get his attention. "You can come," she says, giving him an encouraging nod, "Don't hold it off."

"Not before you," he gripes. His rule. It's always been his rule. He presses his thumb to her a bit more firmly. They've just gotten started. He doesn't want it to end now. Not like this. Not coming too fast for his own good, but it's all too much.

"Please," she repeats, "For me. Come for me, Harry. I want it."

Harry meets her eyes again and he's surprised to see tears gathered there, and when he blinks, there's wetness in his own too. There's always been a sense of pride there, living in him, knowing that he's the only one who can make her talk like this.

"I want it," Rhea murmurs, nodding at him in encouragement. "I need it."

"Fuck," he groans, defeated, because it's there now. White and hot and angry and demanding and he's speeding up, trying to stay focused on keeping the motion of his thumb steady against her but he wants to drive home, he wants to stay inside her forever, and then—

Then he's finishing with hot, angry spurts into the condom and Rhea still hasn't come again but his finish takes everything out of him. He feels like jelly and he tries to keep himself up but his chest is pressed against Rhea's and he's out of breath, shocked how fast it came over him. How much it took out of him.

Rhea simply brushes her fingers through his hair, skimming them over his shoulder, down his arm. The only sound in the room is both of them trying to catch their breath, the occasional shuffling sound of Rhea on the sheets. He's buried his face in her neck and the shout he let out when he finished is echoing in her ears, bouncing off her skin.

Finally, Harry feels confident enough that he won't cave over and he lifts himself from the warmth of her skin. Rhea gives him a gentle smile and Harry presses his thumb under her chin, capturing her lips in a kiss. "M'sorry," he says when they separate, trailing his hand back down her body. A flick of his thumb makes her legs jolt around him. He's still buried inside her. "Let me make it up to you, my love."

"You don't have to be sorry," Rhea says, wincing as Harry finally pulls out. Her face falls and he pretends not to notice, like it doesn't wound him.

"We're supposed to finish together," he argues, like a child as he gets up to discard the condom.

When he comes back, she welcomes him with open arms and a tired smile. When he presses his hand between her legs, again, she lets him, even though she feels sensitive. She listens to all the things he whispers in her ear, coaxing her to the edge again, and when she finishes all over his hand, he sighs in relief.

Rhea's tired after that, and even though she wants more, Harry insists they get some rest first. It's only when he turns the lights off, and she's tucked against his bare chest, that she says: "We still have time...to finish together."

And they do, when a few hours later Harry wakes up hard and he coaxes her awake with messy kisses along her neck. He helps her lift her leg, still spooning, and slides into her from behind. He keeps his promise of letting her get her mouth on him, too.

And this time, Harry doesn't leave. When dawn starts glowing behind the hotel room curtains, he's wide awake, watching Rhea sleep soundly beside him. He's facing her on his own pillow, his arm draped over her waist. She's hogging all the sheets, and he can't move a muscle. He's never wanted to stay in bed with her more.

When she finally opens her eyes hours later, she lifts her head a little, eyes widened and sleepy to see him still there. Harry can't help but draw her infinitely closer, and kiss her forehead.

Neither of them say much that morning — the assumed last one together. He spends his time kissing every inch of her body. She traces her fingers over his tattoos. And when it's time to get up, to say goodbye, to move on...

It's quiet and awkward and a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and him, watching her walk down the hallway and into the elevator with his heart. It's her forgetting where she's going and not pressing a button and only realizing when the elevator doors reopen. It's him stepping back inside the hotel room and crawling into bed, hugging her pillow to his hollow chest. It's her, at the airport an hour later, looking out the windows at flights taking off and realizing that despite there being no big goodbye, it still hurts like hell.

TWO YEARS LATER

Two years have passed between that time and the next that Harry is able to wake up next to Rhea.

He opens his eyes, just enough to squint at her, and slowly the sleep draws away and he opens them fully. She's impossibly close to him, at the very edge of her pillow, fast asleep and her hand is reaching toward him. They'd fallen asleep like that, facing each other, holding hands in the middle of the mattress.

He lets his gaze scan over her, hair tousled all over, chest rising and falling with her breathing under the white sheets. She had just enough energy when they reached their hotel in Greece to wash her face, put on a sleeping shirt, and crawl into bed.

It almost feels surreal, being here with her. Harry scoots closer, careful not to jostle the bed too much. He doesn't want to wake her just yet. He carefully lays his palm over hers. He's a lucky, lucky man. It's not the first time he's had this thought since he showed up to Rhea's company gala. She'd agreed to take him back, after everything, and part of him wants to poke her cheek just to make sure she's real and not an apparition of his dreams. He'd almost lost her, for real, forever and he's had this exact dream one too many times before.

He still can't believe she'd agreed to come on this trip after learning that he'd been the one to auction on it. Because he simply doesn't deserve to be here, to be with her. But he's going to try like hell to finally deserve her. All the things he'd said to her at the gala hadn't been empty promises. He was going to be the very best version of himself for her.

Rhea shuffles under the covers, her hair falling into her face and Harry's heart stutters in his chest. She's still fast asleep, her legs stretched across the bed, shin pressing against his knee. He lifts his hand from hers, reaching over to brush her hair out of her face.

A rush of affection bursts through him when he sees her scrunch her nose up, pressing her face closer to the pillow. He knows she's stirring, just a bit, and he wonders if it's because the room is boiling. He should get up to turn the thermostat down, suddenly remembering how she can't stay asleep if the room isn't freezing.

Harry can't help himself as he props himself up on an elbow and leans closer to Rhea, careful not to bump her as he leans down and kisses the top of her head. He's surprised when he pulls back and sees her peering up at him through sleepy brown eyes.

"Good morning, my love," he murmurs, shooting her a smile as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

Rhea shifts around, lying back flat. She lifts her arms over her head in a stretch, her feet kicking the covers off her body. "Morning," she responds, smiling shyly at him.

Harry leans the side of his body against hers, turning so he's hovered over her. His palm presses into the mattress on the other side of her body. For a moment, neither of them say anything as she lifts her hand, carding it through his short curls. He watches her, pressing kisses into the inside of her arm.

"I like it short," she says after a moment. "When you walked into my office that day..." she trails off, her eyes scanning his face.

"What?" Harry prompts, raising an eyebrow at her.

Rhea bites her lip for a second, huffing, "I thought you looked so handsome. It was unfair. I was still trying to get over you and you waltzed in looking like that."

Harry ignores the pang at his chest over her words, instead, he laughs and turns his head, lightly biting her arm until Rhea shrieks in protest. "Good thing I'm so irresistible then, right? Otherwise, I never would've gotten you back."

"Oh yes," Rhea counters, a playful smile on her lips. "As long as you keep it short," she gives his curls a soft tug. "And give me affection."

"Is that the key to your heart?" Harry asks in mock astonishment. He's almost completely hovering over her now. He lifts her hand from his hair, kissing her knuckles before he presses it into the mattress. His other hand reaches for her free one, and he brings both her wrists into one hand, pressing them above her head. "Guess I should get to work then," he whispers, lips ghosting over her jaw, down the slope of her neck when she tips her head back for him.

Harry's free hand glides up her side, pushing the fabric of her t-shirt away, touching his cool skin against her. "Are you going to complain if I kiss you before brushing?" He pulls back enough to look into her eyes.

Rhea's are shining, her smile bold. She shakes her head, "No."

Harry lets his eyes pass back and forth between her eyes and lips before he leans down and kisses her, a soft, sweet morning kiss. When Rhea's wrists wiggle free from his hold, she presses either of her hands to his cheeks, holding him to her.

It's only when her back arches, just slightly, that Harry pulls away with a smacking sound. It pains him to do so, but he's been down this road before. Once they get carried away, there will be no stopping them.

He brushes his thumb against the corner of Rhea's right brow, shaking his head, "We should... get up. Order some breakfast?" When she continues to watch him in confusion, Harry sighs and lets his head drop, "I think we should take this slow, Rhe. I want you, but, I don't want to rush into this. Not this time."

And it's the truth. So much of their past has been based on sleeping together. He wants to take her on a date. He wants to be with her in every way possible. He doesn't want to wreck things again. And he certainly doesn't want her to think he's only here for the sex, no matter how hot and meaningful it is.

On his worst days apart from Rhea, he remembers what she'd yelled at him with tears streaming down her cheeks in that alleyway — that she felt like his dirty little secret. That she wasn't good enough for him.

Rhea's face relaxes at his words, and she gives him a gentle smile. "I think that's a smart idea. We need to talk about things anyway."

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, leaning away as she sits up. He turns to the nightstand where they'd tossed the room service menu the night before. "You pick, I'll order," he says, handing the menu to her.

Rhea takes it, but she lifts his arm, tucking herself into his side so they aren't far apart. Harry grins, kissing the top of her head and pulling the covers back over them.

It's on the second day that Harry and Rhea finally decide to venture outside their hotel suite. The sun is setting as they walk to the restaurant Rhea made a reservation at earlier today, painting the opulent white and blue staggered city in a golden hue. The Aegean sea is never-ending around the city, the water as clear and blue as the color of the rooftops around them.

Rhea's wearing a simple, white sundress with a blue floral pattern around the border of the skirt and sleeves, one of the few cute things she'd been able to chuck into a suitcase in their rush to pack and make their flight. Her long hair flows over her shoulders in curls and she's wearing sunglasses.

Harry's next to her in crisp blue shorts a simple white t-shirt, donning his own black Ray-Bans. He takes a step closer to Rhea as they walk down the gray cobblestone streets that blend into one another just as the waves of the water do. He eyes her right hand, dangling by her side as they continue in the direction of the restaurant. He lifts his own palm, scratching at the back of his neck. He wants to reach over and take her hand and bring her closer to him. Every nerve in his body calls to hers.

And he told himself he'd be better about this. He'd be more direct. And he knows this is their first official outing together, and that he has time, but as much as he wants to he can't bring himself to step toward her and take her hand like he's dying to.

This makes him feel useless, and frustrated with himself, like he's already blowing this precious final chance that Rhea has decided to give him. Why is it so hard for him to just... Be? Why is it that even behind his shades, his eyes are darting at those that pass them by, noting if anyone does a double-take or if their eyes linger too long in recognition?

It's partially in his head — he knows that. He'd said it to Rhea out loud on that dance floor with such ease, that in his effort to make sure the world didn't crumble something so important, so fragile, he'd done it himself.

He's so caught up in his head that he misses when Rhea stops walking, stopping in front of the green door of the restaurant. "Harry," she calls, when he's stepped a few strides too far.

Harry turns and frowns at himself, walking back to Rhea. She glances up at him for a moment, keeping her voice low, "Are you okay?"

He bobs his head, gently touching her elbow, "Yeah."

She bites the corner of her lip, giving him a moment to elaborate, and when he doesn't say anything else, she turns and opens the door, and he follows her inside.

When they're seated at their table, one tucked away to the side of the restaurant, with a beautiful sprawling view of Santorini that it's world-famous for — with both of their sunglasses off, and sangria in their wine glasses, Harry finally feels at ease.

If their waitress recognizes him, she doesn't let on, collecting their order for dinner quickly and efficiently and hurrying off. There's a small display piece in the center of the table, a wood board with two small flickering candles in glass containers on either side of a larger one, in which deep pink bougainvillea tree flowers float on water.

Rhea's gaze is focused on the flickering of the right flame. Harry glances at her, his heart sinking when he sees her anxiously picking at her nails. He leans back in his chair, taking her in.

The warm glow she'd left the hotel room with has all but disappeared, replaced by a soft but anxious look on her face. She still looks as beautiful as ever, but he can tell, she's on edge. And he knows it's because of him.

They'd always been fine, on the same page completely when they were alone, but as soon as they weren't...

Suddenly her brown eyes lift from the flame, meeting his green ones, and she doesn't say anything but she offers Harry a nervous smile that kills him.

He's reaching across the table in a heartbeat, scooting his chair closer, ignoring the obnoxious sound of wood scraping against wood in his hurry. He takes Rhea's hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles firmly once, and twice more.

Rhea's eyebrows shoot up and her eyes light up in delight, and Harry hates himself in that moment — because this is all she's ever wanted, all she needed. She leans forward so Harry doesn't have to strain so far and he pushes the punishing thought to the back of his mind.

"M'sorry," he mumbles, bringing her hand away from his lips but not letting go. "I'm... nervous."

Her face softens, and she makes a humming sound under her breath, "It's okay. I am too... we've- well, we've never done this before. Not by ourselves."

He knows what she means — all of their meals together have been on the tour bus, or at an event, or in some hotel room when they're both spent and aching and ravenous. "Is this our first date then?"

Rhea smiles at him, tilting her head, "I suppose it is. You don't mind me planning it?"

"Course not," Harry says. "Wish I'd been better prepared, though. I would've... gotten you flowers. Picked you up, opened the door for you. Met your parents. Researched extensively on what kind of food you liked."

"You know my parents," she points out. "And you know I love seafood, that's why we came here."

"I know," Harry murmurs, "But... still." He sets Rhea's hand down on the table, pushing his chair back and moving it closer to hers.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting closer," he murmurs, sinking back into it, sitting close enough that his shorts are pressed against the fabric of her dress. He begins moving his table place setting to accommodate his shift. "You're too far away."

He presses a kiss to Rhea's shoulder, leaning closer to her once he's completely settled. When the waitress comes back with their dinner, she doesn't bat an eye at the table arrangement change. She refills their glasses and heads off, leaving them to eat away.

They're both hungry, really, so there isn't much conversation between dinner, but when Harry is done eating, Rhea's still finishing and he leans back, an arm draped over the back of her chair. He watches her carefully for a few moments before pushing her hair over her shoulder, kissing her there again, and then another more firmly.

Rhea turns her head slightly, only for Harry to press a full kiss on her cheek and she laughs softly under her breath in delight. He pulls back only enough to see her eyes, and then he cups her jaw lightly, swooping in to kiss her on the lips.

"Taste like wine," he comments when they break away. He tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Sweet."

She gives him a full, beaming smile, leaning into his touch. Harry's eyes trail her features, aglow in the flicker of the small flames and the restaurant's ambient mood lighting. Rhea looks at him, setting her fork down on her plate. "This..." she begins softly, glancing at the table, around the restaurant. "This is different."

"In a good way?"

Rhea nods, pausing for a moment, "It's nice." Her voice drops a bit, "I never really... expected us to get here." She says it carefully, like she's testing the waters to see how he'll react. And when she doesn't detect anything of concern in his features, she goes on, "I remember when you went out with the other girls, on real proper dates and I used to feel so bad about it."

Harry's mouth and throat go dry, but he doesn't break eye contact with her. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He drops his arm from the back of her chair, slinking it around her waist instead. "I'm so fucking sorry, Rhe."

"It really hurt," she says, not telling him it's okay, that it's fine. Because as much as she wants Harry to be more forthcoming this time around, she needs to do the exact same, and the bottom line is that none of it was okay or fine. She has to be honest with him. For so long, she's been biting back her words. But she can't expect Harry to be able to read her mind, and that's taken years of learning the same lesson over and over again for her to understand. "Why did you do that to me, honestly?"

Harry sighs, looking down at the table. "I guess... I was trying to convince myself I didn't need you," he admits. "That's not an excuse, because I never meant t'hurt you, even though I did. I just thought if I found someone else, then I'd move on. Finally let you be instead of being selfish because I couldn't give you what you wanted and I couldn't let you go." He pauses. "There wasn't a single one of those dates where I didn't come home and feel miserable. I usually ended up thinking of you."

Rhea watches him in thoughtful silence and Harry continues.

"Didn't realize how fucked it was until I got a taste of my own medicine," he murmurs, reaching for his wine glass, finishing it off in a single swig.

"What do you mean?"

Harry lifts his eyes back to her face, a flush spreading across his skin. "I... I found out about you and Samuel on Instagram one night."

Rhea's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. "Gemma didn't... she didn't tell you? Or Ni?"

He shakes his head, "Think they were all trying to keep me from finding out. I was scrolling through, couldn't fall asleep because... well because I missed you," he admits, gaining confidence when Rhea reaches a hand out and squeezes his forearm in encouragement. "And you'd posted a photo of him and you, he was kissing you and you were hugging him and-" he cuts off, shaking his head. "I've never felt worse. When I saw him that day in the bar with you, I just saw red. It killed me seeing you with someone else."

"Oh, Harry," she says quietly.

Harry shakes his head, "I can never apologize enough to you for what I did, Rhe. But... I hope you can understand where I was coming from." He leans his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "Think a part of me was scared if I let us go public then... we'd lose what this really meant."

Rhea is quiet for a moment. "I wish you'd told me that. Because I do understand, Harry. You're entire life was... upended, in a way. It makes sense that you'd be protective."

"We should've talked about it," he admits. "About a lot of things, really."

She lifts her head from his and nods, "I agree. I think not talking has always been our go-to. And that's on both of us."

The waitress comes by, looking shy, like she was waiting for a moment to swoop in and offer a refill to their glasses. Harry gives her a smile as she does so. Rhea lifts the glass to her lips and Harry straightens up a bit in his chair, clearing his throat.

"Rhe, can I ask you something?"

She turns to him again, nodding, her eyes earnest.

"That last night, after X-Factor, what were you thinking? You didn't say anything," he says. "Neither did I..."

Rhea looks down, her long lashes casting small shadows on her skin. "I was thinking how if I opened my mouth to say anything, I'd end up spilling and crying and begging you not to leave. I was afraid if I said anything, it would ruin that last night. Because I didn't want it to end but... I knew we had to. We needed that space."

Harry reaches a hand over, squeezing her thigh, "Baby.."

"I was afraid of us ending but I knew we had to," Rhea says, "For both of our sakes."

"Come here," Harry demands, lifting his arm and pulling her to him. He kisses the top of her head when she settles against his chest, and then says, "I... I wanted to tell you not to leave. That'd we work it out and it would be fine. Just... never felt like I deserved you."

Rhea turns her face, her nose pressed against Harry's sternum. Her hands clutch his t-shirt.

The windows surrounding the restaurant give way to the evening darkness now engulfing the city. Distant houses, buildings, have turned on their lights. It's a haphazard skyline compared to other cities, but it's beautiful. The tables are emptier than they were when they arrived.

"Maybe that just wasn't our time," Rhea says quietly, her words low. She remembers the words her dad said to her not too long ago. Love isn't easy, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it. Rhea lifts her head, blinking up at him, "Maybe... it is now."

The right corner of Harry's mouth lifts into an easy smile and he nods, gripping Rhea's chin he leans down to kiss her sweetly. "I like the sound of that." He brushes his thumb back and forth across the jut of her chin. "I love you."

Rhea's eyes shine, even as she teases him, "On the first date? My, my, Styles." She kisses his cheek, "I love you too."

When it comes time to leave the restaurant, Harry doesn't hesitate to take Rhea's hand. They follow the same cobblestone path that led them there, but, as always, word has spread that Harry Styles is dining nearby. They only make it so far until his skin prickles with that all too familiar sensation — someone is taking photos of them.

Harry casts a glance over his shoulder and sure enough, he spots a group of three girls on the opposite side of the street, a few paces behind them giggling and watching him with their phones pointed at him and Rhea. He's tipsy from all the wine, and so is she, and Harry feels a flare of panic ignite in his system.

He catches sight of them coming to an abrupt stop when they realize they've been caught, embarrassed it seems from the way they lower their phones. He unclenches his jaw, turning toward the front again. He squeezes Rhea's hand when he notices another group up ahead on the street. He can tell from the way they're hovering, they'll stop him when he gets closer.

Rhea's spotted them too because she turns to him, her eyes inquisitive.

"It's alright," Harry murmurs, "Here, come on the inside for me." They switch spots, Harry on the side of the street closer to the group and Rhea on the inside. This time, she squeezes his hand, and then she wraps her free one around his arm, hugging herself closer to him. She's comforting him when he should be comforting her.

Harry doesn't let go of her hand when the fans finally approach, two boys and a girl. He keeps her tucked against his side, smiling at the fans, signing the extended copies of his album, listening to their accented, beautiful words. When they ask for a photo, he hesitates, glancing at Rhea who is smiling at them.

"Do you mind if we don't?" He asks carefully, "I'm here for a vacation."

They look disappointed, but, they nod, and let Harry and Rhea go with goodbyes and thank you's. Harry kisses the side of Rhea's head as they continue on, laughing and talking.

And the two groups of fans watch them go by, they keep their phones pointed at their backs. They chronicle the kiss, and the way Rhea is holding onto his arm. The videos and photos do end up online the next day, but, Harry doesn't quite mind as much as he would've normally.

How can he when they get back to the hotel and Rhea is so at ease, so happy? When he himself, feels content and free and like after all this time — things have finally fallen into place.

They spend the rest of the next day doing things around the island — they hike and walk through the city, exploring markets, soaking up the sun and the breeze from the sea. Harry can't keep his hands off her, and for all intents and purposes, it does feel like a fresh start. Like this is their time.

On their final day in Santorini, Harry has a plan.

It involves waking up his very sleepy girlfriend, but it's a good plan. He spent the entire previous day planning it in between breaks — when Rhea went to shower, when she went to grab the breakfast, when he went to shower.

She's so bundled up in the covers, he almost doesn't have the heart to wake her. He's squatting by the side of the bed, brushing her hair away from her face. "Sweetheart," he says, quietly, scratching her scalp. "Rhea."

She bristles away from his touch, eyebrows drawn together, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

"I know," he says, swooping closer and pressing kisses to her face. When she shifts under her burrito, he grasps a corner and pulls it just enough to loosen it. "I'm sorry, you can be mad at me later, but I have a surprise baby."

Finally, she opens her eyes, glossy with sleep and unfocused. She's pouting and Harry loves her so much in that moment. It's overwhelming. He hovers over her, scooting onto the edge of the bed and hugging her. He buries his face in her neck despite her sleepy whines.

"Good morning, my sleepy," he hums, kissing her neck. "I have coffee for you."

"It's still dark," Rhea says. Harry lifts his face from her neck and sees that she's more awake now, still grumpy, but awake. She flops onto her side and Harry sneaks a hand under the blanket, rubbing her back.

"I know," he says. "You can bring your blanket," he offers. "Just trust me, baby."

Rhea pops open an eye and then her other and she nods. She starts sitting up and Harry brushes a kiss to her forehead, getting out of her way. When she's done brushing her teeth, he brings her a pair of shoes for her to slip into and helps wrap the blanket around her shoulders.

"Where are we going?" She asks, her voice still sleepy as Harry leads her out of the hotel room.

"It's a surprise," Harry murmurs, kissing the back of her head when they stop in front of an elevator. "Close your eyes."

Rhea does so, and once they're inside, he hits the button for the rooftop, his fourth time doing so this morning. When they reach, he's careful to lead Rhea since the rooftop is still dark, even with the string light bulbs above.

"Easy," he says, "Still have your eyes closed, right?"

"Yes, but if I trip over this blanket, Harry-"

"You won't," he cuts her off, "I'll catch you."

He helps her lower her body down onto the picnic area he's set up before he sits down next to her, pulling her body back against his chest. Once they're both settled, the blanket draped over Rhea's lap, he brings his mouth above her ear, "Okay, baby, you can open them now."

Rhea blinks, adjusting to the twilight sky. She looks to her right, where Harry has put together a little spread for them of cheese, bread, coffee and strawberries.

"Figured we could watch the sunrise together," he says, squeezing his arms around her. Rhea tilts her head back against his shoulder, looking at him. "I know you hate mornings, but I want our last day here to be special."

"Oh Harry," Rhea murmurs, reaching a hand back for him. He lowers his face until her palm cups his cheek, turning his face to hers. "It's wonderful, I love it. And you."

Harry gives her a soft, sleepy smile of his own, meeting her lips when she cranes her face up for a kiss. "I love you, baby. I think I promised you coffee," he says, reaching for a cup for her. She feeds him some strawberries, and he sets up a plate for cheese and crackers for her. He's hiding a bottle of champagne in the picnic basket, which makes her laugh, and they pop the cork just as the sun starts to rise.

And they watch it, the colors painting the sky, like an invisible artist is testing shades on a new canvas. Rhea leans back against Harry's chest, both of them in their pajamas, slightly chilly in the morning air but warm with each other.

That's how their trip ends in Greece, but it's also how the rest of their journey begins. A simultaneous 'hello again' and 'I missed you' and 'welcome home' all at once.

Harry has a three-month gap between his smaller venue tour and his arena tour — giving him downtime to be with Rhea in New York. With her firm headquartered there, it's the perfect fit for the time being.

They keep on the track they set up in Greece, designating one day a week for date night and alternating between who plans it, and while it would be easy for him to sign a 3-month lease somewhere, he mostly stays with Rhea and she doesn't seem to mind at all.

Harry keeps busy when she's at work, working on planning and rehearsing a larger setlist for his arena shows, working with his stylist to curate different suits for all the shows he'll be doing.

The press continues to cover them, and whenever he and Rhea go out, there are almost always paps and fans waiting to grab a photo, but he's learning to handle it one day at a time, and he's happier than he's ever been before.

For all intents and purposes, it finally feels real between them.

It's real when he's stopping by her office to pick her up for a date, waiting in the firm lobby like he did not too long ago — cracking jokes with Aaliyah, waiting for his hard-working, beautiful girlfriend to be done.

It's real when she's helping him pick out fabrics for suits, and offering a spare opinion on his setlist when he asks.

It's real when they spend every moment of their weekends together, escaping Manhattan for places less explored. Book shops, record stores, vintage shops. When Niall makes the trek over from Los Angeles, they even go to a Nets game with him. They're shown on the big screen under the stars in attendance segment, and they're caught mid-kiss, Harry flushing as Rhea laughs and he lifts a ring-clad hand to wave at the cameras.

It's real when they manage to sneak in a quick week-long trip back to Holmes Chapel to visit Anne and Gemma.

In fact, it's all so real, being with her fully and completely that it often takes Harry by surprise during small moments. Like when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Rhea's curled up next to him, or when he's cooking and she's helping him prep, leaning against the counter and telling him all about her day. It's in moments like those that he realizes how lucky he is — how he's finally gotten everything he's ever wanted.

He knows that the honeymoon phase of a relationship is only meant to last a few months at most, but, he's known Rhea for years. He's always loved her this fiercely, and without the fear of losing her breathing down his neck, he feels like he can finally let himself relax.

And relaxing has led him to be more observant too. In the time they did spend apart, where they were both so committed to convincing themselves that they didn't need one another, Rhea had been thriving in her work. Harry is more and more impressed with her every day, and sometimes, when he gets nostalgic he thinks of how young she was when they first met — an intern with a headset two sizes too big for her head, but determined eyes and a keen sense of calmness that the entertainment industry needed.

Sometimes, he looks at Rhea, and Harry just can't believe that he gets to call her his.

Like now, when she's finally succeeded in pulling away from his warmth under her covers, kissing his chest apologetically despite his whines of protest and hurrying up before he pulls her back down — again.

"I have to get to that meeting, babe," she says with a pout, reaching for the work pants Harry practically ripped off her half an hour ago when she came home for lunch. "I'm already going to be late because you can't keep your hands to yourself." She shoots him a teasing look, bending down to look around for her discarded bra.

Harry props himself up on his elbows on the bed, watching her scour the floor for her clothing. He smirks, shamelessly trailing his eyes down her bare top half like he's seeing her for the very first time. "In my defense, you seemed to like your lunch break very much. I didn't hear any complaints, baby. In fact, all I remember is you chanting my name and-"

A pillow flies across the room and hits him in the face before he can finish and Rhea's laughing across the room as he tosses it back on the floor with the others that have fallen off the mattress in their haste.

"Stop being cheeky and help me find my shirt," Rhea says, shooting him a mock glare. "I have to fix my hair." She heads into the bathroom as Harry sighs, getting up from the bed and looking around the room.

"I don't see it," he says, confused. He tries to retrace their path. Pinning Rhea to the wall in the foyer, eventually making it to the bedroom because her legs were shaking too much for her to stand upright. He pulls his boxers on after finding them under a pillow and heads into the living room of her apartment.

When he comes up empty-handed there too he walks back into the bedroom and then the bathroom, coming to a stop and leaning against the doorway. Rhea's standing in front of the bathroom counter, the curling iron wrapped around a front piece of her hair. She's found another shirt it seems, and Harry smiles at her reflection in the mirror.

"I believe that's my shirt," he says, trailing his eyes over the satin white fabric with black tear drop-like shapes. It's an old one of his, and she's tucked it into her black work pants.

"Well, you lost mine," Rhea counters, setting the curler down and running her fingers through her hair as Harry approaches. "Didn't you?"

"I'll find it later," he promises as he slips his arms around her from behind. He's careful not to jostle her as she grabs her lipstick from her open makeup bag on the counter. When she's done he brushes her hair out of the way, kissing the back of her neck. "Didn't say I don't like seeing you in this," he murmurs, tugging on the fabric of the shirt.

Rhea turns in his arms, smiling at him as she locks hers behind his neck. "Oh, you don't mind?"

"Not at all," he says, sliding his palms up her back. "You should steal them more often," he adds, leaning closer to her. Before he can get close enough to steal a kiss, Rhea is pressing her index finger against his lips and shaking her head.

"I just re-did my lipstick," she says, giving him a sympathetic look when he pouts. "Come on, I have to go."

Harry sighs dramatically, but steps aside to let her move to the bedroom. He trudges after her, heading into the living room. Rhea collects her blazer and purse, glancing momentarily at her phone. "What should we do for dinner tonight?"

"I can cook," Harry offers, leaning against the opposite wall as Rhea does the little buckle straps on her heels. "Think we need to stay home to coordinate everything anyway, right?"

She lifts her head, glancing at him, "Coordinate?"

"For tour," Harry clarifies, stepping closer to pick a spot of fluff that's on the top of her scalp. He glances at it and realizes it's a small feather from the down comforter they use.

Rhea's done with her shoes, but she's still watching him blankly, waiting for more clarity.

"Well, I figured you'd want to figure out how to manage stuff with the firm away from here like last time," Harry explains.

Realization dawns on her and she blinks, shrugging into her blazer. Harry helps her pull it on and then Rhea turns, "You... want me to come on tour with you? Again?"

"Of course I do," Harry says, opening the front door for her. "What kind of question is that?"

Rhea is outside their apartment door now, giving him a curious look that he doesn't have time to decipher because her phone starts ringing. She gives him an apologetic look, "Sorry, that's the driver..."

"Go," Harry says, nodding at her. "What are you craving for dinner?"

"Surprise me," she says, giving him a wink as she starts walking toward the elevator.

***

The entire rest of the day, Rhea feels anxious. Her stomach dropped the moment she realized what Harry was referring to, and she's been distracted ever since.

The truth is, she wasn't expecting him to ask her to come with him on tour. They're in such a good place, perhaps a better place than they have ever been before — and she's afraid to rock the boat because of that. Because really, it's been unreal and exquisite and she cherishes being really, truly with him.

And if she's being honest with herself, she can't swing going on another tour with him. The firm has really taken off, and there's too much logistical stuff for her to pass on to anyone. Part of the reason why her clients sign with her is because she's there, hands-on in a crisis. She can't do that halfway across the world on tour with her boyfriend.

Aside from the work obligations, she's not sure if going on tour is a good idea. They've been so careful, so diligent in making sure that they don't fall into their old patterns and tactics. They're healthy now.

Which is why she knows she needs to have a different conversation with Harry than what he's expecting when she gets home tonight. A part of her, perhaps the Rhea from all those years ago that met the love of her life and built the basis of her career during touring, wants to go. The idea of being apart from Harry when they've been together every single day for months is awful. It makes her heart sink.

But...

Even then, as she unlocks the front door and steps into the foyer, she knows what she needs to tell him.

"I'm home," she calls, smelling the fragrant aroma of spices. She can hear something sizzling in a pan and Harry calls back a muted, "In the kitchen, love" over the sound of the music he has playing.

Rhea sheds her blazer, and sets her purse on the side table by the door after pulling out a hair clip from it, stopping in front of the mirror she has on the wall. She runs her fingers through her hair, taking a breath. It's not in her DNA to initiate conflict. She's spent her entire life running from it, actually, but she knows as she stares at her reflection that they'll both regret it if she doesn't go in there and be honest with him.

As she walks into the kitchen, she untucks Harry's shirt from her work pants and throws the top half of her hair into the clip, drawing it away from her face. When she rounds the corner her heart squeezes in her chest.

Harry's humming under his breath, stationed at the island and chopping veggies. There are two pans behind him on the stove and she can spot the oven light on underneath. He's got a bottle of wine uncorked and a glass waiting for her, his own half-empty and near his workstation.

He's wearing a cozy crew sweatshirt and joggers and when he looks up and sees her, the biggest, widest grin spreads across his face. He looks so excited and she feels like she's going to crush him.

"There you are," he murmurs, setting his knife down and scooting over to the sink to wash his hands. "Come here, I've got wine. Food's almost ready."

Rhea pads across the kitchen floor, collecting the glass and casting a glance at the record player of his. He's playing Sinatra. She walks around the island and slips her arms around his waist, giving him a hug. "It smells so good."

Harry is wiping off his hands with a dish towel, but he kisses the side of her head, "Chicken parm and some garlic bread. Working on a salad too."

"What can I do to help?" Rhea asks, stepping away as Harry turns to the stove.

He shakes his head, "Nothing. Sit with me. You worked a 12-hour day, my love."

"But, I can cut veggies or-"

This time it's Harry cutting her off, turning around and wrapping his arms around her legs, right above her knees. He scoops her up and sets her on the counter, beaming as he steals a kiss from her. "Sit," he commands. "I'm almost done. You can grab your laptop, if you want. I already put a calendar together we can share and sync."

Harry turns back to the salad bowl, tossing his chopped veggies into the lettuce. Rhea watches him as he reaches for the bottle of balsamic vinegar. "How was your meeting?"

"Oh," Rhea says, "It was alright. Long."

He drizzles the dressing into the salad and tosses it with tongs, glancing at her when she doesn't elaborate. "Yeah?"

Rhea nods, silent, and continues to watch Harry as he turns the stove off and pulls out the chicken from the oven. He's pouring the sauce from the pan over the breasts and adding a serving of salad and garlic bread to the plates.

"Harry..." she begins, as Sinatra croons softly behind her. "We should talk, about tour."

"After dinner, yeah?" He says, getting ready to walk their plates over to the small dining table. "Food will get cold."

"No," Rhea says abruptly, reaching a hand out to stop him. "Please," she says when he gives her a confused look. "If I don't say this now, I'll lose my nerve."

Harry sets the plates back down. "Okay..."

"Come here," Rhea says after a moment of silence, reaching for him. He takes her extended hand and walks over, standing in front of where she's perched on the counter. She takes both his hands in her own and tilts her head back to look at him. "I'm going to say something that might upset you, but, I want to be honest. Because we've been doing good with that."

Harry nods, once, but Rhea notices the clench of his jaw. He's nervous.

"I don't think..." she trails off. "I don't think me going on tour with you is a good idea, H."

"What?" Harry looks completely surprised. "Why?"

"Because I think if we're going to be together, it's better if we don't work together," Rhea says, finally letting out what's been on her mind all day.

A wounded look flashes across Harry's face and she clutches his hands tighter, afraid he'll walk away before she can explain. It's ingrained in her — she's seen it so many times with her parents, either fighting or never really listening to each other.

"I love you so much. We've been doing so good, and I don't want that to change. But, I don't think I can leave the firm. And as grateful as I am to have met you through work..." she pauses. "I just, I'm scared that combining our personal and professional lives again is going to wreck this."

"We won't let it," he answers, a bit defensive. But he's not running. He's looking at her with those green eyes trying to understand her. Rhea takes a deep breath.

"You don't know that, Harry," she counters. "I will always, always be there for you. If you need me, all you have to do is ask. But I think it's better for us to... table this once and for all. I just can't be backstage every show anymore, H, I have my own obligations now too. And that environment is so taxing."

Harry frowns in response.

"Can you say something?" Rhea pleads, eyes scanning his face. "I'm starting to panic here."

Harry's eyes soften and he squeezes her hands. "Sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head. He takes a step forward, in between her legs. "I just wasn't expecting that. I've never been on the road without you."

"I know," Rhea murmurs. She slips her hands from his to press either of them to his cheeks. "But really, Harry, you don't need me there. Right?"

He shakes his head, "Wrong. So... so what, we do long-distance?"

"You don't think we can?" Rhea counters, brows knitting together.

"No, I do," Harry rushes to clarify. "We've just never done it before..." he sighs, hanging his head for a moment. "I know I don't need you there, but, I want you there. I always want you with me." He reaches for her, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist and pulling her into a hug.

"I want you with me too," she whispers into his neck. "But your career requires movement, baby, and mine requires staying here at least for now. There's nothing more I love than seeing you on stage. But I think this is the best thing for us. Don't you?"

Harry wants to say no. He wants to argue and come up with a list of reasons as to why he needs Rhea to tour with him. But he knows the entire list would come back to one single explanation: he wants her there with him because he loves her. And giving into that would be selfish. It would be exactly what old Harry would ask her to do, to give up her life and join him.

It doesn't mean it doesn't suck, though.

"I think it is," he says, pulling away from her enough to look at her face. He brushes the strands of hair falling out of her clip away from her face. "I'm going to fucking miss you," he admits with a dry laugh. "M'sorry for assuming you'd want to go."

"Don't be," she whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't speak up sooner. And I'm going to miss you more. Who else is going to cook me feasts three times a week?" Rhea leans forward, brushing her nose against his in an eskimo kiss. It's a gesture of reconciliation, of affection, of understanding.

"Whatever doordash guy you chose," Harry counters, laughing when she grins. He cups her cheeks and brings her in for a full, heavy kiss. "Alright," he murmurs, tapping her sides. "Enough. Food is going to get cold and I've been slaving over this stove for an hour now."

Later on, when they're winding down with a movie, Rhea's legs are thrown over Harry's lap on the couch, he turns to her with a proud smile.

She raises her eyebrows at him, "What?"

Harry pats his hands on her knees. "We did good today. Communicating. Don't you think?"

She mirrors his grin, "I guess, we're growing up and all that."

"Guess so."

***

TWO MONTHS LATER ***

"Come on," Harry says under his breath, listening to the mocking echo of the phone ringing in his ear. It trills twice more, before once again he's being sent to Rhea's voicemail. He lifts the phone from his ear in frustration, hanging up and redialing in seconds. He turns, picking up his pacing in the small area off the stage where he rushed to.

Behind him, the band is still going through the motions of soundcheck — and he can hear Jeff talking to someone distinctly, still on stage from when he came to tell Harry what was going on.

Harry's not trying to not panic, he's well past that point by now. He's never liked feeling helpless — especially when it comes to Rhea. Just yesterday, she'd been here with him, laughing and stealing strawberries from his plate at brunch and burrowing her face into the warmth of his neck. She'd finally gotten a chance to fly out, to be with him for a few shows before she had to be back at the office.

It was the first time she'd come out since this larger capacity tour had started, and he'd missed her so fiercely. There's something incomparable to seeing her through a screen versus in person. Being able to hear that laugh so close to his ears, to see her bright, beaming smile in person. To be able to touch her, feel her, be with her.

And as much as he'd felt the distance, and she had too, it seemed like the press noticed as well.

Throughout her visit, there'd been people trailing them. Fans. Paps. Sneaky people masquerading as the first but not even in that ballpark. And now, she was miles away from him, on the other side of the world and dealing with a hoard of paparazzi at JFK, blocking her way to her car, asking her about her romantic getaway to see her popstar boyfriend.

Harry's been better, a lot better, at not letting all this bother him too much. He has more control now. He's aware. He knows that if at any time Rhea feels like it's too much, she'll tell him. He trusts her to.

But even then... he can't help but hate himself for this. For being the reason her name is splashed across tabloids. For bringing all of this nonsense that comes with being who he is into her life. It's been the hardest thing for him, learning that he can't control everything when it comes to his private life or the perception of it. That he can't always be there to protect her.

And so here he is — calling her during his soundcheck — gripping the phone so tightly because she hasn't answered and because he can't do anything else except dial the fucking phone.

Finally, she answers.

"Hold on," she says, her voice muffled but direct.

"Rhe?"

There's no response, but Harry can hear distinct clamoring on the other side of the line. He can hear distant shouts of her name and garbled questions. He can sense the phone itself is moving, and then, it's all silent after a slam.

"Okay," Rhea says, her voice clear now. She seems out of breath, and she lets out a shaky laugh, "I'm here. I'm fine," she stresses.

Some of the tension in Harry's shoulders melts away, but still, he's adamant. "Don't lie," he murmurs. "What happened?"

"Nothing," his girlfriend supplies nonchalantly. "You worry too much. I told you, I'm okay Harry."

Harry closes his eyes, lifting his phone free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "Rhea, I'm halfway across the world. Just... just tell me what happened, okay? Please?"

There's a pause and then she sighs softly. He can imagine her behind his closed eyes, leaning her head against her car window, letting her own eyes flutter shut. "They were packed around the arrivals exit," she says finally. "It was fine for a few seconds, but the farther I got out the more people there were and I couldn't get the trolley with my bags through-" she cuts off. "The curbside people helped keep them back so I could get to the car. Which, I'm in now, and it's fine."

"Just the regular bullshit, how was vacation, how are we," she continues, filling in the gaps before Harry can even think to ask his next question. "Nothing new, just more en masse."

Harry's quiet for a few seconds, but when he speaks up, his voice is low, "You're sure you're alright? They didn't get too close or anything?"

"Well, I'd be lying if I said no. Think it was more frantic this time since... well since it's been a while since we've seen each other," Rhea says. "But, yes, I'm fine. I promise. It was jarring but I handled it."

He doesn't have anything to offer to make her feel better from where he is now. He isn't able to wrap his arm around her, to comfort her or himself. He can't kiss the top of her head and reassure himself that yes, she's fine, that they're fine. That the world hasn't contrived what they are into something else.

All he can do is apologize.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says, gently, finally opening his eyes.

"Don't be," Rhea says, firmly. He can picture her sitting up, a stern look on her face. "You don't need to apologize over things you don't have control over, remember?"

"I know, I know but-"

"No but's," she says, softly. "It's alright now. Ok?"

"Okay," Harry says, letting go, because that's all he can do now. "On your way back to the apartment?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," she says. "Dunno how I used to do this all the time. Aren't you supposed to be in soundcheck?"

"Mhm," Harry says, turning and glancing over his shoulder. The band is talking, messing around with their instruments. "Kind of walked off stage in the middle of it when I heard."

"You diva," Rhea mocks, and finally, a playful smile spreads across Harry's face. "You should go back. I'm okay. I'm going to go home and nap for the next three days."

"Yeah," Harry agrees, nodding his head once. "Alright. I love you, baby. I miss you already."

"Me too," Rhea echoes, the sound of her voice matching his — the gentle, sweeping tone. "I love you. Don't worry anymore. Get back to work. Those songs aren't going to perform themselves."

Harry laughs, a real laugh, and when they hang up and he tucks his phone back into his pocket before heading back to stage, he feels lighter than he did on the walked off it.

***

TWO MONTHS LATER ***

"Harry?"

He tears his eyes from the book he's reading on the couch, glancing toward the direction of where Rhea's voice came from. "Yeah baby?"

There's no response, making Harry sit up straighter on the couch, looking to see if he can spot his girlfriend in the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

"Nevermind," she calls back a moment later. Harry turns back to his book when he hears the water in the shower turn on.

He leans his head back against the pillow he has settled behind his head, letting his eyes drift to the large, open windows in the living room of his New York apartment. He's been off tour for almost two months now. He finally rented a place of his own in the city to be closer to Rhea, selling his property in Los Angeles. He's still getting used to the newness of this apartment.

It's snowing heavily outside. The city is blanketed in the type of snow that makes everything a bit quieter, a bit more delicate. Rhea helped him furnish his new home, insisting that he can't just have the bare minimum. "You never feel at home because you never take the time to make it a home while you're there," she'd insisted at the store as she held up two different lamp choices for him to pick from.

And so even though he finds himself at Rhea's every other day, he's made an effort to do what she suggested. His coffee table is full of books he's been meaning to read, but never got around to while on tour. He's got a mini studio set up, and from his spot on the couch, he can spot the familiar journal he's always writing away in balanced on the edge of his piano's keyboard. It's the third in a row Rhea's gifted to him over the years. Each one special, each one inscribed with a message on the bottom right of the inside cover.

In his kitchen, he has plates and cups and silverware. He cooks now, and leaves the takeout days for when he's at Rhea's. He's got photographs on the walls and art prints that he's carried around with him through the years. He's got an area for memories of his career, so far.

His record player and crate of records are here too, well-used and sitting on the granite in the kitchen. There are still boxes lining the front halls, full of various items of clothing he can't seem to let go of.

But, for now, it's home.

And it's not the four walls and the objects he owns that make it so. After years of bouncing around, growing up too fast, and never feeling truly settled he knows that home can be someone, rather than somewhere. He'd told Rhea as much when he'd shown up to her company's first gala what seems like forever ago.

His home is wherever she is.

The snow is falling in thick chunks now, and really, he can't call them flakes. Perhaps they're a number of them clumped together. Still, Harry's eyes trace the path of one such chunk, watching it stick to his window, and slide down in one melting rivulet.

He lets the book fall face down onto his bare chest. Despite the cold, the inside of his apartment is warm, and the fluffy blanket Rhea bought for the living room is wrapped around his bottom half. His eyes are starting to droop as the snow continues, the apartment silent aside from the water running.

They fly open sometime later when he hears a door shut down the hall. Harry presses a hand to the book on his chest as he turns his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Rhea's just pulled the door to the bedroom shut to keep the heat in, and she's headed to him with a knowing smile on her face.

The final dregs of sleep slowly drift away as Harry trails his eyes up her figure. She's wearing a ridiculously oversized, faded shirt of his. It's long-sleeved, and something she pulled out of one of the boxes. He used to wear it around his mum's house. Rhea's wearing long, cozy knee socks too and when she gets closer, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the fabric of them.

"You fell asleep," she murmurs, her voice soft like the snow piling outside.

"Mhm," Harry says, reaching for her with both hands. The book on his chest slides off without the support, flipping shut onto the couch. "Come here. You were in the shower forever."

Rhea laughs at him, softly, and she moves his book aside onto the coffee table before sinking down onto the couch next to him. Harry's not having it though, throwing the blanket off his body, grabbing onto her hips, and plopping her flat over his chest. This time, she laughs again, into his skin as he tugs the blanket over them both.

He wraps his arms around her body, holding her to him as he buries his nose in her hair. She's just cut it for the first time in a while, and now it hits just above her shoulders.

"You need to put a shirt on," Rhea murmurs into his sternum. "You're going to get cold."

"I have you to keep me warm" he responds, firmly, hiding his smile in her hair.

Rhea doesn't say anything to that, but she does snuggle in closer to him. Harry knows they should get up, make some food, and shake off the lazy day the weather has brought on. But he's so comfortable like this.

As they lie there, Harry detects a familiar scent, just the lingering of it. He sniffs her hair, wondering if he's just imagining things, but then he lifts his face and Rhea does too, looking at him in curiosity. "You sniffed me."

"Because..." he trails off, sniffing the air once more. His eyebrows push together, "Did you use my shaving cream?"

Rhea grins, sheepishly, "Yeah. Mine ran out. That's why I called you." She puts both her hands to his chest, one on top of the other, and rests her chin on top. "I think I need to start buying stuff in bulk because this keeps happening and I don't want to drag all my stuff back and forth, you know?"

Harry hums, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. It's happened to him before too at her place. He's left a bottle of product somewhere else and he's floundering until he gives in and buys another.

He brushes the back of his hand against the arch of her cheekbone, and the idea comes to him so easily. "You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't buy more stuff?" Rhea counters, confused.

"You shouldn't have to go back and forth," Harry clarifies after a swallow. His eyes bounce across her face. "You should just... stay put. With me."

Rhea sits up, slowly, straddling his hips. The blanket falls off her and Harry is greeted by cold air but he ignores it and puts his hands on her hips, watching her face.

"Harry, are you saying what I think you are?"

"Yes," he says, keeping his gaze connected to hers. "Move in with me. I want you with me, always," he continues. "You're my home."

Rhea's face is blank, and he wonders if he made the jump too fast, it's been a year since their Greece trip, since they made it official. But he's known her for so long. There is nothing he has been more certain about in the past decade. He wants Rhea for the rest of his life.

But then, like the sudden blizzard outside, her smile is blown in. Bright, brilliant. She's beaming, straddling him, and she leans down just as he leans up, both of them narrowly avoiding hitting the other. Rhea presses her hands to his cheeks, her forehead to his, and she nods, "I'd love to move in with you, baby."

"Yeah?" Harry whispers, stealing a kiss against the inside of her right palm. When she nods, he sits up, holding her body tight, tugging her impossibly closer until there's no space between their chests. He's cradling her head, kissing messily across her jaw and burying his face in her neck. "You want to live together?"

"You're my home too," Rhea says in response, her fingers in his curls.

Harry tilts his head back, his eyes full of light. He smiles at her, before putting his fingers on the back of her neck, and bringing her down into a full, heavy kiss. ***

"This is the last one, right?" Harry asks as he lifts a box into his arms.

Rhea turns, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm. She looks around the now empty living room of her apartment and nods. "I think so."

"I'll be back," he says, shooting her a smile as he heads out the door. Niall's downstairs on the street, helping them load stuff into the truck. They could've easily hired someone to help them, but something about this first step into the next phase of their lives together made Rhea and Harry want to do it all themselves.

Rhea wipes her hands against each other, slowly walking into the middle of her living room. This apartment — her apartment had been the first big purchase she'd ever made for herself. She's loved it so; from the wide windows of her living room that give way to the spectacular view of New York, to the comforting warmth of the fireplace on nights where she curled up with a glass of wine.

She put herself together again in this apartment, after she and Harry went their separate ways. She started and ran her business from it. She hosted dinner parties and made new friends and discovered a new version of herself here. In short she's liked who she became here. Who she built herself into.

And now, it's time to say goodbye, and while she couldn't be happier to move in with Harry, she's feeling a little nostalgic. This apartment was not only her home, but a place that helped her survive. She became sure of herself here.

Rhea walks over to the windows, looking out at the view one last time. She'd spent so many nights doing this exact thing.

Harry clears his throat from the pillar he's leaning against in the kitchen, making Rhea turn. He gives her a soft smile. She's wearing overalls, and a white t-shirt, and her hair is in a bun.

"I didn't hear you come back in," she says, walking to him.

Harry offers her a hand, pulling her to him when she's close enough, "Didn't want to interrupt you. Niall's driving the truck down to the other place."

"To home," Rhea corrects him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Home," Harry agrees, settling his chin on the top of her head. He rubs her back. "You want another few minutes, love? I know this place is important to you."

Rhea looks around the open floor plan apartment for a few moments, still squished against Harry. When they decided to move in together, they'd first thought of just using Rhea's apartment. But it felt wrong, and she'd insisted they pick a new place together. This apartment was part of an era they were on the cusp of leaving. And she'd wanted Harry's input. And after a few weeks of tours and searching and driving Harry's real estate agent nuts, they'd finally found a perfect place, one with stuff they both wanted.

"No," she says finally. "I'm ready." She tilts her head back and Harry gives her a soft kiss between her brows. "Let's go home."

Harry takes a step towards the door, his fingers linked through hers, and Rhea looks around her apartment one last time before she lets him lead her out the door, into the elevator, and out onto the street.

It's when they're in the car, his hand on her thigh, and driving away from the building that Rhea finally feels like the era she was living has finally come to an end.

***

There are boxes everywhere in the new place. His and hers — piled and stacked against walls, on the counters.

Niall's just left a few minutes before, after Rhea sent him home since he was yawning and rubbing at his back. Now it's just Harry and her, sitting on the floor of their new living room, a nearly empty pizza box between them.

"Do you want the kitchen or the living room?" She asks, tossing a crust into the box.

Harry reaches for her crust, taking a bite out of it as he leans back on one palm. "Baby we've been movin all day. Let's take a break."

Rhea sighs, giving him a gentle look. "We promised, one room a day each. Otherwise, we'll never get around to unpacking." She leans back on her own palms. "Plus, if we stop, we'll fall asleep."

Harry nods, finishing off the crust as he has with the others she's left. He wipes his hands over the box, "You're right, I'll do the living room."

She gives him a sleepy smile, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. Harry winces when he hears a popping sound, but Rhea walks over to him, bending down and kissing the top of his head before she heads to their kitchen.

Harry watches Rhea from his spot on the floor, privy to the kitchen because the furniture all gets here tomorrow. Their new place has dark wood floors throughout, an open floor plan, white gleaming granite countertops and gray cabinets.

There's a balcony, too, a fireplace in the living room, and long towering shelves in the office space. The bedroom has lots of natural light. There's room for Harry to record and Rhea to work. It's bare-bones now, but he knows, soon, it'll be home.

The only thing that's settled and ready is their bed frame and mattress — brought over from Rhea's and curtains on all their windows for privacy.

"I think I'm going to set up the cabinets the same way they were at mine," Rhea calls from the kitchen. Harry hears her pulling the tape from one of the boxes. "Is that okay? Or should we switch it up a bit?"

Harry stands, grabbing the pizza box and heading to the kitchen. Rhea is pulling mugs out of a box, the cabinet above their coffee maker open. He sets the box on the counter, the sound making her look up, and he brings his phone out of his pocket, scrolling as Rhea watches him.

"H?"

Harry lifts his eyes, giving her a smirk as he turns the volume up and sets his phone on the counter. The song's opening chords start playing, and Rhea's entire face softens. Harry steps toward her, gently taking the navy blue mug with "awake-ish" on it out of her hands and setting it on the counter.

"Organize it how you like, love," he mumbles, pulling Rhea into his arms. "But for now... will you dance with me?"

"Dance with you?" Rhea echoes incredulously, "I'm half asleep."

Harry grins, pulling her off to the side where their dining table will go, "It'll be fun then."

Shania Twain's voice echoes in the kitchen as Harry twirls her in a circle, making Rhea laugh. He brings her back to his chest, one hand around her waist, the other holding her free one as they sway.

"This," he mumbles quietly, nudging his nose against her jaw. "Is how we should christen the new apartment." He kisses the hinge of her jaw. "Among other ways, which we'll get to later," he promises, drifting his hand down her body, under her overalls, to rest warmly at the bottom of her spine.

Rhea, arms wrapped around his neck, hums in agreement. She steps closer, resting her head against his chest. The song is a sweeping, romantic ballad. One of their mutual favorites. "You're right," she says, closing her eyes and letting him guide them.

They sway, back and forth, her socks soft against the hardwood, his feet flat. His nose brushes her hairline, his fingers splay across her back. Hers wind in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Ain't nothin better, we beat the odds together

Harry remembers when he sang this song on stage not too long ago, thinking about Rhea, how fitting the lyrics were to their situation. He'd called her that night, cozied up in bed, and told her all about it.

And they had beaten the odds, hadn't they?

Because now, here they are, in their very first place together. It's all he's ever wanted and more.

"Baby," he murmurs, nudging his nose against her hairline. "Promise me something."

Rhea lifts her head, meeting his eyes, "Yeah?"

"That no matter what happens," Harry begins, "We'll always make time to dance in the kitchen. That we'll remember... what it means to be home."

The song thrums to an end, the ending lyrics echoing in the silence of their new home. I'm so glad we made it, look how far we've come, my baby.

"I promise," Rhea murmurs. "I'm so glad we made it," she admits, her voice soft, her eyes watery.

Harry grins, grabbing her chin, holding her still for a kiss. He pulls her closer, grappling for her. He's never felt more in love, more at ease. She's all his. Rhea mirrors his ferocity, clinging to him, standing on her tiptoes. Hair is falling from her bun, and it's cascading into his face, but even then he doesn't want to move.

It's only when the song changes on Harry's phone, transitioning into something catchier, with a bit more of a flair, that Rhea pulls away, her lips morphing into a smile against his. Harry reaches for her but Rhea twirls out of reach, "You never specified what kind of dancing."

She starts doing a little dance, shimmying, mimicking his own moves that he's so used to doing on the stage, and Harry lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. Rhea turns, moving to the beat of the song, and he surges forward, grabbing her around the waist. He throws her over his shoulder with ease, a hand coming down on her ass as he leads them to their new bedroom.

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

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#i just read this and holy shit i love them so much #my babies

floralguccistyles

Apr 13, 2022

fourteen: gallego girls, a year in the life

Besides some hungover mornings after blind drunken nights with Melody, I hadn’t woken up next to someone in a long time.

Given that someone was Harry, it made things even weirder.

We had fallen asleep pretty quickly, both of us tired from the events of the day. My cramps were still killing me, but it was bearable enough to not need the bottle of paracetamol in my nightstand drawer. This was good for two reasons. One, and the most obvious, was that I wasn’t in pain. The second reason was that I would have to reach over Harry’s body to reach it, and I wasn’t going to touch that complicated mess with a ten foot pole.

My side was warm where Harry pressed into it. He was still wearing his jeans and shirt, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty because of how uncomfortable he must have been. Still, it didn’t seem to affect his sleep much, because he was still silently snoring away, his mouth open in an adorable little pout as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. His body was all hard lines and muscle, but there was a softness there too. I blinked a couple times more, slowly adjusting to waking up, when he stirred beneath me.

“Morning,” he said groggily, his eyes still closed. I wanted to laugh, but the breath got caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” I mentioned. He slowly started waking up, moving around a little. It was then that I realized his arm was around my waist, something that must have happened earlier that night. If he was uncomfortable with it, he didn’t say anything. And he certainly didn’t move. “You?”

“Mm.” His voice was indiscernible. “You’re warm.”

He was too, incredibly so. I didn’t dare mention it. He must have been braver than me, speaking it out into existence. I didn’t want my thoughts to leave the bubble swirling around in my head.

His fingers were tracing patterns on my waist, too slight for me to notice what he was writing out. Then his voice, incredibly soft, filtered through my ears. “Will you…will you tell me about Cuba?”

Out of all the things he could have asked me, this was one I was expecting the least. “What?”

His fingers didn’t stop their slow perusal of my waist. “I just…it seems like it’s very important to you, but I never hear you talk about it.”

The fact that he picked up on it surprised me. Not even my parents knew about how much I regretted missing out on aspects of my culture. Melody knew, but only as of very recently, and didn’t quite know the depth of this longing that had plagued me for years.

Part of me wanted to snap at him, to hold this part of myself close to my chest and never let go, but I didn’t hear any animosity or judgment in his tone. He was simply curious. “I don’t know much. I was born and raised in Holmes Chapel. I’ve never even been to Cuba.”

“And that makes you sad.” It wasn’t a question. It was just another little fact he had noticed about me.

I nodded, and couldn’t help the urge to lean into his shoulder. I nearly bonked the top of my head onto his chin, but he just let out a little laugh and readjusted us so I could fit more comfortably.

“All I ever wanted was to feel more connected,” I admitted in a whisper, like if I spoke any louder, it wouldn’t come true. “My parents left all that behind when they moved to England. To them, it was a sacrifice they were willing to make. But I wanted so much to feel connected to this giant part of me that I knew nothing about. It’s why I love talking to my grandma so much. She’s like that little connection.”

“How often do you see her?” he asked.

“I’ve only seen her once. Too expensive and with AC, I don’t have enough time. But we call each other often. It’s a little hard with time differences, but we make it work. Usually I’ll call her after AC. We’re five hours ahead, so one in the morning for us is only eight for her.”

He thought about my answer for a little bit. “Would you ever want to go to Cuba to see her?”

“It’s my dream,” I said, nodding against his shoulder. “It’s just not feasible right now.”

He must have heard the defeat in my voice. His arm around my waist moved comfortingly to my arm and rubbed between my elbow and my shoulder. “You’ll make it happen. I know that for a fact.”

Hearing that he believed it could happen oddly made me feel better. “Thanks,” I replied. “For everything.”

He must have sensed I was talking about last night, too, and suddenly sat up in bed. “I’m going to make you some tea and get you those hand warmers.”

I laughed. “I have an actual heating pad in my bathroom. Though the hand warmers were much appreciated, the heating pad will work better.”

He nodded, taking his task very seriously. “Be right back,” he promised, and then in an action that surprised me just as much now as it had at the beach, pressed a kiss to my forehead and sprung out of my bed.

My body felt like it was floating. Like I was a balloon and someone had cut my string so I could just glide away into the sky. The breath caught again and my heart skipped a beat. What the hell was happening with me? It was just Harry.

Harry, who had been my worst nightmare in secondary school. Harry, who was trying so hard to make up for it. Harry, who had dragged me out of my house to meet John Williams and had thrown me a birthday party with dulce de leche cake. Harry, who had spent his entire night making sure I wouldn’t feel alone.

Moments later, he returned with my heating pad and a cup of tea. “I made myself a cup, too. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You owe me more tea,” I said mildly, no sting behind my words.

“There’s this amazing lemony tea from France that I get every time I’m there. I’ll buy you some next time.”

Sometimes, it was very easy to forget that Harry had been to more places than I could ever imagine. I couldn’t imagine being in France, standing near the Eiffel Tower and drinking the lemon tea he described. “Where’s your favorite place to go?”

He groaned and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “You’re gonna think it’s so dumb.”

“Harry, I’ve been out of England once, and it was to Scotland. I won’t think it’s dumb,” I reminded him.

“It’s nothing special, and compared to the places I’ve been, I know that… but it’s Washington.”

I blinked. The answer was so unexpected, I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly. “D.C.?”

“No, Washington State. They’ve got gorgeous state parks and they’re all so relaxing and peaceful. Every time I’ve been there, I haven’t been bothered by anyone. It’s nice.”

“Hm,” I hummed out, all at once surprised and not at all surprised by his answer. It both didn’t make any sense and made all the sense in the world. “I’m not sure I even know that much about Washington. When I think of the States, I think of the big ones. California, New York, Florida, all that.”

“Should you ever find yourself in the States, go to Washington.”

“Noted.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, just watching the sun filter through the room. “Have you…” I trailed off. He looked at me, the weight of those green eyes boring into me. “Have you been to Cuba?”

He didn’t say anything, but he nodded.

“And? Tell me about it. I want to know.”

“It’s…it’s gorgeous. Beautiful. I haven’t explored much of it, but from what I’ve seen, it’s amazing. There are these different colored buildings in Old Havana that I took about a million pictures of. The beaches are gorgeous. Mitch and I went swimming once. He tried to surf but he can’t surf for shit.”

I figured Mitch was someone who went on tour with him. I still hadn’t gotten any of his friends’ names down (besides Jeff and Glenne). There were just too many of them for me to keep up. “Can you show me pictures?” I asked gently.

He nodded, grabbing his phone from the nightstand table. He had his photos separated into albums by continent. The fact that he had been to all of them (bar Antarctica) was incredible to me. He pulled up a picture of the colorful buildings he was talking about, and it nearly took my breath away. Then there were a few of the beaches, a man and woman smiling. I assumed the man was Mitch, since Harry had just finished telling me about him.

“Who are they?” I asked, pointing to the people in the photo.

“Mitch and Sarah. Guitarist and drummer. People like them more than me.”

“Well, Mitch does have great hair.”

“I have great hair too!” he complained, scrolling through a couple more photos.

He explained some sites to me, pointing out things he thought I would like. Then we moved on to Argentina and Chile, slowly making our way through his camera roll. After South America was North America, and he showed me some of the parks in Washington he had talked about. I realized as I sat with him that I could easily do this all day and not be bored. He didn’t talk about these places like he was bragging he got to go to them. Anyone could tell he revered these places and was grateful for the opportunity.

We finished looking through his favorite pictures and he handed me a paracetamol when he noticed my face squishing in discomfort. I popped two in my mouth, swallowed them down with my tea, and moved the heating pad to a different part of my stomach.

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well,” he said a little hopelessly, as if he knew there was nothing he could do to help me.”

“‘S fine,” I mumbled, closing my eyes against the onslaught of cramps. “Usually only lasts four days or so.”

“I’ve got some stuff to do at the studio today, but I’ll come by tonight and make you some soup.”

“You don’t have to come by, Harry,” I argued, shaking my head. “I know you’re busy. How’s the album coming along?”

“You like broth based or cream based soups?” he asked, completely ignoring my question.

The idea of a cream based soup sitting so heavily in my stomach almost made me gag. “Broth, please.”

“Good. I’ll make us a really mild vegetable soup or something.”

I figured arguing with him was pointless, so I just smiled to myself. “Okay. Thanks, Harry.”

He just squeezed me to his side, acknowledging that he had heard me. We were able to lounge around for about ten more minutes before he had to go, his phone buzzing with text messages from people asking him where he was. I moved to stand and let him out, but he argued.

“Stay warm and comfortable,” he said, pushing on my shoulder gently to get me to return to my cocoon of blankets. “Do you have a key I can lock up behind me with?”

I nodded. “Underneath the little succulent outside. You can just use it when you come by later. Please text first, though. I don’t need to be thinking someone is breaking into my house.”

“I’ll text,” he promised, nodding seriously. Then, he smiled. “All goes well, maybe I’ll have another song for you to listen to soon.”

I was genuinely excited, because I had liked the Adore You one he had shown me. He said another quick goodbye and walked out of my room. I heard the faint sound of my front door locking shut behind him.

Replaying the night before in my mind didn’t bring me any clarification or knowledge on how we’d gotten there. All I knew was that I appreciated him staying with me and not leaving me alone. I moved the heating pad again and leaned back on my bed. It was still early, probably about eight in the morning, but there was no point in going back to sleep.

My phone pinged with a notification and I felt the grin come over my face. It was probably Harry asking something stupid or checking in on me, even though I’d only been out of his presence for thirty seconds at most. When I pulled my phone over to me (reaching over to my nightstand, which was not a good idea for my cramps), it wasn’t Harry’s name on my iMessage app, but rather an Instagram notification. To my personal Instagram and not AC’s.

My heart plummeted in my chest.

nathanpenrose has sent you a message request.

I hadn’t talked to Nathan Penrose since I’d graduated secondary school and left Holmes Chapel. I still discussed with Doctor Thorne some of the rude shit he’d said to me in the course of my schooling. I didn’t ever want to hear from him again, but here his name was on my phone.

He hadn’t just sent me a message request, but a follow request as well.

Can’t believe you’re dating Harry now. Crazy. We should all catch up sometime. Miss you guys.

I immediately deleted the message request and denied the follow.

Harry and I hadn’t been photographed in a month or two, but he still followed me on Instagram, which was probably fueling a lot of the dating rumors. I didn’t want to correct Nathan, simply because I never wanted to speak to Nathan again.

Go back to where you came from, I remembered him saying so cruelly. I’d been in my first year of school with him. We’d grown up together. He knew I’d been born in England.

I slammed my phone down on my nightstand and closed my eyes.

When I got the call from Melody, I was sitting on my bed, watching Gilmore Girls for the fourth time.

It had been a week since the night spent with Harry. Or, the nights spent with Harry. He had stayed the night the entire four days of my period, bringing me heating pads and tea and soup. I was a little embarrassed to admit that I had trouble sleeping without him now. He was so warm and it was nice just being held by someone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, returning to the present. I couldn’t get distracted by thoughts of Harry, especially not after what Melody had just told me. “Repeat that.”

“I said Trennan asked me on a date. And I said yes.”

“I thought we didn’t like Trennan?”

“No, we just thought Trennan was delightfully dumb. A himbo, if you will. But it turns out he’s really smart, just not motivated in this job. Which I know should be a turn off, but he’s trying to get a new job in publishing and he’s super passionate about that and every time he talks about it, I just find it quite sexy.”

“Alright, alright, so we like Trennan. What are you wearing?”

“Buy me dinner first, Petra.”

I rolled my eyes. “You numpty. What are you wearing tonight for your date?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it. Something that makes my boobs look good.”

“Melody,” I deadpanned, “your boobs always look good.”

“But I need something spectacular. Can you come and help me?”

“Is Derek there?” I hated going over there when Vera’s boyfriend was around. He was nice enough, but he’d hit on Melody more times than I could count and always stared at my boobs when I came over. I would say that Vera needed a new boyfriend, but Melody and I had tried to tell her once about how creepy he was and she didn’t seem to care.

“No, thank Christ. Vera’s over at his place today.”

“Then, yes, I’ll come. I’ll bring food too.”

“You’re a saint.”

By the time I picked up some personal pizzas and ordered an Uber to Melody’s house, we had less than two hours before Trennan was set to pick her up. Though this was plenty of time to get ready, it was not nearly enough time to talk Melody down from the ledge, which she was obviously balancing on very precariously when I walked through her front door. Cassandra was sitting on the couch, legs curled up underneath her and watching reruns of Jersey Shore while balancing a kale salad on her lap.

“Petra!” she exclaimed when I walked in, her bright eyes widening. “Do you have Harry’s autograph for me?”

“Shut up about Harry Styles! She’s helping me get ready,” Melody snapped at Cassandra. I wondered if Cassandra knew that Melody had been in the vicinity of Harry Styles at least five times now. In fact, he was even scared of her. I grinned at the thought as Melody tugged me to her room.

Melody was not one to make a disaster of her room, so instead of her clothes being strewn out in piles like my room would be if I were going on a date, she had her clothes hung on the hooks on her closet, facing forwards so we could assess.

“I don’t want it to look like it’s just another work outfit,” Melody complained. “And that’s what half my closet looks like.”

“We can make some staple pieces work,” I argued, shaking my head. Her three choices were a white collared shirt and a cute, flowy shirt. It looked semi-formal, but the collared shirt was too close to what she wore on a daily basis at work. Her next choice was a deep purple dress that was a halter neckline. It was cute. Her third option was a burgundy dress that was cut low enough for her to show some cleavage. “The red,” I said, pointing to it. “Wear those gold heels you have to make it look less like work. Nothing much on the eyes, maybe some tan shadow, and a dark red lip to match the dress. I’ll pick out your jewelry while you get started.”

“You’re an angel.” She grabbed the dress off the hanger and then reached in her closet to grab the gold heels I had mentioned. “Hair?”

“Down and curled, then run a brush through the curls to break them up.”

“Perfect.”

She moved to her bathroom (thank God she had her own. The flat only had two and Vera and Cassandra shared the other one) while I picked out some gold pieces of jewelry that would look good. “So, tell me more about Trennan. I was pretty shocked when you told me it was him that had asked you out.”

“I had no problem with him at first, other than the fact that he didn’t do his job correctly.” Her voice was a little muffled through the door between us, but I could keep up just fine. “But he’s just not passionate about this job. You should hear him talk about publishing, Petra. He’s so into it. And then he told me that he would sometimes mess up the paperwork so it would give him an excuse to talk to me. Which normally I would find so fucking annoying, but for some reason I found it endearing with him.” She opened the bathroom door and stepped out, looking nothing short of gorgeous in the dress. “And get this…when he asked me out, he brought me flowers.”

Melody, who knew how important the flowers were to me, knew how this would make me react. “Then you simply have to go on a date with him.”

“I know!” She turned, looking at herself in her full-length mirror. “Boobs?”

“Looking fantastic.”

“Good. I’m gonna start on my makeup.”

I thought about what Melody had said. It was pretty sexy when someone was passionate about something. And one day, the right person would think my passion for AC was attractive. And he’d bring my flowers and call me beautiful. He’d know all my favorite things and places, know what my dreams were.

“How have things been with Harry?” Melody asked. The door was open while she did her makeup, so I could hear her a little better.

“Good,” I replied. I hadn’t told him about Nathan Penrose and his request to follow me, but it wasn’t any information he needed to know. “Really good, actually. He has made up for secondary school in strides.”

“Good, good,” Melody said, a little distracted as she ran the curling iron through her hair. “Are you hanging out with him tonight?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been over the past four or so nights.”

“Well, if you don’t hang with him tonight,” she said, turning to look back at me, “keep that uncomfortable couch open. I’ll stay and give you all the details on my date.”

“Unless you decide you want to go home with Trennan.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Does he have his own place?”

“God, yes,” she said happily, “no roommates in sight. I actually wanted to tell you that…I think I’m moving out soon.”

This was news to me. Melody made a decent amount of money at her job, certainly enough for her to survive on her own. It was a mystery why she had lived with Vera and Cassandra for as long as she did. “Really?”

She nodded. “I was putting it off because I was scared, but I’m ready to be in my own place. The only thing is…”

When she trailed off, I knew what she was getting at. “Melody, you haven’t stayed with Vera and Cassandra just because you had excuses to come over to my place, right?”

She shrugged. “It’s just so easy to go to your place to get away from them. If I’m in my own place, I have no reason to leave.”

I moved over to her and threw my arm around her shoulder. “You can still come bother me whenever you want. Door is always open.”

“Thanks, Petra.”

We finished getting her ready and I left before Trennan got there. She would fill me in on all the details, anyway. She so lovingly paid for my Uber and in a matter of minutes I was back at my place, cooking some ramen and listening to Lorelai ask Luke to marry her.

My phone pinged.

Harry: What are you doing now? Want to hang out?

The smile that came over my face was instantaneous. I was unable to help it. I responded back with a quick yes, and he messaged back that he would be there soon. I quickly made more ramen, figuring he was probably hungry after some hours in the studio.

I thought about what Melody said, about why she was attracted to Trennan. He was passionate about his interests. I couldn’t help but compare him to Harry. I’d seen the hard work and love Harry poured into each and every one of his songs. I remembered the way his knuckles had turned white, gripping the arm of the chair as I listened to his new song and gave my thoughts on it. I hadn’t seen him interact much with fans, but I’d heard stories and they’d been nothing but positive encounters.

Trennan went out of his way to talk to Melody. Harry did the same for me. Though not to the extent of ruining his job (a little far there, Trennan), but he was always checking in and asking how my day was. He was thoughtful and kind and genuinely wanted to know how my days went.

And then there were the dreaded flowers. The things I wanted so badly because it had been such a staple in my parent’s relationship. My eyes wandered over to Benjamin, the cute little succulent Harry had gotten me, which was still going strong.

The knock on the door sounded just as my stomach tumbled into my feet. When I opened the door and saw him standing there, my mouth parted in surprise, terror, and amazement.

He was holding a giant lily, just a singular one, with waxy white petals and a yellow center.

“Vendor was selling these on my way there and I just thought this one was so pretty. Figured you’d like it.”

As he thrust the flower into my hand, my head and my heart knew.

Oh shit, they seemed to say simultaneously. We like this one. We like this boy.

I fancied Harry Styles.

#ac #1dff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

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