cant help but think if people see my header âsimple but significantâ, they may scoff and think itâs my attempt at being deep. when really, thatâs how someone once described the beef and broccoli to me at a restaurant and I just canât let that go
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
A/N: Thank you for being so patient with me! It's been an especially busy past few months for me. I love you all so much for sticking with me and this story! xoxo
Ch. 10 Word Count: 7.1k
Ch. 10 Warning: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and symptoms, implied threats, light emotional distress
. .
Harryâs hand rested warm over the swell of Y/n's hip, the two of them turned toward one another, face to face on the pillows as if the past days had not stood between them at all. They had made amends the night before in the most ancient fashion⊠with their bodies entwined, apologies and forgiveness spoken in sighs and shudders. Y/n could still feel the way he'd apologized when he lay between her legs, and his whiskers tickled and scratched at her inner thighs.
The chamber lay quiet as the grey winter light barely slipping through the curtains. The fire in the grate was all but ash, and the king had instructed Fred to hold his appointments until noon. He had no intention of sharing her yet, not after so many days without the warmth of her skin, the feel of her thighs parting beneath him, her lips breathless against his ear.
He was already halfway to that hunger again. His mouth found her breast, warm and bare, and he suckled her with the languid contentment of a man who had no need to rush. His tongue rolled gently over the peak, then suckled harder, lips closing firmly around it until her back arched and her fingers pulled at his hair.
She giggled when he nipped softly. "You are the devil," she said with a gasp.
"The devil you love, little mouse," he replied, voice muffled against her skin, and then sucked harder, drawing a soft moan from her lips.
"Mmm⊠The king has grown terribly wanton since last night. What would your ministers say if they knew youâd deferred council to bed your wife?"
"I have missed you," he said, his nose brushing lightly over hers when he lifted his face up, breath warm and steady. It sounded less like a confession and more like something torn from him at last. "They will wait."
Y/n closed her eyes as he pressed his mouth to hers. She felt the rough edge of his beard against her chin and cheeks as he kissed her again. She loved the feel of him, even so. Between her thighs, her mouth, her tummy, her breasts⊠all sensitive to the rough brush of his beard from the way he'd devoured her the evening prior.
His fingers shifted at her waist, stroking the bare skin down to her thigh, then tracing upward again, along the plush of her bottom. She opened to him, the parting of her lips a subtle invitation. It was all he required. The restraint heâd worn gave way in a single breath, as if her acquiescence had unlatched something deep in him. The control heâd been clinging to gave way to his deeper urges.
He slid his hand from her hip to the small of her back to draw her closer until there was no room for air between them. She smoothed her fingers up from his chest to his shoulder, then into the warm hair at his nape, feeling the little shiver that went through him when she did.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed, kisses turning heated and rough. "I don't know that I'll ever have enough of you."
She gave a quiet moan and rolled her hips against him. His member, already fully risen, throbbed against the curve of her abdomen. It pleased her beyond words to know that he still desired her, that he still found her worth this kind of admiration, despite everything she'd done. There was no greater relief than to be taken by him, a man who craved her. However, part of her doubted she could reach that trembling peak again so soon. He had already coaxed two sobbing climaxes from her the night prior. It wouldn't be possible again, would it?
And yet, as the king's hand wandered downward and slipped between her thighs, she felt the unmistakable heat of readiness. His fingers found her slick and wanting, the wetness gathering on his knuckles. She gasped aloud, half in disbelief, her eyes lowering to witness it. Her body, it seemed, had made up its own mind.
She had been told such things were impossible. That the marital act was for the husbandâs need and not the wifeâs pleasure. She had been warned it would be painful, distasteful, that she would learn to lie still and let her husband have what he needed. That it shouldn't take very long and that she should endure if she wanted God to bless her with a child.
But none of that had been true. At least not for her. Not with Harry. For every time he touched her, she found herself slick and open, her quim aching for him, her heart thudding like a trapped bird. Her legs parted when he approached her. Her mouth watered for his kiss. When his body pressed against hers, she did not resist. She yielded because it always felt so good⊠from the first time he touched her before they were married, to right then.
She still had to come to terms with what she'd been led to believe. Because now, with a little bit of experience behind her, she found that she enjoyed the act more than almost anything else in the world.
He smoothed a hand up her back, over the line of her spine, and then down again, lingering at the curve of her waist as he smirked at her. "It seems the queen is also quite wanton."
He pressed two fingers inside of her, and she arched her back, breasts pressing his chest as she panted. "The court would lose their minds if they knew the way the Queen wetted her King's fingers. So ready for me, mouse. So soft and warm."
"Oh, HarryâŠ"
He groaned at the sound of her. "Yes," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her breast as she gasped. "The court would faint dead away if they knew how their queen takes her king. If they heard the sounds you make when Iâm inside you, filling you to the hilt."
He drew his fingers from her dripping entrance and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a sound of approval. Then, bracing himself, he rolled her gently onto her back and followed her down, his body covering hers, the mattress dipping beneath their joined weight.
"I need more of you," he said, voice low and roughened as he raked his gaze over her bare body underneath him. "I cannot resist the way you feel, the way you soundâŠ" he dipped and kissed her chin and then her neck. "The way you taste."
He guided his thick cockhead to her opening, and her legs fell open wider, thighs parting to cradle his hips. She felt the broad, aching length of him press against her entrance, nudging, seeking. Then, with a slow thrust, he entered her.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the stretch, the deep, aching fullness. He pushed in until the whole of him was buried inside her, his hips flush against hers. Her body adjusted around him, snug and wet, muscles fluttering.
"Heaven above," he groaned, head tipping forward briefly, closing his eyes to savour the way her insides squeezed snugly around the whole length of him.
Her heart was filled to the brim by his praises as he pushed harder, the tip of his member carving through her end sharply until she hissed. The corner of his mouth twitched, the shadow of a smile there and then gone. His lips followed the line of her jaw, the hinge beneath her ear, the fragile, racing beat in her throat.
Her palms slid over the breadth of his back. He shivered, and the sound he made into the hollow of her throat was unguarded, almost boyish. She smiled at the way he reacted to just her touch, to the feel of his length encased by her.
"You undo me," he said.
"And you me," she answered, fingers tracing the scars and sinew.
She whimpered when he drew back and shoved forward, grasping at his back, nails pressing into his skin as he began to move. He withdrew, then thrust forward again, the rhythm careful but with purpose.
The friction sent sparks of pleasure darting through her spine. Her legs locked around his hips, keeping him close, deeper. He grunted softly at the feel of her tightening around him.
She opened her eyes to look up at him. His gaze already held hers, dark and intense as he drove into her.
"You are my heart, mouse," he whispered, lips brushing hers. "Do you know that?"
"Yes," she breathed.
The thrusts grew bolder. He found a rhythm with deep, rolling strokes that made her moan aloud, her back arching, hips rising to meet his. Each movement stoked the fire low in her belly. Their joined flesh was slick now, the sounds of it unholy, shameless, damp.
He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers above her head, pinning it gently to the pillow. With his free hand, he cupped her breast, thumb circling the peaked nipple, teasing it until she writhed beneath him. His mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, lavishing kisses between gasps.
The wood that held the bed together groaned under the movement. The sheets twisted beneath them as Y/n's limbs began to tremble, her breath coming in uneven, pleading gasps. His thrusts were steady, deep, each one seeming to reach further inside her, rubbing against a spot that sent bright, helpless shocks up her spine.
Harry felt the tremor in her thighs and growled low in his throat. "Thatâs it⊠let me feel you melt for me."
He shifted his weight subtly, angling his hips until she gasped, her nails dragging down his back. The sensation only spurred him on. He pressed closer, chest flush with hers, his breath hot against her cheek as he drove into her with slow, merciless strokes.
Her breasts brushed his chest with each movement, then he pushed up, eyes lidded as he looked down at her, heavy cock stuffed into her deep before he dipped down, his mouth sought a nipple, lips closing greedily around the rise of it as he thrust. She curved into him, offering more, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.
"HarryâohâHarry, pleaseâ"
Her plea dissolved into a soft sob as he suckled harder, tongue circling the peak, pulling at her until her back bowed. Her hips lifted to meet him, the wet slide of their bodies distinct in the quiet room. Every stroke filled the air with soft, sinful sounds⊠his low grunts, her breathy cries, the slick joining of their flesh.
He lifted his head, beard scraping gently over the curve of her breast as he kissed upward, slow and indulgent, still driving into her in languid, thick motions, until he reached her throat. He mouthed at the racing pulse there, teeth grazing lightly.
"I want you undone beneath me," he murmured against her skin. "I want your legs shaking again⊠your voice gone hoarse⊠I want all of you, mouse."
He lifted and sat back, throbbing member still buried, spreading her insides as he pulled her thighs over his. He slid his hand over her breast downward to her trembling stomach, until his thumb found the tender, aching bud nestled between her folds. He circled it gently at first, drawing a startled cry from her lips. Then he pressed more firmly, stroking in time with his thrusts, every movement deliberate and devastating.
Her body jolted beneath him, hips jerking in helpless response. She was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could work her to her end that way. She reached for his hand, panting as her body began to uncoil under him. "N-no, I cannotâHarry, it is too soonâ"
"Yes," he whispered, voice rough as he rocked in deep. "You can. As many times as your body wants. Open for me, my love, come for me."
Her head fell back, fingers gripping his hand with near-desperation as he rubbed her faster, the pleasure rising inside her so swiftly she could scarcely breathe. Each thrust drove the sensation higher, sharper, until she could do nothing but cling to him, legs shaking around his waist as the pressure built unbearably.
As good as he felt, what really had her unable to control her body was the way he looked above her, his hips thrusting, abs flexing, the line of sweat that dripped between the sparse hair on his pecs. Broad, thick chest, strong arms, soft pink lips held open as he trailed his jeweled green eyes from her face to her breasts, and down to the space he was filling her. He truly was every bit the vision of a king she could worship.
He moaned her name softly, the gushy sound of his girth sliding through her arousal only more noticeable with every stroke. He pulled at her hand and pressed it down to the bed as he leaned back over her, his pelvis hitting her clit. He kissed her open mouth, his tongue stroked hers languidly, contrasting the relentless rhythm of his hips.
Her thighs quivered violently around him, breath fractured, vision blurred. "Harry, oh! God, pleaseâ"
"Thatâs it," he groaned, mouth kissing at the edges of her lips as he circled his hips into her faster, firmer. "Let go for me. Let your king have you."
Her belly tightened, and her breath caught, then everything broke open inside her.
And when her climax came, it rushed through her like wildfire⊠an uncontrollable tide that tore her apart. She cried out beneath him, body clenching around his member, hips jerking. He grunted, hoarse and near wild, and thrust hard as his own release followed.
He spilled into her with a shudder, mouth pressed to hers, eyes shut as if the very sensation of it might undo him. His whole frame quaked, and for a long moment, he could do nothing but breathe and hold as he emptied himself inside of her in orgasmic throbs.
She could feel his hand still holding tight to hers, feel the way his arms shook, the way his heart pounded rapidly against her chest. He moaned a relieved sound against her cheek as he caught his breath.
He rolled them gently onto their sides, her leg draped over his hip, his twitching length still cradled inside her. The moisture between their legs was overwhelming. Just as it had been the night before. She was sure they were due for a bath.
They lay there, quiet, her fingers tangled in the damp curls at his nape. He kissed her brow, then her cheek, then the top of her head.
"That wasn't too much now, was it?" he asked softly.
She blinked at him and lifted her head to look at him. "I fear I've grown greedy for you. For the way it feels when we are together."
He smiled. "What is there to fear when the greed is born of love?"
She hummed, a hand sliding up to his shoulder. "I fear I will not have enough. That I will not be able to quell my urges for it. Like a boozer enslaved to his drink."
Running his nose along her cheek, he cradled the back of her head. "That does not sound like a bad predicament to me."
"But surely ignoring moderation is perilous. Covetous."
Harry puffed out the softest laugh, tracing a fingertip over her jaw. "Covetous... It is not abhorrent when it is your husband you are greedy for, mouse. I welcome my wife's gluttonous appetite."
She sighed and leaned in toward him, pressing her cheek to his clavicle. "I have never been so fulfilled in all my life. Clothing, food, comfort, warmth⊠It almost feels wrong."
Running a hand up her spine, he kissed the top of her head. "And you shall be fulfilled always. You are the queen of Thornekeep. You are my queen."
She lifted her head to kiss him, slow and sweet, then lay her head back upon his chest. His arm drew tight around her waist. It would take some getting used to, being called Queen. In moments like these, they were simply man and wife, tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure and reconciliation.
. .
The cold had settled in earnest by the time a week had passed, the kind of crisp winter cold that turned the breath visible and made teeth ache. Y/n drew her fur-lined cloak tighter as she stepped into the castle yard, Phoebe at her side, both of them bundled enough that the tips of their noses froze.
Behind them, Niall and another guard followed at the regulated distance. But Niallâs eyes kept darting toward Phoebe in that unmistakable way of a man trying not to be obvious. Y/n and Phoebe both noticed it.
She didnât dignify it with so much as a glance. "He keeps looking at me," she muttered under her breath, cheeks warming despite the cold. The soft smile on Phoebe's lips told Y/n she liked that the guard kept letting his gaze drift over her.
"Because you keep kissing him," Y/n said, nudging at her friend playfully.
Phoebe exhaled a scandalized little laugh and then whispered, "Do not say it out loud!"
"Do not worry. No one can hear us, and your secret is safe with me."
Phoebe groaned and kept her sight tilted toward the hedges as she spoke quietly. "He is quite good at it."
Y/nâs laugh burst bright into the air. No one knew what she and her lady-in-waiting were on about but as Phoebe caught Niall's gaze briefly, and she watched his cheeks pink, there was a momentary look of knowing about him.
Phoebe tugged her arm. "Come, tell me everything about your nights with the king. It seems you have been quite occupied by him since you reconciled."
The queen smiled. "He's gentle and loving."
"What else?" Phoebe pushed.
"There's nothing else to say that wouldn't have you fainting in shock," she said with a laugh.
Phoebe let out a defeated breath. "You promised. I have been waiting the entire week while youâve been floating about the castle like a love-struck lady in a poem."
Y/n pressed her gloved fingers to her warming cheek. "I am not floating."
"You are fluttering," Phoebe corrected. "Positively fluttering."
Y/n bit her lip, trying to smother the smile, but it pressed through anyway. "He has been⊠very generous and kind in bed."
"Kind," Phoebe repeated. "That is the word you choose?"
Y/n fixed her with a look. "We are not discussing particulars right here."
"Too bad. Look at you." Phoebe tugged her arm again. "You are glowing."
"And youâre being absurd."
Phoebe hummed. "Absurder things have happened than a Queen glowing after forgiveness and eight days of being thoroughlyâ"
"Phoebe!" Y/n laughed.
Phoebe only smirked, then leaned closer, voice lowering to something more thoughtful. "Truly⊠you do seem well again. Happier. I am glad of it."
Y/nâs breath misted in front of her. She looked out over the small orchard at the far end of the yard, bare branches scratching at the pale sky. "I am," she admitted softly. "It is much better to be on his good side."
Phoebe nudged her shoulder affectionately. "Then all is well."
They walked a little farther, letting the cold nip at their cheeks and the wind tug at their hoods. The silence between them was companionable until Phoebeâs voice broke it, light but sly.
"Have you had your courses yet this month?"
Y/n blinked. "My courses?"
Phoebe gave her a look. "I only ask because this month you have not yet summoned for any articles to help with it."
"WellâŠ" Y/n frowned slightly. "I⊠think not."
Phoebe nodded solemnly. "And your last bleed was early last month?"
"I donât know," Y/n insisted. "I lost my courses often before the wedding. Stress does that. And now, with everything that has happenedâ"
"Oh, heavens," Phoebe breathed, seizing her arm. "What if you are with child?"
Y/n felt her stomach swoop. "No, that is not certainâ"
Phoebe laughed. "Maybe not, but you have been in that bed near every night since your wedding, save for the few when Harry was not speaking to you. Do not tell me youâre surprised."
Y/n went stiff. "We cannot think that."
"Well, what am I to think?" Phoebe teased. "I see you at breakfast looking half-dazed, hair undone, and the King walking about the castle with the air of a man who has been⊠greatly restored."
Y/n covered her face with her gloved hands. "This is mortifying."
"And wonderful if true," Phoebe corrected.
Y/n lowered her hands and exhaled, breath clouding in the air. "I do not know yet. Truly. It could be nothing."
Phoebe softened, looping her arm through Y/nâs. "Then we shall wait and see. But if you areâŠ"
Y/nâs heart gave a hard, quiet pound. If she was⊠She pressed a hand to her middle without thinking. Phoebe noticed and smiled.
"Whatever comes, my Queen⊠you will not face it alone."
Y/n swallowed, eyes drifting toward the tallest tower where Harryâs study window looked out over the courtyard.
"No," she whispered. "I will not."
.
The warmth Y/n felt after the walk did not leave her, but it changed its structure as the day went on. By the time she returned to her chambers, there was a tight, humming awareness inside her that she couldnât quite pinpoint.
Phoebe helped her out of her cloak and set it over the chair. "Youâre quiet," she murmured.
Y/n brushed it off. "Just cold. And⊠perhaps I'm thinking too much."
But even as she said it, her hand drifted lightly toward her stomach again. She didn't know anything just yet, but the suggestion from Pheobe had wormed into her so deeply that she felt as though she could almost make out the stirring of something inside her.
The rest of the afternoon ticked by as slowly as time ever had. She tried to read but couldnât. Tried to write down her thoughts, but forgot halfway through the first paragraph what she wanted to say.
Finally, Phoebe, ever astute, stepped closer.
"Maâam," she said softly, "shall I send for the physician? Not to say anything for certain, only to⊠inquire."
Y/n hesitated. So many consequences hinged on her body now. On a clock she could not see. On a life she could not yet feel.
"Yes," she said. "Send for him. Quietly."
.
The old castle doctor, Dr. Holder, had recently been replaced by Dr. Alderton. He was an older man, mild of manner and much kinder than Dr. Holder, who'd kept insisting Y/n be checked for virginity before she wed the king. But Dr. Alderton had the air of someone who had seen every kind of worry a woman might have.
"Majesty," he greeted with a bow when he arrived. "How may I be of service?"
Phoebe stood by the door, hands clasped, silent but watchful. Hopeful.
Y/n kept her voice soft. "It is only that I have⊠missed a course. And I wish to know whether it signifies anything."
The physician nodded as if this was a question posed to him a hundred times a year, which it likely was. "May I ask when your last monthly bleeding occurred?" He stepped in closer, his examination bag still in his hand.
"The early days of last month," Y/n answered. "And before that, I was irregular. Often."
"Have you felt sickness upon waking? Lightness in the head? An ache in the lower back? Changes to appetite?"
Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. "No sickness," she said. "But I have felt⊠very tired the last few days."
"That is as common a sign of strain as it is of childbearing," he said gently. "And your recent ordeal in the square may have taxed your constitution."
She lowered her eyes. "Then there is no way to know yet? No exam to do?"
He shook his head. "No exam for now. There are signs I may watch for," he said. "But at this early stage, one cannot say with certainty. The body keeps its secrets until it no longer can. I would advise rest. Avoid undue exertion. AndâŠ" His voice softened. "Tell His Majesty. Should you be with child, caution is warranted."
Y/n nodded, folding her hands tightly together. "Thank you, Doctor."
He bowed and withdrew, leaving Phoebe and Y/n alone again.
Phoebe came closer, her face bright with soft hope. "Then we will wait and see. We shall not act prematurely. But I have a feeling, ma'am."
"No one knows. It is too soon," Y/n countered. "I might not be with child."
"But you might," Phoebe whispered.
Y/nâs stomach fluttered. She wasn't sure if it was from excitement or fear. "Yes," she admitted. "I⊠I might."
.
That evening, Harry entered as he always did. Like a man with the weight of work and duty on his mind, focused, composed. He removed his gloves and set them aside, loosening his collar, hanging his coat. Even still, he noticed her. He watched closely as he moved about.
"Youâre quiet," he said as he approached. "All day, youâve carried some thought. I could tell after supper. What is it?"
She stood near the fire, warming her hands as she looked at him while he wrestled his boots off his feet.
"I do not know how to say it⊠and there may be nothing to say," she answered.
"Y/n." His voice gentled. "Tell me."
She turned to him slowly. "I may be with child."
Harry went very still. Not a breath nor a blink. Only the soft flicker of concern in his expression, the slight parting of his lips as though heâd forgotten how to draw air.
He stepped across to her and took her hand in his. "May," he repeated, voice low. "May be?"
She nodded. "The physician cannot say yet. But I have missed a course. And I am⊠more tired than usual. And we have beenâ" She didn't let herself finish that sentence, but they were both more than aware of what she meant.
Harry lifted a hand to her cheek. "Are you unwell? Any pain? Any dizziness?"
"No," she whispered. "Nothing of concern."
Relief flashed through his eyes, and then worry. He pressed his palm over her cheek and traced her temple with his thumb. "If it is true⊠You must be careful. You must not walk alone. You must notâ"
"Harry," she said softly, placing a hand on his chest. "We do not yet know."
"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know what losing you would do to me."
Her heart clenched. "You will not lose me."
He cupped her face fully now, warm palms framing her cheeks. "Tell me the moment you feel anything unusual. Any sickness, any weakness, any pain."
"If I do, I will," she promised.
He kept his gaze on hers. "And promise me you will be very careful. Even if you may not be, we cannot chance it."
"Yes. Of course. I know. I will not be sneaking into a crowd to stop anymore hangings if that is your worry."
He huffed. "If there is a childâŠ" He swallowed hard. "It would be a great blessing."
Y/n felt her eyes warm. "I am unsettled but⊠excited. If it is true."
He kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then the soft corner of her mouth.
"And I will be both as well," he whispered. "Until we know."
. .
Two weeks later, things were starting to feel different around her. It wasnât drastic at first. Just a shift in how her mornings began. She'd become very aware of her body and every little thing that she felt, to the point that she was nearly convinced now that she was carrying the king's baby.
Y/n woke each day, for the past three, with the same subtle queasiness pooling low in her stomach, a shallow wave that rose and then ebbed. Not enough to bring her to her knees, but enough to make her press a hand to the mattress and breathe steady until the feeling passed.
Harry noticed before she'd even said a word. He sat down beside her on the bed, shirt open at the collar as he fastened his cufflinks. "Again?" he asked, voice gentle in the half-light.
"Only a little," she whispered.
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, the gesture so tender it might've been the cure to the way her stomach turned. "Sit a moment longer. Iâll have Phoebe bring a little bread."
"You fuss," she teased softly.
"I have cause to fuss." He looked her over with the concern of a loving husband, but then his expression lifted⊠a quiet brightening.
This was something new in his demeanor that she had never seen in him before. Not the heavy protectiveness heâd shown in the days after the scaffold, nor the restrained warmth of their reconciliation. This was something lighter. She might even describe him as spry as of late. A new kind of spark that she was learning to understand as him being hopeful for what was to come.
He tried to hide it behind a composed air, but it slipped through anyway. She saw it in the way he lingered at the door before leaving each morning, in the quiet little smile he fought whenever she touched her stomach absentmindedly, in the way he handled her differently.
"It is the third day of sickness, mouse. I will call for Dr. Alderton again."
She laid her hand on his knee and nodded. "Okay. We will see if he can say with certainty, but I have a feeling it is still too early."
"Your courses still have not come, you wake sick in the mornings, and last night you were faint after tea. Even if it's too early, I will insist."
Harry kissed her forehead and made his leave. Not long after he'd gone, Phoebe arrived with bread and hot tea that both soothed and filled Y/n's insides warmly. But more than the tea and the bread, her friend's presence comforted her thoroughly.
Before midday, the physician arrived with his satchel and a respectful bow as Phoebe let him in the room. "Majesty. You look well," he said.
"Do I?" Y/n said as she moved across the room toward the doctor.
He gestured politely. "If you would sit, I shall ask you a few questions."
Phoebe stood nearby, trying not to beam but failing. She kept her hands clutched at her back and her mouth sealed, but Y/n could see the strain it took for her to keep her composure. It was almost as if Phoebe were more excited about the prospect of Y/n's disposition than even she was.
The examination was modest and brief. He checked her pulse. Asked about her appetite. Felt lightly along the low curve of her abdomen with no more pressure than a butterflyâs touch. Questioned her about her courses, her sleep, her morning spells.
When he finished, he stepped back with a small, warm smile. "It is early, Majesty," he said. "But all signs are consistent with childbearing."
Y/n felt her breath leave her, even though she already felt the delicate changes in her body and was certain of it by then. Still, to hear of it from the doctor felt very final. As exciting as the news was, it was equally scary.
The physician continued, gentle but firm. "You must rest often. Avoid sudden exertion, but take a bit of fresh air daily if you can manage it. Light but frequent meals are best. Steeped ginger for nausea and warm compresses if discomfort grows."
Y/n nodded, dazed. "Thank you."
When he left, Phoebe threw her arms around her with a giddy little squeak. This was something a lady-in-waiting should not do, but friendship outranked etiquette in the privacy of those chambers. Y/n welcomed her friend's cheer and love openly.
"Oh, maâam," Phoebe breathed, "a child. You will give the king an heir."
Y/n held her, blinking against sudden hot tears. Her heart felt full and wild and terrified all at once.
"I suppose I will."
"Wait until His Majesty hears," Phoebe whispered. "He will be beside himself."
.
When the news found Harry, thanks to Phoebe, he felt faint in the head but overwhelmed with something deeper and more severe. He was excited yes, but this meant that he would have to ensure his Queen's protection even more now than ever. Not only was childbearing already a very dangerous thing to endure, if she was not given the proper care she could succumb and his chances of losing her were greater now than they ever had been.
Harry returned early that evening, which was a rare thing. He entered the room with a pace too swift to be casual and crossed to her where she sat.
"Phoebe sent word," he said. "Tell me."
Y/n rose from the settee slowly. "He believes I am with child."
For a moment, Harry stared at her like a man whose entire world had shifted at once. Her husband, the king of Thornekeep, was visibly shaken.
Then he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her mouth so softly and breathlessly that Y/n could feel every emotion he held inside.
He pulled back only enough to look into her eyes. "Are you well? Any pain now? Any dizziness?"
"No," she whispered. "Just⊠a little tired and sick in the mornings, as you know."
He exhaled deeply and rested his brow against hers. "I have never prayed for anything," he murmured, voice breaking quietly. "But I pray that you are kept well and healthy. I will do everything I can to ensure it."
Her heart pulled tight in her chest.
"Hush," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Once again you fuss. Everything is okay right now."
"We will make it well," he said fiercely, quietly, as though vowing it against the entire world. "I will double the guard again. No stranger comes within ten paces of you. You do not walk alone, not even in the garden. I will have Niall stay with you as well as theâ"
"Harryâ"
He shook his head. "I will not risk you. Not now. Not ever."
She let him hold her, feeling his joy radiate through the tension and fear that lived side by side in him. He rested a hand over her stomach and smiled at her.
"We will endure this together," he whispered.
Then he swallowed and his shoulders loosened just slightly before he continued. "I am so very happy, my love. This news changes our course forever, but I am ready for it."
Her eyes stung as she nodded at him and then wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his chest. She felt the same. The news was joyous, but unsettling at once. She closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer of thanks to God.
.
The castle did not know, not officially. But rumors had a tendency to spread all on their own in Thornekeep. Maids and servants were always watching, listening, paying too much attention to things they shouldn't when their days grew long and boring.
By the week following, whispers moved through the corridors like drafts. She heard bits and pieces. Some were happy of the news, others were not.
Doctor Alderton was with her near an hourâŠ
If she gives him a child, the realm is lost.
What joyful news!
And that afternoon, Y/n did not mean to overhear the men when she neared the upper-floor chamber with Niall at her back. Normally the doors were closed for privacy in the old solar when anyone gathered inside, but right then, the doors were open when she caught the tail end of a hushed conversation that came from the room.
"âŠand if she gives him an heir, the king will be undone."
Y/n paused, not turning to look back at Niall as she listened closer.
"There are those who wonât allow it."
She took a breath and then continued toward the keep to view the kingdom from the topmost floor, as had been her intention before she heard them. The men fell silent as she passed, unaware sheâd heard a word. But ice slid from her spine to her ribs.
Niall noticed her falter. "Majesty, are you okay?"
She straightened at once. "It is nothing."
But it was not nothing. The words had her rattled. She'd barely fallen pregnant, and men were already plotting her unborn child's demise.
She kept walking, every step echoing with the words she could not unhear.
If she gives him a child, the realm is lost⊠There are those who wonât allow it.
.
It had become the new routine for the king to retire to his chambers early every night, no matter how much work he had to attend to . There was no question to his men why he insisted on making his leave like that, and to Harry it was the only thing that made sense. While he trusted the guards he'd placed at the door to protect her, he preferred to see to it himself, with his own eyes, that she was okay.
And like every evening since he'd learned of the doctor's report, he had been doting with gentle hands at the small of her back, asking her more than once how she was feeling, offering to bring her fruit, and arranging extra pillows without being asked. But now, as she sat on the edge of the bed smoothing her nightgown over her knees, he watched her with a careful look.
"Youâre quiet," he said at last. His voice held only concern threaded with exhaustion. "More than before. Something sits upon you."
"It is nothing," she said, drawing the covers back.
Harry exhaled a soft breath at the idea of her suffering alone. He crossed the room, extinguished the last lamp, and climbed into bed beside her. The feather mattress dipped under his weight, and then his hand found hers beneath the blankets.
"Mouse," he said quietly. "I know when you keep something from me. Please tell me."
She shook her head. "It will only trouble you. It is not a matter of urgency."
He shifted, pressing closer. "Then you must speak it all the more. Trouble me, if that is what truth requires."
His insistence dissolved the last of her resistance. She couldn't hide things from him, especially when worry was written all over her face like that. Truly, she hadn't wanted to repeat the words she'd heard earlier in the day, mostly because she didn't want to think of it. But she couldn't get the voices out of her head no matter how hard she tried to push them away.
"I heard something today," she said. "Voices in the old solar. Men speaking about me."
Harry's brows pulled together as he shifted, eyes focused on her face as she spoke.
She continued. "They said⊠if I give you an heir, the realm will be lost. And that there are people who wonât allow it."
Harry was silent for a long moment as he let her words sink in. His hand tightened around hers in a bristling, controlled fury she could feel in the tremor of his breath. He worked his jaw and his breaths slowly grew more rapid.
"Who?" he asked, voice low and angry.
"I donât know," she said quickly. "But Niall was with me and he should know who stood in that chamber."
Harry sat up, only a little, but the movement was taut. He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw hardening, grinding, the undaunted king rising in him like heat from a flame that'd been freshly stoked.
Y/n reached for him at once, pressing her palm to his chest. "Harry," she said, "do not let fear take you. I am protected. I am safe."
He looked down at her. His eyes were fierce, shadowed, and aching with something almost violent. And then, with solemn slowness, he lifted the edge of her nightgown. His hand slipped beneath the linen and rested warm and secure over her lower belly where their baby would soon grow.
Harry bowed his head, lips brushing her temple as he murmured, "You and this childâ" He paused and swallowed, tracing a thumb over her skin as he spoke. "I will guard you myself if I must. I will not allow any hand, any threat, any whisper to come near either of you."
"You are acting as if these men could reach me. All these guards, Phoebe, you⊠It is not possible for harm to come." Even as the words left her, she didn't know that she truly believed it herself, but she needed to calm her husband so that he didn't work himself into a dither.
"No." His tone was quiet and absolute. "Listen to me. There is no one in this world⊠no crown, no realm, no council more important to me than you. And now this small life we may have made." His fingers stroked lightly over her skin. "If anyone wishes you harm, they will not leave these walls alive. I swear that upon my name."
She felt tears sting her eyes. "You are frightening when you speak so."
"You are everything I fear losing," he answered simply.
She pressed her hand over his, fingers threading with his own over the gentle curve of her abdomen. "We will be cautious. We will be careful. But do not become consumed by this because I need peace, husband. Promise me that much."
His breath eased and after a long moment, he nodded and settled back beside her, gathering her into his arms without releasing her stomach from beneath his palm. She curled into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
They lay quietly, entwined, held safe against the dark as snow began to whisper at the windowpanes. Neither could predict the future, but Harry would see to it that his wife remained unharmed.
Harry kissed the top of her head. "Sleep, my mouse," he whispered softly. "I have you."
"And I you," she whispered back, eyes closing as she brushed her palm over his chest, adoring how warm and solid he was. She'd never felt so safe and loved as she did when she was in his arms that way.
His hand stayed over her womb as their breathing steadied into the same rhythm, their bodies pressed close, their fears and their joy folded into one shared warmth. And as the fire sank to embers, Y/n let herself rest against him, despite the realm outside their chamber doors already whispering of the heir who might change everything.
. .
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Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.
Ch. 9 Word Count: 8k
Ch. 9 Warning: Angst; mentions of treason, poisoning, political unrest, and mob violence; domestic conflict.
. .
Y/n couldn't help but notice the distance that had taken root between them in the days following the spectacle sheâd caused. She had known he would be angry for a moment. What husband, what king, would not be? But she had not imagined the quiet. His silence was worse than fury. It was polite, unbroken, heavy as the frost on the ground.
He was not cruel and he did not raise his voice. He did not snap nor sneer. But she could feel his resentment in the way he wouldn't look at her directly, in the way his replies came trimmed and tidy, leaving no room for warmth. When he walked into a room, she felt the air change. When he left, the silence he took with him seemed to close around her throat.
He came to bed late now, long after she had turned to her side and feigned sleep, though she would always stir when he slipped beneath the covers. He no longer reached for her. The mattress dipped, the blankets shifted, and that was all. At dawn, she would wake to the careful step of boots on the floor before hearing the latch of the door closing as he left her alone. Her husband had become a ghost that haunted the edges of her life.
Once again, that morning, she found herself alone in the breakfast room, the fire kept dutifully bright by servants. The table had been laid for two, but only one plate was disturbed. A thin curl of steam rose from the second teacup, untouched. She stirred her tea slowly, watching the small whirlpool sink into the porcelain.
When he finally entered, he looked every inch the King. He wore a black doublet, the collar starched, and the kind of composure that could cut stone. He nodded in greeting, eyes flicking past her as though she were another figure in the room.
âYouâve an early council?â she asked, voice quiet.
âA long one,â he said, taking the far seat. His tone was mild, careful.
She nodded and cut her bread, though she had no appetite. âWill you dine here this evening?â
âI do not yet know.â
For the last few days it had been I do not yet know. The phrase had become a wall.
She tried again, softer. âI thought perhaps we might speakââ
âI will be late,â he said, reaching for his gloves. âDo not wait up.â
Her knife slipped against the plate and made a small, sharp sound. âI rarely have the chance,â she whispered.
If he heard, he gave no sign as he rose, smoothed the cuff of his sleeve, and inclined his head as if she were a visiting dignitary rather than his wife. âMajesty.â
âMajesty,â she echoed, her mouth dry.
When he left, the room seemed to open up again, and she could breathe. She sat there for a long time, staring at the space he had vacated. Was what she'd done so bad that he could not even speak to her now? She bit down the dread and restlessness in her and stood from her chair to take a walk through the garden and clear her mind.
She knew the paths in the yard well by now and appreciated the cold breeze at her cheeks that served as the tiniest distraction from her inner turmoil. The sky was gray with the threat of rain, and the tidy shrubs smelled of damp earth. Her second guard followed at a respectful distance, a new addition since the square incident. The sound of his boots behind her reminded her with every step that she was never truly alone.
She paused near the fountain, watching the water shiver under the wind. How strange it felt to be a queen and still so small in her own life. She had stopped a hanging, and yet she could not summon a husbandâs gaze.
A voice broke through her thoughts. âMajesty?â
It was Niall. He stood a few paces back, helm tucked under one arm with an unreadable expression. âWould you like the carriage brought round? The clouds are turning.â
âNo,â she said. âI prefer the walk.â
He hesitated. âAs you wish.â
Y/n drew her cloak tighter and kept walking. The roses had begun to die back for winter, their scent gone faint and sour. She thought of the people who had stood in the square, of the voices that had risen around her. Some in awe, some in anger. She wondered how many of them still cursed her name.
At the end of the garden path stood the west corridor, its tall windows fogged with condensation. She pressed her palm against the glass and watched her print form before she turned in time to see Harry crossing the courtyard, cloak snapping in the wind. Even from her distance, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved like a man walking through invisible chains.
She almost called out. But instead, she watched until he disappeared through the outer arch, swallowed by gray daylight.
When the rain had come she returned to her room and took tea alone. The servants lit the fire and then withdrew. Her book lay open on the table beside her, unread. She was too anxious to read it.
She traced the rim of her cup with a finger and thought of his hands⊠the hands that had trembled when he spoke of losing her, that had once reached across the dark for her. She had thought mercy would make him proud of her. Instead, it had driven him from her.
Y/n had never imagined that she would feel this way about a man she once held in such bitter contempt. At one time, she thought of him as a vile man and hoped she would not often have to be around him. She thought that their marriage would be for show and that she would only have to attend her duties when called, and that would've been fine with her. But now? She wanted more of him than that now that she'd learned who he really was under his fine dress. He wasn't just a cold and rotten man like everyone said. He had a heart, and he'd been warm toward her. He'd protected her and looked at her like she was a special gift.
Clutching a hand to her heart, she frowned. It would have been so much easier if she still thought him an awful devil. It would have been easier if he hadn't been so tender and loving with her. Her world no longer felt steadfast. She wasn't sure it ever would again.
.
The rain was still falling after noon time, a fine, needling drizzle that turned the flagstones slick as the chilled air froze the dampness. Y/n walked through the West Wing of the castle with a purpose she did not entirely possess, the hem of her gown lifted just enough to keep from tripping, her new guard and Niall both keeping pace a few steps behind.
âCaptain,â she said without turning, âwhere is His Majesty?â
Niall did not pretend to misunderstand. âThe south gallery, Majesty. With the factors from the river wharves.â He hesitated, then added, âA light sitting, ledgers and tariffs.â
âThank you,â she said, and reached the end of the corridor with a hand already out for the latch, her mind made up. The Ledgers could bear interruption. She could no longer wait for her husband to speak to her. She needed him to cede his thoughts to her at once. The silence was no longer tolerable.
The south gallery had been built to allow for as much sunlight as possible with soaring windows and high ceilings. It was a long room paneled in pale oak, the carved heads of past kings peering down from the cornices.
When she entered, she observed that a small table had been pulled to the center, and around it stood four men in plain coats with ledgers open, their hats held respectfully against their chests. Harry was there at the head of the table, sleeves turned back just enough to keep ink from his cuffs, his hair still carrying a trace of rain as if he'd only just gotten to the meeting moments before she arrived.
He saw her almost at once, though his face did not change. The others in the room turned toward her like weathervanes, bowing in a dutiful ripple.
âMajesty,â a few murmured.
Y/n stepped into the room with her head high and her hands steady at her sides, even though she felt like falling to her knees in tears. âForgive me,â she said. âI require a word.â
Harry set his pen aside. âGentlemen, we will adjourn.â
The factors retreated quickly, passing her by with stiff bows before leaving Harry and Y/n alone together in the room.
He remained where he stood, as if there were a drawn line between them, with his hands clasped behind him, the picture of composure. âWhat is it you require?â he asked. âBe brief.â
âI require my husband,â she said, before she lost her nerve. âThe one who used to speak to me.â
âI have spoken.â
âAs a king to a petitioner,â she returned, and the edge beneath her composure showed as her heart raced. âI am not your petitioner. I am your wife.â
His gaze flicked to the windows and back, as if it were a heavy thing to receive her words directly. "Perhaps petitioners are safer."
Her pulse jumped. âSafe is not the same as silent. You have been avoiding me.â
âI have been occupied.â
âWith what? The ledgers? Those men who just left us?â She took a breath and steadied herself. âYou have not looked at me. You have not touched me. You lie yourself in our bed as if the whole length of it were a ditch between us. What sin is it you find so great that you must treat me as nothing?â
He took up the pen and set it down again. âThe sin,â he said, and the word was dry as paper, âis not unknown to you.â
âI know what I did and what I meant to do,â she said. âI meant to act for mercy.â
âThen we have very different definitions of mercy.â He moved toward the window.
The rain outside thickened, pattering against the glass as if it could feel the tension rising within the room. Y/nâs fingers knotted together. âHarry, please look at me.â
He slowly lifted his gaze. And in his look was something colder than angerâŠdisappointment, and restraint. âYou put yourself before a crowd when I told you not to. You made me a spectacle. I cannot discuss that here.â
âWhy not? You discuss tariffs and taxes hereââ
He cut her off. âBecause tariffs do not seek approval of the public in defiance of me."
The words struck her hard. She swallowed and felt her throat tighten. âThen tell me when you will speak to me, so that I may prepare myself for being scolded like a child.â
He stepped from the window to the table, collecting the dropped quill, setting it neatly beside the inkstand. Everything he touched seemed to quiet beneath his hand. Part of her wished he'd throw the inkpot and make a scene just so he would finally talk.
âNot here,â he said.
She blinked. âPardon?â
He looked up fully this time. âNot here, Y/n. Not while the walls have ears.â
âWhen, then?â
He briefly closed his eyes and took a breath, like she was a boil he could not get rid of. Like it took strength for him to speak to her at all in that moment. Like the very notion of having to converse with her was a torture he didn't wish to endure. âTonight.â
âTonight,â she repeated, hearing the warning beneath it. âVery well.â
He inclined his head in something like a bow, polite to the point of cruelty. âVery well.â
She hesitated. The air between them thin and almost breakable. âHarryâŠâ
He stopped halfway to the door.
âI am still the same woman,â she said softly. âThe one you held that morning.â
He turned just enough for her to see the muscle move in his jaw. âThat morning,â he said, âI thought you knew better. I was mistaken in how naive you really are, and that is my error.â
Then he was gone.
She stood long enough to hear the muted rhythm of rain against the windows as it softened and slowed again. She had a new understanding now of Harry's anger. He felt that she'd defied him directly, even though that had not been her purpose. Had she truly been so naive?
When she stepped out of the room, Niall was there at his post, and he straightened.
âMajesty.â
âCaptain.â She kept her chin high, though her voice was thin. âI will return to my chambers now.â
He nodded. âAs you wish.â
She started down the hall, her guards behind her. The opulent corridors and rooms that wound through the castle had seemed to have lost their luster as her mind repeated the encounter with the king. She wondered to herself if she had known that he would be so displeased, would she still have gone through with her actions? She thought she had done a good thing, something that would show the people of the kingdom that Harry was a King with mercy in his heart and that the Queen was no milksop.
Y/n was beginning to realize that even with good intentions, her husband saw her deeds as ignorant and haughty. Perhaps she still had much to learn.
.
Y/n tried to read but couldn't keep to a line. The same sentence slid past her three times without taking. She shut the book and sat it on her knees. The chamber was tidy and warm, but she couldn't help but feel the atmosphere around her threatening and oppressive⊠waiting for the evening to fall.
Phoebe folded a length of fresh linen with neat corners at the table. She watched her friend closely, seeing that she had something on her mind. "You may speak freely with me if you wish, ma'am."
The queen shifted her gaze to Phoebe as if she needed a moment to decide how to say what she needed. Because Y/n did want to speak to her friend about her troubles. She didn't have many she could do that with.
âI cannot bear this quiet,â Y/n said at last.
Phoebe set the linen aside. âShall I open a shutter?â
âNo,â she answered. âIt is not the room.â She rubbed at the bridge of her nose and lowered her hands with a sigh. âIt is me. It is the king.â
Phoebe paused her hands, setting her full attention on Y/n now. âWhat troubles you?â
âHe has not spoken to me properly since the square,â Y/n said. âNot really. He is⊠polite to me the way one is to a stranger brought to dinner. He comes to bed late, he leaves early, and when he looks in my direction, he looks past me, as if I were air. I thought if I did the right thing, he would be proud. I thought he would see me and think, there is my wife, brave and kind.â She tried to laugh but could not. âInstead, I have turned into a nuisance and an ignoramus.â
Phoebeâs expression softened with sympathy. âI believe you frightened him,â she said gently. âYou frightened me as well. I was truly worried for you. Some whispered that you'd be charged with treason.â
Y/n blinked at Phoebe. "Treason? I had not thoughtâŠ" She shook her head, fighting the sting of tears. "I did not mean to frighten anyone. Forgive me, Phoebe."
"You need not ask forgiveness from me. I know your heart and I know you did what you thought you had to. You are too good for the people of this kingdom. Your mercifulness did not go unnoticed by me, but that does not mean others think highly of your actions."
Y/n stared into the fire. âI went to him to talk earlier, and he told me we would speak tonight. He said it as if he meant to put the whole matter on a table and cut it open at once.â She set the book aside and pressed her palms to her skirts to stop the restless movement of her legs. âI have never wanted a thing and dreaded it in the same breath as much as I do to finally hear what he means to say to me."
Phoebe nodded. âHe may be incensed right now, but soon he will soften again. If I can see your heart in this, then I believe he can as well. You are too precious to him. His silence is temporary. I cannot fathom that he will remain so cold for much longer.â
Y/n glanced up at her and gave a rueful smile. âI do hope that he speaks to me his mind tonight. I would rather a spar than another day of his silence.â
âA spar? My Queen, so dramatic!â Phoebe said with a laugh, and for a moment, they both smiled like the girls they had been. "You know as well as I do that he would not lay a finger on you in that way. You are his little mouse. That has not changed."
The small ease broke, and Y/nâs thoughts returned to the square. The rope. The faces. The sound she had made when she said stop. âI feel as though I've made a grave error. He said I was naive, and I believe he is right. I do not know what I am doing anymore."
Phoebe nodded. âYou will learn. Your queenship is in its infancy. You've barely just wed the king."
âThen we should be acting as such. I feel I've hardly had a chance to learn him and he already hates me."
âHe does not hate you,â Phoebe said, âhe is a man and you have threatened his pride by going against his word.â She lifted a brow. âTonight you two will make amends and tomorrow I'll find you aglow and at ease after a littleâŠ" She glanced toward the door and then leaned in, speaking quietly, "blanket hornipipe.â
Y/n breathed out a laugh. âBlanket hornâ⊠Phoebe!â She covered her mouth, scandalized.
The girls both laughed as Phoebe then sat beside her on the small settee and took Y/n's hand. âMay I say a thing you will not like?â
âYou must.â
âI was not only frightened for you,â she said. âI was frightened for myself as well. The consequences.â
Y/n turned to her at once. âI know. I am sorry.â The apology came quickly. âI made you help me, and I should not have.â
âYou did not make me,â Phoebe said. âYou asked, and I chose. But I chose with my heart beating out of time. And afterââ She stopped, swallowed, and finished in a steadier tone. âAfter, I was taken to task.â
Y/n stilled. âBy whom?â
âThe steward and the Master of Household.â She made a small face. âThe steward said I had let your friendship turn my head. The Master said I had forgotten my place. He told me to remember my motherâs wages and my fatherâs back. He was very grand about it.â
A hot, helpless anger pricked behind Y/nâs eyes. âHe will regret saying such things to you when it was my fault,â she said, low.
âIt is done. Words do not draw blood unless we let them.â She hesitated. âBut there was worse.â
Y/n steadied herself. âTell me.â
âCaptain Niall was nearly dismissed.â
The words landed plain and heavy. Y/n blinked. âDismissed,â she repeated.
âHe left his post at your request,â Phoebe said. âIt does not matter that I opened the service door. He should have stopped me. He should have barred you. That is what they said. He went before the Master of the Guard and was told to pack his things.â She paused, studying Y/nâs face. âThe King intervened. He was firm with the Master. He said the fault was shared and the Captain would remain. The Master did not like it, but he obeyed.â
Y/n set a hand to the edge of the chair as if the room had moved. âHe did that?" She could hardly believe Harry had stepped in for Niall that way. "If the king had not spokenââ
âThen Niall would be on the road by now,â Phoebe said. âWith no post and no hope of one in Thornekeep again.â
The quiet that followed did not feel like the earlier quiet. It had flesh and weight, and it sat between them like a third person. Y/n found she could not trust her voice for a moment. She swallowed and tried again. âI did not see the price. I did not even look at the purse. I've been a fool.â
Phoebe folded her hands. âYou looked at the rope,â she said simply. âYou sought mercy, but you did not look at the steps that led to it.â
Y/n bowed her head, then lifted it. âAre you angry with me?â
Phoebe considered. âNever,â she said. âThen I was frightened for you. I am no longer frightened, but I am tired.â She offered a small, crooked smile. âAnd I do not like being scolded by men who think a small title and a key ring makes them kings.â
Y/n reached for her hand and squeezed it. âNor do I.â She drew breath and let it out slowly. âDid Harry scold you?â
âNot as the others did,â Phoebe said. âHe told me if I ever kept you from the guardâs side again, he would see me sent to my mother with a letter that called me a fool. He said it kindly and made it sound like a mercy. Then he told the steward to keep his voice out of my face or he would be removed from his post.â
Y/n pressed her fingers to her mouth, a sound barely escaping, like a laugh with no joy in it. âHe frightens and protects in the same breath.â
âHe does,â Phoebe said. âBut hear me, please.â She held Y/nâs gaze. âHe spared us because you are his wife and he adores you.â
Y/n did not smile or gush at that. Her expression went still. The truth did not warm her, rather, it sobered her. âThen my mercy rode on his favor,â she said. âIf he did not feel so kindly toward me, others would have paid, and if treason were on the table as you said, then I with my life."
Phoebeâs hand tightened on hers. âMa'amââ
âNo,â Y/n said. âLet me say it.â She stared down at their hands, hers jeweled, Phoebeâs plain, and felt the difference like a lesson. âI would have stopped the hangings again if given another moment. I would. I still believe it was the right thing. But I would not have done it that way. Not through a side door and a lie. Not with you between me and the scolding. Not with Niallâs post set on the table like a coin.â
Phoebe nodded. âThen you have learned the castleâs sums.â
Y/n gave a small huff that was not quite a laugh. âA little late.â She lifted her head. âI am sorry, Phoebe.â
âYou do not owe me that.â
âI do,â Y/n said. âFriend to friend, I do.â
Phoebeâs eyes shone with the relief of being seen. âThen I take it.â
Y/n now had awareness and new insight to bring with her that evening. She was grateful for Phoebe's honesty, but also mortified by it. It seemed she had many people to apologize to. Her own husband included.
âWill you tell him all of this?â Phoebe asked.
âYes,â Y/n said. âI will not go to him with excuses. I will go with sense.â She looked across the room to the mantel. âHe will be stern. He will be right to be.â
Phoebe rose and went to the press. âShall I lay out a gown for dinner?â
âNo,â Y/n said. âI will sit with my family tonight. It will steady me.â She smoothed her skirts again, then let her hands be still. âI will go as I am.â
Y/n stood and paced the short stretch between the hearth and the window and back again. âI thought mercy would make him proud."
âHe sees your intention,â Phoebe said, âeven if ill-timed and hasty.â
Y/n nodded and said, âMy mercy endangered everyone.â
Phoebe did not argue with the sentence. She set a hand to Y/nâs sleeve and smoothed it. âIt also saved two lives,â she said. âBoth truths can stand.â
Y/n met her eyes. âBoth will stand,â she said. âAnd I will stand between them without playing at heroics.â She tipped her head, a small, steady gratitude. âThank you.â
âFor what?â
âFor telling me the whole of it.â
Phoebeâs mouth softened. âAlways.â
Y/n crossed to the basin to wash her hands. âLeave me for a little,â she said gently. âI will gather myself and then I will go to dinner. You may take the evening as you see fit."
Phoebe curtsied as she always did, but it ended in a squeeze of Y/nâs fingers the way only a friend might dare. âFirst, Iâll send for your familyâs room to be set and keep a place for you.â
âThank you,â Y/n said.
Phoebe smiled. âMajesty?â
âYes?â
âWhatever he says tonight, let him say it. And if he is sharp, do not be sharp back. Let him see you are not his enemy.â
âI am not,â Y/n said. âI never was.â
âI know. So does he.â
When the door closed, the chamberâs quiet returned, but it no longer crowded her. Y/n stood for a while watching out the window, considering what she would say and what she would not. She had made a choice in the square, and she would make a better one in their room tonight. But before that, she would take her place at her familyâs table, and remember who she had been before, and the sound of people who loved her without crown or title.
.
The familyâs dining room was smaller than the royal hall but far more alive. The scent of roasted fowl and herbs met Y/n at the threshold, and laughter rang from the table even before she stepped inside. The fire in the corner snapped against the andirons, light pooling across oak and polished silver, and the sound of her familyâs chatter filled every corner.
Just seeing them in their new surroundings with such lush dressings, the table set with enough food to feed everyone, the heavy velvet curtains that kept the chill from the room, and the servants standing by⊠it made her smile. If the king would never again look at her with warmth the way he had before the square, then she would be okay with it, if this was the fate of her family. It was all worth it to have them happy and fed and laughing like they were.
Her father, seated at the head, caught sight of her first. âThere she is,â he said with a grin that seemed to age him backward by years. âOur Queen at last graces us with her presence.â
Y/n smiled and bowed her head. âYou make it sound as though I were late to supper, Father.â
âYou are late to supper,â her grandmother said tartly from her seat near the fire. âAnd thinner, if my eyes donât deceive me.â
Her mother made a small, indignant noise. âOh, donât say that to her, Mother. She looks lovely.â She rose halfway, hand fluttering to Y/nâs cheek in greeting. âBut truly, youâve worried us. When I heard of the square, I thought I might faint dead away.â
âI heard you did faint,â Dell said dryly, smoothing her napkin over her lap. âIt has been the talk of the household ever since.â
âI did no such thing,â their mother protested, laughing, though she dabbed at her eyes for effect. âBut I could have. Oh, Y/n, to think of you there amidst that dreadful crowd, and the people who tried to poison you!â
âIt wasnât dreadful,â her father interrupted, carving into the roast before him. âIt was history. Youâve done what half the realmâs been too timid to do these hundred years⊠stood before them and shamed their cruelty.â He looked at her with undisguised pride. âYou should have seen the men at the tavern afterward, Y/n. Couldnât stop talking about how their Queen had a spine.â
âFather,â Y/n said mildly, âI doubt that was all that was said of me.â
Y/nâs mother sighed as Y/n took her seat beside her sister Agnes. âDo not encourage her to risk herself again,â her mother said. âShe may have shamed cruelty, as you call it, but she frightened us all to death.â
âShe frightened everyone,â Grandmother muttered, reaching for her glass of port. âAnd she would do well not to test the Kingâs temper twice. Men do not take kindly to being contradicted in public, least of all kings.â
At that, a silence lapped briefly around the table. The servants refilled glasses, careful not to meet anyoneâs gaze but surely all listening closely to the chatter of gossip.
Dell broke the pause with her steady voice. âHe is not angry with your heart, sister,â she said. âOnly with how you risked your life.â
The words found her directly. They were true, and gentle, and they hurt. Y/n now understood her errors, and her sister was right.
âI know,â Y/n said softly. She reached for her wine and traced a thumb along the rim. âI meant no disrespect to him. I simply couldnât stand by and watchââ
Her father made a sound of approval, but her grandmother cut across him. âThere it is again. Couldnât stand by.â She turned her sharp eyes on Y/n. âYou will find that standing by is half of what keeps a kingdom from burning down around you. You must let the king do his work without causing such tumult.â
Y/n smiled softly, not arguing, though her pulse flickered quick. âI will try to remember that, Grandmother.â
Tess, the youngest, perched on the edge of her chair between Cecily and Dell, leaned forward with wide eyes. âAre you in trouble again?â she asked. âFor shouting at the King?â
Y/n froze for a breath, then laughed, soft and a little unsteady. âSomething like that,â she said. âBut I believe we will sort it out.â
Her mother tutted. âYou poor thing. To think your first weeks as Queen would bring such trials. It ought to be nothing but music and moonlight andââ
âWhat?â Grandmother sniffed. âThatâs what they all want, isnât it? Heirs. I was only saying whatâs true.â
Dell gave a small, diplomatic cough. âPerhaps we might change the subject before Cecily dies of embarrassment.â
Cecily did indeed appear discomposed. âI am not embarrassed,â she said primly, which made Tess giggle so loudly she nearly dropped her spoon.
Y/n smiled, the sound of her sistersâ laughter. There were not many sounds more soothing. "Yes, a change of subject might be wise."
Agnes touched her arm lightly. "But babies would be so fun."
âThat may be true,â Y/n said, though her smile faltered. âBut we shall think of other things until that topic is pertinent.â
Her father frowned, reaching for the bread. âDonât let them make you doubt yourself, my girl. A man who fears his wifeâs conscience is not worth the crown he wears.â
âCareful, love,â her mother warned gently. âYou speak of the King.â
âI speak of any man who forgets that a womanâs courage is her worth,â he said, and poured himself more wine, despite his cup already being half ful.
Y/n caught Dellâs eyes across the table; her sisterâs gaze was knowing, a silent caution to let the moment pass before their parents turned it into a quarrel. She took the cue, lifted her glass, and smiled. âTo the family,â she said softly. âFor remembering who I am when I forget.â
Glasses lifted, some solemn, some clumsy. Her grandmother finished her glass in a hasty quaff as she often did.
The talk turned lighter after that. Tess boasted about her new embroidery, Cecily sighed over the young footman who'd set the table, and Agnes teased her gently about romantic notions. Y/n listened, smiled, and spoke where politeness required, but her thoughts kept sliding elsewhere.
She realized that despite the happiness and chatter in the room, she missed her husband at dinnertime. She missed her husband at all, and she wondered if things would return to how they'd been just days before. The noise, the warmth, the way everyone spoke over one another, filled her chest with an ache that was almost relief and almost pain.
Halfway through the meal, her mother reached across to touch her hand. âYouâll see,â she said softly, as if to reassure herself more than Y/n. âHeâll forgive you soon. No man stays angry forever with his wife.â
Y/n blinked. âI imagine that is not true. There are men who despise their wives.â
âBut the king does not despise you,â her mother said, smiling. "I have seen him look at you as if you were the jewel on his crown. He will settle, and he will forgive you."
Y/nâs throat tightened. She managed only a quiet, âThank you.â
When the meal ended, the servants cleared plates, and the family rose to move toward the sitting room. Y/n lingered, feigning a search for her napkin so she might stay behind. The laughter followed them out of the room with Dellâs clear, low voice mingling with Cecilyâs giggle, and her fatherâs rumbling warmth. It was the sound of a home that did not wait for her to return to feel complete.
When they were gone, she stood for a moment beside her empty chair. The firelight caught the rim of her wineglass and cast a trembling reflection across the polished table. She reached out and set her fingers lightly against it, watching the shadow of her hand blur on the surface.
Lifting her glass to finish the last of the wine, she startled when her new guard suddenly stood next to her. âMajesty, shall I escort you back to your room?â
Y/n nodded. âYes. Thank you.â
As she stepped into the corridor, she glanced back once more at the room where her familyâs laughter still echoed faintly. It should have comforted her. Instead, it left her hollow with longing not for her old life, but for the warmth sheâd lost in the new one.
When she reached her door, the corridor was empty save for Niall at his post, still as a carved statue. He bowed his head, and she offered a small one in return before slipping inside. The fire had been lit, the lamps turned low, the hearthâs glow warming the quiet room. She stood for a moment just inside the door, letting the hush settle around her like a cloak.
Y/n turned from the window, loosened her coat, and sat by the fire. The warmth touched her face, but did not reach the tightness behind her ribs. She could hear her own heart in the silence, slow and steady, waiting.
The fire had burned down to a low amber glow. The clock on the mantel ticked softly, its rhythm loud in the quiet. Y/n sat curled on the settee with her book unopened, the page sheâd meant to start still caught beneath her thumb. The waiting was worse than any argument she could have imagined.
Every creak in the corridor made her glance toward the door. Every echo of boot leather on stone sent her heart jumping. She wondered if the king was biding his time in hopes that she'd be sleeping when he finally arrived. Sleep wouldn't have found her even if she wished it.
The hour had gone deep into night when the latch finally turned, and Harry entered without a word, without a glance toward her. She'd expected as much. Her eyes followed his every move.
He crossed to the chair near the hearth and began to unfasten himself from the day. Gloves first, folded neatly and set aside. His sword belt next, the metal buckle glinting before he laid it on the table. He unbuttoned his doublet halfway and loosened his collar. Then his boots were last. Each one tugged off with quiet care, the motions almost ritual, but too precise for that of a man who was at peace.
She could see it in the hard line of his expression, the tightness of his posture, and the mechanical way in which he undressed; he was not calm. He was just as undone as she was. Her breath stayed small in her throat as she watched him in silence, the fireâs glow catching on the angles of his face, making him seem both beautiful and terrifying at once.
The silence was unbearable. âIf you mean to speak your mind, Harry, do it. I cannot live in this silence for another moment.â
He paused mid-motion, then straightened and poured himself a bit of dark brandy. He sat across from her and placed the glass down untouched on the small table between them. He saw to it that the distance was cavernous, a purposeful move to keep her in her place, she figured.
âYou should be abed," he spoke quietly and looked toward the fire.
âI could not sleep. We were meant to speak this evening, or had you forgotten me?â
His jaw shifted, the muscle in it flexing. âNo,â he said. âI could not forget. This moment has haunted me all day."
She shifted in her spot and kept her eyes fixed on him. "Then speak your mind. Please."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the fire. âMy mind,â he said softly, âis not fit for polite company.â
âI am not polite company,â she said. "I am your wife."
He looked at her then as he reached for his drink. The flicker of flame moved through the glass in his hand, carving light across his knuckles. When he spoke, his voice was level, but each word landed like a stone.
âYou lied to me.â
Y/n swallowed, preparing herself for his wrath.
âYou tricked Phoebe. You nearly cost Niall his command.â
She started to answer, but he raised a hand, not sharply, but enough to still her so that he could speak his piece.
âYou made a spectacle of me,â he went on. âOf us. Before my court, before my people. You humiliated their king and your husband in the same breath.â
Her throat closed. He didnât shout, and that was what made it worse. Her heart pricked with sorrow and shame.
âI never wanted to be King,â he said. âBut it was my destiny from birth, and now I am King. I never foresaw that my wife would make me out to be a fool.â He drank a sip of his brandy. âDo you know what it cost me to keep the council from demanding your head?â
Her lips parted soundlessly as she shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
âThey called you dangerous. Treasonous.â His mouth twisted. âThe Lord Chancellor wanted you confined. The Proctor wanted your title stripped. They said mercy in a queen is a contagion. That Iâd let it spread like rot.â
She pressed her palms together in her lap. âAnd you silenced them.â
âI did,â he said. âAnd I would again. But I will not pretend it was easy. You do not know the price of your defiance.â
She looked down, the firelight blurring through her lashes as a tear broke free. âI didnât thinkââ
âNo,â he said louder. âYou didnât.â
She looked at him. "Then why didn't you turn me away and continue with the hangings?"
He blinked slowly. "Had I not acquiesced, the whole kingdom would have seen your actions as traitorous. You do not understand the mind of the mob when dissent is in the air. The people of Thornekeep would have seen my denial of your request as a death sentence to you."
Her voice trembled. âI only wished to stop a cruelty with mercy. But I understand now that I was negligent.â
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. âMercy pleases no one but the wicked,â he said. âIt gives them time to sharpen their knives. The men you spared will wake every day thanking you for your gentleness, and planning how best to repay it with blood.â
She flinched at the edge in his tone, but he wasnât finished.
âYou put yourself in that crowd,â he said. âSurrounded by men who would have cheered if youâd been struck down.â His voice sounded raw. âIf youâd fallenââ
He stopped. The rest did not come as the words failed him. He sat back, staring into the fire as if the sight of it might steady him.
Y/n rose. Her skirts brushed the floor as she crossed the room. She came to him slowly, unsure if he would allow her near but he did not move when she knelt beside his chair, her knee down on the rug, hand trembling slightly as she laid it over his chest.
âI didnât see it as you did,â she said softly. âI thought I was doing right.â
He didn't speak as he looked down at her, kneeling next to him, her eyes rounded softly.
âI never meant to put anyone in danger,â she went on. âI wanted only to keep you from cruelty.â
She waited a breath for him to respond, but he remained silent, so she continued, hoping her words were received with an open heart and forgiveness.
âBut I see now that I overstepped,â she said. âI was proud. I was foolish.â She swallowed, the words thick in her throat. âIâve learned that goodness without understanding is just another form of selfishness. I did not see it before."
The brandy glass lowered to the table, and his hand fell open, empty. The firelight found his eyes, and she was surprised by the emotion revealed on his face.
âYou make me want to believe in a gentler world,â he said at last. âBut the world is not a gentle place, my love. You do not know yet the order of things.â
Y/nâs breath shook out of her. My love. Oh, how that had brightened her insides at once. âThen teach me, husband,â she whispered. âShow me what I do not yet know. I promise that I will listen. I will learn. I want to stand beside you, not against you.â
His composure broke then as he reached out, a large hand wrapping her wrist, and drew her up into his lap, his arms closing around her like a man gathering a thing heâd feared heâd lost forever. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, her tears hot through his shirt.
âI have said it before, and I will say it again. I do not want to lose you,â he said against her hair. âNot to poison, not to mobs, not to your own courage.â
She lifted her head, eyes red, and met his gaze. âThen let me earn your trust again.â
âYou already have it,â he said. âIt is the world that cannot be trusted, and that is a thing you must learn.â
She leaned against him, and he let his chin rest on the crown of her head, the two of them sitting in the quiet as the fire sank lower. Y/n finally knew relief in his arms. His forgiveness and his warmth washed her in such light that she felt newly strengthened.
He spoke again in a whisper, âY/n.â
âYes?â
âI will never forgive the world if it takes you from me. So please do not do things that make that a possibility ever again.â
She closed her eyes and held him tighter. âI swear to it. I shall never risk myself again, nor will I stand in defiance of you. I am sorry for my stupidity.â
Harry let out a breath, one that seemed to unspool all the days of his restraint. He cupped her face in both hands, tipping her face up, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to her lashes. âMy little mouse. You are braver than anyone would have ever known. In another world, Thornekeep would be crowning you as king.â He smiled then, as if humor could dry her tears.
A breath of laughter escaped her. âYou are more brave than I. And more frightening than any mob.â
âGod help me, I hope not,â he said, his mouth still drawn up in a smile. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. âYou terrify me, Y/n. You and that heart of yours.â
She smiled weakly up at him. âMy heart belongs to you, husband. Let it not terrify you. I swear I will not make such haughty decisions again.â
He huffed a small laugh. "And mine belongs to you.â
He kept his arms wound around her, her cheek resting against his chest where his heartbeat thudded steady and alive. The weight between them had shifted. Forgiveness lay in the air, quiet and binding.
When she finally lifted her head, his eyes had softened again as his thumb ran gently along her temple. âNo more ghosts between us,â he said quietly.
âNever again,â she promised.
âI have missed you,â he said, his nose brushing lightly over hers.
Y/nâs breath trembled against his. âAnd I you, my king.â
He exhaled softly, as if the words alone unburdened him. Then his mouth found hers. The kiss was unhurried, a reconciliation sealed in warmth and forgiveness. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, a thumb stroking the curve of her cheek as though to reacquaint himself with her all over again.
For the first time in days, she let herself melt and unwind. All the tightness in her chest, the guilt, the restless fear of losing him, it all loosened beneath his touch.
Harry deepened the kiss just slightly, his lips moving with constrained hunger, as if he should rein in his urges. His other hand slid to the small of her back, holding her close until the world itself seemed to only contain the two of them. No court, no crown, no watching eyes.
When they parted, their foreheads rested together, his breath warm against her skin as his thumb traced her lower lip, still damp from the kiss. âYou undo me, my little mouse,â he whispered. âEvery time I think Iâve steeled myself, you find the chink in my armor.â
She smiled faintly. âPerhaps thatâs my duty as your wife.â
He huffed a quiet laugh, low and hoarse. âYou have a way of making even ruin feel like grace.â His gaze searched hers, something raw and unguarded flickering there, not of the King of Thornekeep, but the man underneath she longed to know more of.
âI do not deserve you,â she murmured, eyes sliding toward the edge of the divan.
He tilted her chin so sheâd meet his eyes. âYou are all I deserve,â he said. The words came stripped of ceremony. His gaze heated every atom of her being. âI love you. God help me, I do.â
Her heart leapt, and she reached up to kiss him again, a promise returned in silence. His arms wrapped around her hard, as if to make certain she was real. That the woman there with him still was flesh and not some taunt heaven had granted only briefly, just to take from him.
At last, there was peace and an unbreakable vow between them. They would go forward as one, steadfast against whatever sought to divide them. Not crown, nor kingdom, nor the fault of their own hearts would part them again.
. .
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Summary: You and Harry meet again but the circumstances are very different this time.
A/n: This was first posted on Patreon - This is rewritten from the original (for any Patreon subscribers who want to reread it, it's the same idea, but reworked slightly). This is the 3rd and final part.
Word Count: 9,654 (original was 6.6k)
Warning: Bit of a time lapse, smut, fluff, angst, mentions of cheating.
â â â
Harry graduated on schedule just like he wanted.
At the ceremony, you both succeeded in pretending the other didnât exist. He stuck close to Stan and his usual circle, laughing like nothing had ever happened between you. You sat with your friends, smiled for pictures, waved at your family in the crowd.
It was finally done. You were glad to be done with college. To have that degree in hand and begin the next chapter in life.Â
You were offered a job in your field a couple of hours away from your hometown and the decision to leave was easy. Your mother cried, told you how proud of you she was, and made you promise to call every Sunday. Ro said she hated you for moving away but joked that she was going to follow you to the big city whether you liked it or not. Your brother helped you apartment hunt and vetoed three places before agreeing one was âsafe enoughâ for his little sister.
Things finally felt like they were falling into place. You didnât know anyone in the city, and weirdly, you liked that. Your apartment was smallâtiny, reallyâbut it was yours. Tucked in a good neighborhood, close to work, overpriced but manageable.
And your job? Worth every late night and college meltdown youâd endured. The architectural firm was compact, loud with ideas, full of people who gave a shit. You werenât designing yet, not exactly. No commissions, no big projects with your name on them. But you were there.
Theyâd brought you in as an assistant on the park design team, thanks to the recommendation from last summerâs internship. A lucky break that didnât feel so lucky until you stepped into the building and realized this was where things started. This was real.Â
You worked directly under John, who was all charisma and fast-talking charm. Heâd just won a competitive bid for a major park project and didnât let a single soul forget it. Cocky, sure, but with vision. You liked his ideas. Honestly, he shouldâve been working on skyscrapers. Some of his drafts were jaw-dropping.
And you were learning. Watching. Getting closer to your dream.Â
One day youâd be just like Jeanne Gang with your own firm making groundbreaking beautifully aesthetic and functional towers and buildings. But for now, assistant to a park designer was quite thrilling.
By the end of another 50+ hour work week, you were bone-tired. You and John had been staying late all week, finalizing the last permit documents, tweaking the budget, hiring a new landscaping crew after the original one ghosted out of nowhere.
It was nearing ten and our eyes burned. You were exhausted but you knew you were exactly where you needed to be.
âLetâs get a drink. Come on,â John said as you both stepped out into the humid night air.
âReally? I mean I guessââ
âNo guesses,â he cut in, already heading down the sidewalk a couple of strides in front of you, leading the way. âYou need a drink, and so do I. You kicked ass today getting that landscaping company on board last-minute. Saved us money, got the contract signed on time⊠honestly? Iâm really proud of you, kid.â
Kid.Â
He called you that a lot. You didnât mind. It reminded you of your dad in a way⊠affectionate but never condescending. So you easily relented, following John to the popular tavern just a block away.
The place was packed, buzzing with post-work noise, music, the scent of whiskey and fried bar food thick in the air. John snagged you both a small table tucked in the corner.
He ordered a Manhattan, and you went with a gin and tonic. The prices were criminal.
$16 for a gin and tonic? That would eat into your grocery budget for the week. And $19 for Johnâs Manhattan? You nearly choked when you saw the price on the menu.
That was why no one would find you going out for drinks very often. It wasnât in the budget. But since John was buying you figured why the hell not.
Clinking your lowball glasses together John made his spiel. âTo new crews and full permits,â he toasted.
You grinned wide and took a generous sip just as his phone began to ring.
âFuck! Be right back. Itâs Shera,â he said, already off his stool and stepping away as the phone rang in his hand.
Shera. Johnâs wife. He talked about her and their kids all the time. He loved his family with that easy, grounded certainty you hoped to find someday. You smiled as he jogged off toward the front entrance, already raising the phone to his ear. But your smile died the moment your gaze drifted across the bar.
Three tables over. A familiar face. Those eyes. Green and cutting. Locked on yours.
Harry. Fucking. Styles.Â
You froze and blinked, trying to work out if you were really seeing him right there.Â
His curls were shorter now, face leaner, more mature. But it was him. No mistaking it. Not with those eyes. Not with the way your entire body responded to the sight of him like it had just been waiting. Traitor.
You dropped your gaze to your drink. But it was too late. Your pulse had already spiked, bile clawing up the back of your throat. You could even feel cool sweat at the nape of your neck, like youâd been caught doing something wrong.
Youâd tried forgetting him. Tried pretending it hadnât meant anythingâwhatever the hell that two-week fever dream had been. Itâd only been two weeks out of your whole life and almost a year later it still had your skin warming whenever you thought of it.
He wasnât someone you often let yourself think about. Not anymore. But whenever the memories crept in⊠his mouth, his hands, the way his voice had cracked when he moaned your name⊠you shut it down. Wiped it away like dust. Irrelevant. Dead. Done. The past.
You hadnât slept with anyone since him. Not because you didnât want to. You just⊠didnât have the time. Work filled every crack. Every night. Every breath. And thatâs how you liked it.
But now, sitting there with his eyes still burning into you, it hit you like a sucker punch. The heat. The ache. That betraying sense of want sliding up your spine like you were back in your dorm with him, dancing around the truth.Â
Right then, he looked good. Unforgivably good. And you hated him for it.
Maybe the hate wasnât hate anymore. Maybe it had rotted into something quieter. Something that didnât tear at you the way it once did but still ground at your bones and your skin like something that just wouldnât go away. Like loss.
Not that you ever had him. Not really. Not the way it counts. You werenât linked. You werenât bound to one another. But your body remembered everything.
His voice. His heat. The pressure of his palm flat against your stomach. The scrape of his teeth on your throat. That filthy, devastating grin that always landed somewhere between insult and invitation.
Your stomach twisted. Your drink tasted like nothing. You needed a minute to recover. You couldnât look at him again. Not yet. Not until you could breathe. But you could feel the effervescent fizz of his eyes on you. It felt like every little twitch you made he was scrutinizing.
When you finally glanced back toward his table, his eyes were still on you. But he wasnât glaring. There was no anger there. No sharp edge, no hatred. Just a steady gaze⊠quiet, unreadable, and impossible to ignore.
You watched as he lifted his pint and tipped back the last of it before he stood, pushed the stool behind him, and started walking toward you. Your pulse jumped at the impending reunion.
He still moved the same. Still carried that subtle weight in his shoulders, still walked like he knew where he was going. But he looked different now⊠cleaner, sharper.
His curls were trimmed shorter, jaw more defined. He wore a crisp white button-up tucked into navy slacks that hugged his frame, and shoes that looked expensive enough to hurt your wallet just by glancing at them.
He looked like a grown man. One who knew who he was. And damn him, he still looked just as attractive. Maybe more so.
âY/n,â he said simply as he stopped beside your table.
You looked up, still seated, and when he held out his hand, you hesitated a breath before placing your palm in his. A perfectly polite handshake greeting.
âHarry.â
His hand closed around yours, bigger than you remembered, warm and firm, and then he leaned in, speaking low by your ear.
âYou here with that man?â
Your brows lifted, lips twitching. Turning slightly, you moved to respond, your lips close to his cheek. âHeâs my boss. Weâre celebrating a big week.â
He looked down over the cheap pants set youâd thrown together before looking back into your eyes. âBut are you here with him?â
Ahh⊠now you understood what the question really meant.
You gave a short laugh, shaking your head. âNo. Itâs not like that.â Then you looked up at him more squarely. âIs there something you need?â
He rolled his eyes like the question annoyed him, but his expression was more complicated than that. Something sober flickered in his face.
Still holding your hand, he slid his other palm to the table beside your arm, leaning down again. âI think we should talk.â
You looked around the room and toward the front door where John was still outside on the phone. You werenât sure what the holdup was with him and you really werenât sure what it was Harry could want to talk to you about.
âWhat? Like, here?â
He shrugged., âHere or somewhere else. Something I wanna tell you.â
You stared at him for a beat, reading every microexpression, his jaw tense, lips pressed together, but eyes soft. Finally, you gestured toward the empty stool. âYou can sit until John comes back.â
He gave a short nod and pulled Johnâs stool closer to yours before sitting and put his arms on the table, clasping his fingers together.
You took another sip of your overpriced drink and tried not to stare at him too hard. But those damn eyes. Still so green. Still devastating. Still made you feel like everything in your chest was being slowly peeled back.
He took a breath and sat up straighter. âI need to apologize,â he said, voice even but low and just loud enough to hear over the music. âFor how I treated you.â
You didnât move. Didnât breathe. Couldnât.Â
âIâve learned a few things since then,â he continued. âAfter we graduated. Before I moved away.â
You cocked your head, arms folding on the table. âGo on.â
Harryâs eyes dropped to his hands for a moment before lifting back to yours. âStan told me⊠that you didnât cheat on him.â
You blinked. Stan knew?
âThat he knew you didnât,â he continued. âHe just let everyone believe it.â He paused, jaw flexing as he sighed, eyes slowly closing like he needed to steady himself. Like saying it was the hardest thing heâd ever done. He looked at you again. âBecause the truth is⊠he was the one cheating. On you.â
A stunned laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, sharp and disbelieving. âWow.â You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. âI mean, Iâm not too shocked he was cheating. I had my suspicions. But that he knew all along, and still let everyone think I did it?â You scoffed. âYeah. Fuck him. And fuck you.â
Harry nodded, jaw tight. âI deserve that. Iâm not defending him. I just⊠I never thought he would lie to me like that. He was my best friend.â
Your stare didnât soften but you heard the was in that sentence.
âIf Iâd known,â he added quietly, âthings wouldâve been different.â
You raised an eyebrow, lifting your drink again. His confession was a bit of a shock but what good was it now? Your body was warm with an undercurrent of resentment and booze running through your bloodstream.
âDifferent how?â you asked, voice dry. âWhat does it matter? Too little, too late.â
He reached across the table and placed his hand over yours carefully. âDifferent because I wouldnât have treated you like shit. I wouldnât have launched that whole stupid hate campaign. We were all just⊠taking his word for it.â
You pulled your hand back slowly, fingers curling around your glass instead. âWhyâd he finally confess? What made him tell you?â
Harry looked off to the side, rubbed a hand across his mouth. âBecause I told him how you and IâŠâ He trailed off, shaking his head. âMaybe thatâs another story for another time.â
You sat up straighter. Eyes narrowing. âWaitâyou told him? Like, everything?â
His gaze flicked up to yours, unsure. âI got drunk. We were out one night. I donât even remember how it came up. I just⊠started talking. About you. About us.â
You stared at him. Mouth parting, then closing again. Processing.
âOkay, butâhow does that just come out?â Your voice pitched higher. âYou told your best friend you fucked his ex? Casually? That just slipped out?â
Harry winced a little but didnât look away. âYeah. It kind of just slipped out. I was drunk. I missed you and I accidentally started talking about it.â
It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. You stared at him, mouth slack, heart beating in the wrong rhythm and just as you were about to speak John reappeared at the table, pulling a wad of cash from his wallet.
âHey, Iâve got to run. Iâm sorry. Deb is sick and Shera needs me to pick something up on my way home andâŠâ John looked at Harry and then back to you, âEverything okay?â
You nodded quickly. Too quickly. âOh, yeah. Itâs fine. This is justâŠâ You motioned toward Harry, fumbling for the right word. âAn old friend from university. We were just catching up.â
John laid a few bills on the table. âOkay. Sorry again. Thanks for tonight. Really. You killed it this week.â And then he was gone, rushing toward the exit.
You were left sitting there, the bar louder now somehow, the air heavier. Just you and Harry. Your brain was still trying to make sense of everything heâd just said.
âLook, I know you probably still hate me. I was awful to you. I regret not listening to you or believing you.â
You listened but said nothing. It was hard to believe you were getting this apology after so long. You should have felt vindicated but so much time had passed that it almost felt like a waste.
âI thought you hurt Stan,â he continued, eyes on yours. âThought you broke his heart. He was my best friend, you know? And I believed him blindly. Didnât even ask questions. Just assumed it had to be true.â
His jaw flexed. He looked down at his hands. âBut when he finally told me the truth, it changed everything.â He paused. âI cut him off. Havenât spoken to him since.â
You blinked.
âI moved here for work not long after. Was gonna call you⊠after I found out. I wanted to apologize. Really. But figured you probably never wanted to hear from me.â
You stared at him, stunned. âSoâokay,â you said slowly. âHe knew I didnât cheat. Like⊠he always knew?â
Harry nodded. Shame in the slope of his shoulders. âYeah,â he said. âHe knew. All along.â
You exhaled, a bitter laugh slipping out. âI donât get it,â you said, shaking your head. âWhy would he do that? Just⊠let me take the fall? Let everyone hate me?â
âTommy told him,â Harry said, âthat you two never did anything. But Stan didnât tell anyone that,â he added bitterly. âDidnât correct the story. And since he was already cheating on you, I guess he figured it was the easiest way out. Make you the villain so he could walk away clean.â
All that time, Stan knew. The news was jarring to say the least.Â
âNearly broke his nose when I found out.â
You choked mid-sip, sputtering gin and tonic back into your glass as your laughter spilled out with it. âWhat?!â
Harryâs grin grew slow and cocky, that stupid dimple popping into place like a weapon. âYeah. I did,â he said, clearly unrepentant. âI punched him. Felt like the biggest asshole for believing him all that time. And I was just⊠so pissed. At him. At myself, especially.â He shook his head slightly. âHavenât talked to him since.â
You stared at him, lips almost twitching, torn between disbelief and⊠something else. Something warmer. You werenât exactly pro-violence. But the fact that Harry Styles had thrown a punch over you?
Yeah. That hit somewhere deep. Fucked up, maybe. But flattering as hell. You gave him a small, reluctant smile. âWellâŠâ You shrugged, eyes dropping to your glass. âThanks, I guess.â
He laughed, dragging a knuckle under his nose. âSo youâre here too? In the city?â
You nodded, cautious. âYeah. Almost a year now.â
His smile stayed fixed.. âDoing something with architecture?â
You blinked, caught off guard. âI am. How did you know that?â
Harry shrugged, casual. âWasnât hard to figure out your major. You talked about it all the time when you were with Stan. And even when you and I wereâŠâ He trailed off, then added, âYou talked about it, you know? I remember.â
You had mentioned it a time or two. You just didnât expect that Harry was ever listening.
âYeah. Iâm working as an assistant on a park design project,â you said slowly. âNothing extravagant yet, but itâs a start.â
His nod was immediate. âSounds like more than a start to me.â
You looked at him a second longer than necessary. Then blinked away.
âAnd what about you, Harry? Whatâs your big post-grad journey?â
âI work at a banking firm. Just got promoted actually. From analyst to associate. Nothing major but got a raise. So, here I am. Out celebrating my accolades alone,â he laughed.
You nodded carefully. Part of you wanted to let the past go just like that. Start fresh with everything and see where things might go. But another part told you to pump the breaks. Just because you were lonely didnât mean Harry was a safe choice of friend. It wasnât that you didnât believe him, but that hurt still lingered, even if he didnât know better at the time.
âCongrats on the promotion. Looks like weâre both out celebrating good things tonight. Cheers.âÂ
You held your glass up and took a sip while he smiled. His pint had been finished before he ever got to your table. âCongrats to you too. You worked hard to get here.â
You looked down into your drink and then out toward the window wondering what it was you wanted. Why you were even still sitting there with this man you once hated so much you could almost taste it. You could just get up and leave. Take his apology and move on.
Instead⊠âShould we get another round?â You offered, brow raised. It was probably a bad idea to have another drink, not just because they were so expensive but also because you were already fighting for your life trying to figure out what to do with all this new information. What you were going to do with Harry, now that you knew he was in the city too. Now that he was sitting at that table with you looking like he could cure your loneliness.
Harry looked at you with a nod, then he raised his hand and caught the serverâs attention.
âGin and tonic for her,â he said, nodding toward your glass. âAnd Iâll take a pint of the lager, please.â
You smiled, letting the silence stretch between you while the server walked away.
He didnât try to fill the quiet like you thought he might. He just looked at you, his eyes scanning your face like he was waiting for something. For you to lean in. For you to say everything was okay.
But you didnât. Because you werenât sure everything was okay.Â
You stared at the table, fingers dragging lazy circles along the condensation on your glass. Part of you hated how good this felt. How easy it was to fall back into that kind of push-pull rhythm with him. But it was different this time. Softer.
But there was still the other part. The sharper part. Still remembered the way it felt to be humiliated. To be shunned. To walk across campus like a ghost. But it had all been Stanâs fault all along.
Harry mustâve sensed the shift in you as he put his elbows on the table, bumping into your wrist gently. âCan I tell you something stupid?âÂ
You looked up slowly, hesitant. âSure.â
He reached into his jacket pocket. Not rushed but almost nervous. When he set the item on the table between you, you stared at it for a long second before realizing what it was.
Your old mechanical pencil. The one youâd let him borrow back when you two were working on the project togetherâand fucking. It still had your name faded in Sharpie across the side.
You blinked, confused. âWhere did youâŠâ
âI kept it,â he said simply. âJust never threw it away when I cleared out my desk on campus. Brought it with me when I moved. Saw it this morning in the cup I keep all my pens in and it was just there. Grabbed it and brought it with me to work. Feels like a good luck charm now.â
You didnât know what to say.
He rubbed his palms together. âI told myself I held onto it as a dumb reminder. Like a paperweight. A âdonât be an assholeâ memento. But if Iâm honest, I think I kept it because it was the only part of you I was allowed to hold on to.â
Your throat tightened. That was kind of⊠well, sweet?
âI thought about you,â he continued. âA lot more than I wanted to. And not just because of the sex, or how it ended. But because you were right. Back then.â
He met your eyes. Steady. Open.
âYou didnât deserve what I did to you. I followed the crowd. I believed a lie because it was easier than admitting I was falling for someone I wasnât supposed to want.â
The words sat heavy in the air between you. You pressed your lips together, suddenly unsure where to place your hands. Or your heart.Â
âThatâs not nothing,â you said quietly.
âNo. Itâs not.â
The server returned with your drinks and he handed her cash to pay for both. You reached for yours automatically, sipping without tasting. Needing something to buffer the moment. To buffer the racing thoughts and questions running through your head.
Harry didnât touch his glass. He just leaned forward, closer.
âI know I fucked everything up before. Iâm not asking you to forgive me tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at all, if thatâs where you land.â He shrugged, softly. âI just wanted you to know how sorry I am. How much I think about you. About⊠it. What we did. What I shouldâve done.â
You looked down at the pencil again. Small. Insignificant. But it wasnât insignificant, was it? It meant something. Your fingers moved toward it, brushing along the faded lettering like you werenât even aware you were doing it.
âI worked hard to move on, you know,â you said finally. âAfter all of that. After what people said. After how everyone treated me.â
Harryâs expression didnât change. He didnât flinch or look away.
âI kept telling myself it didnât matter. And then I slept with you andâŠâ You shook your head.
You raised your eyes to his again, finding him already looking at you like he felt every word you were saying. âI just felt really alone,â you said. âNot just socially, I meanâI was embarrassed. Ashamed when I had nothing to be ashamed for. I let you touch me, and then you acted like I didnât exist. And I know that was the agreement. You were in it to graduate and then I was just kind ofâŠâ You trailed off, not sure how to say what you wanted.
Harryâs jaw clenched, and you could see the guilt land in his expression.
âAnd yeah, itâs good to hear you say youâre sorry. Itâs... more than I ever thought Iâd get.â
He nodded. âI am sorry. I donât think Iâve ever been more sorry about anything in my life.â
You scoffed and looked away. He didnât sound dramatic. He didnât sound like he was trying to say the right thing. He just meant it. But still, it pricked at the edges of your armour.
âAnd for the record,â he added, voice softening, âI wasnât pretending you didnât exist. I just didnât know how to look at you without feeling like shit. Even when I thought youâd cheated, I did feel bad. I think part of me knew you couldnât have done something like that, once I got to know you.â
You looked back at him, quiet. Letting that sit. Letting yourself believe it.
Then he offered a small, crooked smile. âAnd also, because if Iâd looked at you for more than five seconds back then, I probably wouldâve done something stupid. Like beg you to forgive me. Or try to kiss you in front of everyone.â
That earned him a small laugh. Unintentional. Quick. But it escaped. And his smile widened when he heard it.
âThere she is,â he said, teasing but careful. âThatâs the laugh I remember.â
You shook your head and took another sip, eyes still on him, but your shoulders dropped a little.
âYouâre different,â you said. Not a question.
âI am,â he agreed. âStill dumb sometimes. Still probably overconfident. But I donât let other people decide who I am anymore. Or who Iâm allowed to have a crush on.â
His voice lowered slightly, just enough for you to feel the weight of that last sentence settle across your skin. You looked away, cheeks warming despite yourself.
âI can see that,â you said, glancing at the pencil again.
He reached out, slid it a little closer to you. âYou should take it back.â
You snorted. âSo you can finally clear out your desk properly?â
âNah,â he said, tapping the side of his pint glass. âSo youâll think about me every time it runs out of lead.â
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth was harder to fight now.
âThought it was like your good luck charm. Youâd give that away?â
Harry shrugged, lips tilting up. âGuess Iâm hoping youâll be my good luck instead.â
That made your smile break free â wide, soft, and completely unguarded. âJesus,â you muttered, shaking your head as you looked down. âThat was cheesy, Harry.â
He laughed. âMade you smile.â
You glanced up at him again, and for the first time all night, your chest didnât feel like it was stuck in a vice. Maybe it didnât have to be that difficult. Heâd changed, but so had you. Things felt⊠easy.
Like maybe this version of him⊠quieter, still cheeky but careful, might actually be the real Harry. The one youâd only ever gotten glimpses of back then. And maybe he wasnât perfect. But maybe he wasnât pretending anymore, either.
You reached for your drink again, the pencil still resting beside it, and leaned your elbow onto the table.
âAlright,â you said, âyouâre earning points.â
He raised his brows. âHow many do I need before you stop thinking about punching me?â
You smirked over the rim of your glass. âMmm⊠Havenât decided yet.â
Harry grinned. âAlright. Fair enough. I can work with that.â
And something about the way he said it â no pressure, no push â made you settle into your seat a little more comfortably and you let your knee brush his under the table without pulling away.
It was different with Harry this time. You didnât have that thick disgust lining the bottom of your gut anymore. The feeling that you were betraying yourself by being attracted to him. No. This time your attraction to him felt lighter and welcome. It felt the way it was supposed to feel when you were attracted to someone.Â
You felt his thumb run over your polyester blend pant-covered knee briefly. Like it was almost an accident, but you both knew it hadnât been. It was kind of funny really. You were wearing the most unflattering thing you probably had in your closet. It was clean and it looked professional, if not a bit boxy on your frame. You never worried about what you wore to work because so many times youâd be running around the office like a chicken with its head cut off anyway.
And in that moment you kind of wished youâd gone with one of your nicer outfits. Because Harry was looking so put together and so handsome.
âDo you live nearby?â He asked.
You nodded. âJust a few blocks away. What about you?â
âA few blocks. More or less. Off Saunders near the Van der Pin building.â
âReally? Weâre pretty close then. Wild that we havenât seen each other til now. I walk past that building every day.â
You reached up to gently tug at one of his short curls. âI like the shorter cut. Suits you.â
Harry smirked, licking his lips as his eyes dropped â not in that greedy way he used to do back in college, but something more honest. He took you in from your unflattering blouse to your even worse pants, tilting his head as if assessing the full picture.
You both smiled. You both knew. Something was about to shift. It already had.
âYour hair looks the same,â he finally said, teasing.
You laughed and glanced down at his hand. He had it placed on his thigh, pinky finger resting against your leg.You smiled as you looked back up at him.
âCanât afford a whole new look,â you said. âItâs expensive living here.â
He nodded, his finger brushing gently over the fabric on your thigh. âIt is expensive.â He paused. âGot any roommates?â
You shook your head, lips twitching. âNope. You?â
He matched your smile. âJust me.â
The silence that followed was loaded but comfortable. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but you kept your gaze steady. He raised his eyebrows slightly. Like he was offering a choice. No pressure. Just⊠your move. But the implications were clear.
Your heart fluttered and you knew what you wanted.
âWanna take a walk?â you asked. âGet out of here?â
His smile turned boyish, open. âYeah. Letâs do that.â
He slid off the seat and stood, then reached for your hand to help you down from the high stool. It felt like another fissure in your resolve when you placed your palm against his and let your feet hit the floor. And then as he moved toward the door, he kept his hand around yours like it was the most natural thing for him to do. But it had molten lava working its way up from your fingers to your elbow and then your shoulder.
The night air was warm and the city streets were buzzing with life. It was something you loved about the big city. But also something that you loathed at times. You and Harry walked side by side, weaving through the crowd, moving in sync without needing to think about it. Heâd let go of your hand but you could still feel the brush of his knuckles over yours every few strides. And that was no accident.Â
Neither of you had said much since leaving the bar. But with every step closer to your block, your mind was racing, looping back to that last time youâd spent together. The one that wasnât supposed to happen. After the project was done, after the deal had ended, youâd both agreed thereâd be no more. But it had been so easy. Too easy to break the rules and pretend there were none.
âThis is me,â you said when youâd gotten to your building, and looked up at Harry. Your pulse was spiking and all you could think was that you didnât want to end it right there. So you said something that surprised even yourself. âI think you should come up.â
He let out a surprised laugh, cocking his head. âYou think so? And why do you think I should come up, Y/n?â
You rolled your eyes, instantly flustered, stepping half a pace away from him as heat crept up your neck. âI just⊠I donât know. Thought maybeâŠâ
Harry grabbed your wrist before you could put another foot of distance between you two and pulled you back into the space in front of himself. âIâm fucking with you,â he said, his eyes warm, his mouth quirking at the corner. âIf you didnât ask me up I was gonna ask to see you again anyway.â
You puffed out a nervous laugh, tension breaking slightly. âYeah? I mean you donât have to come up. We can see each other another time if thatâsââ
âNo, youâve already asked,â he said, grinning now, eyes dancing. âLetâs go. I want to see what your place looks like. Iâm curious if itâs just as cramped as mine.â
You led him into the building and both took the stairs to your floor. It felt like you were dreaming or something. The night had not gone as expected. In fact, this was so far outside of your imagination of possibility that you were quite certain this wasnât really happening. At any moment, youâd wake up and then everything would go back to how it had been.Â
When you unlocked your door and pressed it open you both stepped inside. Your heart was pounding with a rush of nerves and heat stirring beneath your skin. This wasnât like before. This wasnât sneaking around. This wasnât pretending. This was different.
It was confirmed, your apartment was just as small as his was. Harry gave it a slow once-over, then looked back at you, grinning.
âI just gotta ask you something,â he said, voice low with mischief. âItâs been driving me crazy all night.â
You nodded, bracing for another serious confession. âOkay⊠what is it?â
He stepped closer and plucked at your sleeve with two fingers. âWhy are you wearing this god-awful pantsuit?â
You scoffed, scandalized, and batted his hand away. âHey! First of all, itâs affordable. Second, itâs practical. I know itâs not, like, runway couture, butââ
Harry was already laughing. âNot the most flattering thing? Y/n, you look like one of the Golden Girls.â
You crossed your arms, faux-offended. âYou are so dramatic. Itâs not that bad. And I wasnât exactly trying to impress anyone tonight.â
âI can tell,â he teased, biting back a smile.
You rolled your eyes, but it was impossible not to laugh. âAnd yet, here you are. In my apartment. After flirting with me all night. Clearly didnât deter you.â
He licked his lips, eyes dragging slowly down your frame again.
âAnd yet⊠here I am,â he echoed.
Then he stepped in close, so close you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, and slid a hand behind your neck, fingers warm against your skin. You swallowed.
âItâs because I know what you look like underneath all these layers of⊠whatever this fabric is.â
You choked out a laugh, but he didnât let up.
âItâs because once this comes off,â he murmured, âIâm gonna make you burn it.â
You raised your brows, feigning calm even as your stomach did something insane inside, made your guts slush and your head spin. âAnd who says itâs coming off? Quite presumptuous of you.â
His thumb traced the side of your neck and your lips parted. âAnd it was quite presumptuous of you to ask me to come up wearing something like this.â
Your mouth dropped open even wider, jaw practically snapping as he smirked.
âBut youâre here,â you pointed out, a little breathless now. âYou still came up.â
Harry tilted his head. âDid you not hear the part where I said I already know whatâs underneath?â His other hand slid to your waist, fingers curling right over the spot on your hip you knew he remembered.
âI already know,â he said softly, âyouâve got the cutest little laugh, the most kissable tummy.â
You swallowed thickly as you lifted your palms against his chest, heat fuzzing every corner of your vision and making your skin tingle. You felt like you were about to float away as he continued.
âAnd thereâs this sweet little birthmark,â he added, voice dropping as his thumb brushed your hip over the spot he was talking about, âthat I still think about way too often.â
You were stunned. Speechless.
âAnd itâs not just that,â he continued, his grip gentle but firm. âYouâre funny. Smart. Honest. You kept me on my toes. Made me dizzy when I thought about you. Still do.â
He leaned in just a little, voice dipping to a whisper. âSo, yeah. Even with the pantsuit, I still came up.â
The air between you felt suddenly charged. Like a current passing skin to skin, invisible and electric. And even though you'd guessed where the night was headed ever since his hand found your knee at the barâthis still almost didnât feel real.
Harry's hand drifted from your hip to your cheek, fingers cradling your jaw as his thumb brushed softly across your bottom lip. âLetâs see if we can make it better this time. See if all that chemistryâs still there, cause I think it is.â
His gaze flicked between your eyes and your mouth.Â
âYou remember how good it was, donât you?â He leaned in just a little closer. âHow even when we hated each other, it was stillââ
You spoke. âAddictive. Intoxicating.âÂ
His thumb pressed gently into your lip like he was reminding himself of it. âYeah. Exactly,â he whispered.
You nodded slowly, the tension between your bodies coiled so tight it hurt to stay still.
Harry dipped down, his breath ghosting over your skin, lips hovering a breath away from yours. But he paused there, eyes searching. âI missed you, Y/n,â he whispered. âHavenât been the same since you.â
Your heart stuttered and you licked your lips. âI missed you too, Harry,â you breathed.
The words surprised you. You hadnât meant to say them out loud or ever at all. But once they were out, you didnât want them back.
And then he kissed you because it was the only logical next move. Soft. Testing. Slow. Like he needed to relearn it. Like he didnât want to rush.
His lips moved over yours with a care youâd never known from him before. No games, no taunts⊠just heat and truth and something that felt good, like it was okay to want it now.
And the moment he kissed you, really kissed you, you knew, there would be no turning back. Not that you wanted to. Not anymore.
Harryâs hands were everywhere, big, warm, greedy. He tugged at your shirt, fingers yanking it loose from the waistband of your pants before backing you toward the couch.
You stumbled slightly, falling into the cushions with an awkward little oofâbut he was right there with you, crawling over your body, laughter in his throat and heat in his eyes as he dragged your shirt up and over your head like he couldnât stand another second of it being in the way.
You reached for the buttons on his dress shirt, fumbling a little in your rush to open it, when you felt him pull your pants down past your hipsâand then he paused.
Lips brushing yours, he laughed. Low.
âStretchy waistband?â he grinned, shaking his head as he peeled them off your legs. âY/n⊠donât ever wear this again.â
You balked, shoving at his chest, but he caught your wrists and then crashed his mouth over yours again before you could fire back.
It didnât matter anyway. Because the clothes came off fast after that. His much nicer pants landed on your floor in a heap with your ugly ones, his button-up tossed halfway across the room.
You pushed him back onto the couch, eyes locked on his, and climbed into his lap, straddling him. His chest was more filled out, arms a bit thicker than last time you ogled them. There were a couple more tattoos. He looked so much better when you didnât hate him.
Harry reached up and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you down hard until your mouths collided again, messy and urgent. Everything felt hazy. Surreal. Like you were underwater, still half-convinced this was all a dream youâd wake from.
But the thick pressure of him under his briefs? The way your already-wet panties pressed against the firm length of it as your hips shifted?
That. Felt. Real. Too real.
The heat. The friction. The soft, wet drag of his tongue. And the way his hands moved over your body like he couldnât figure out where to touch first. Like he wasnât convinced you were really there either.
You rolled your hips down against the thick bulge in his briefs, grinding slow. He hissed through his teeth, hands flying to your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra, popping it open with a tug, and as you sat up straight in his lap, his eyes dragged up your body like he hadnât already seen it all before.
But this time, he wasnât looking at you like a secret. He wasnât angry, or cocky, or guarded. He was present. And God, he was gorgeous like this. Different. He was relaxed, open, looking at you like he wanted to be there.
You slid the straps off and tossed the bra aside, your tits falling bare into his waiting hands. He cupped them, squeezing gently, even in his eagerness, before he leaned up and latched onto one nipple, tongue hot and wet.
A soft gasp escaped you as he sucked, lips dragging across your skin, his other hand wrapping around your back to keep you steady against him.
He switched sides, licking and mouthing at your breast until your skin was slick, your back arching to chase his mouth.
His breath fanned hot against you as he pulled back, pupils blown. âTake me to your bed?â he panted. âCouch is kind of small.â
He wasnât wrong. Your knee was already hanging off the edge, and his broad frame wasnât going to fit comfortably for much longer when things escalated.
You slipped off his lap, took his hand, and led him down the short hallway to your bedroom. To your bed You climbed on and he joined you, pulling you close until you were lying on your sides, facing each other. His hand found your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheek as his chest pressed against yours.
âSo much cuter without Dorothyâs pantsuit,â he said with a quiet laugh.
You looked down at where your tits brushed against him and let out a soft snort. âHey, now. Iâm an architectâs assistant. Not a fashion designer.â
He grinned, eyes still locked on yours and it made you heat up between your legs. He slid his hand around the back of your neck, fingers curling as he pulled you in and kissed you with more urgency.Â
You reached between you, palm gliding down the firm line of his abs until you cupped the heavy length of him through his briefs. He groaned into your mouth, low and guttural, his hips twitching against your touch. There was no time left for teasing.Â
You hooked your fingers into his waistband and tugged. He didnât stop you as he moaned, deep in his chest, as you pushed his underwear down. He followed your lead, peeling your panties off, shifting as you let him slide the material down your legs before pressing you back into the mattress and crawling over you.
His mouth found yours again, breath hot and hungry, and then his cock was there, sliding against your slick folds, thick and flushed and already so hard. He dragged the length of it up and down, painting your slit in long, unhurried strokes, smearing himself in your arousal. You whimpered and arched your hips toward him, thighs falling wider for him
Harry let out a soft grunt against your lips and you felt it in your chest. It wasnât just the physical. It was everything. The absence. The ache. The relief.
But then he pulled back just enough to speak, voice rasping, âFuck⊠I donât have a condom.â
You blinked up at him, still half-drunk on the feel of him as you bucked your hips upward. You didnât have one either, but that wasnât going to stop you. âItâs okay,â you breathed. âIâm on birth control.â
You hesitated, swallowing the nerves in your throat before letting the rest spill outâtruth raw between you.
âAnd youâre⊠the last guy I slept with.â
Harryâs brows pulled together, his hand coming up to your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly along your jaw. âSeriously?â he asked, eyes searching yours.Â
You nodded. âItâs true.â
He exhaled, something stunned and earnest in his expression as he shifted between your thighs, his cock pressing right up against your entrance, but not pushing in. Not yet.
âWell,â he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, âI guess Iâll be honest too. I havenât been with anyone else either. Since you.â
There was silence. Only the rise and fall of your chests. The shared weight of your confessions.
âYou sure itâs okay?â he asked. No cocky grin. No teasing.Â
You blinked up at him, hands trailing over the warm skin of his chest, sliding up his shoulders, curling into the short tufts of hair at the back of his head. âI just know I donât want to stop,â you whispered.
Harryâs nostrils flared as he dragged his cock through your slick crease again, coating himself in your wetness, eyes pinned to yours like he was reading every thought you werenât saying.
âYeah?â he muttered, voice gone deep and rough. âYou need it, baby? Need this cock inside you again? Missed it, didnât you?â
You let out a breathy laugh, hips twitching up toward his. âBet you missed this pussy.â
His grin was nothing short of wicked. âDreamt about it,â he groaned, guiding his tip down again, parting your folds with slow, gliding passes, eyes looking down between you and then up to your face. âDreamt about how good you felt. How you sounded when you came.â He lowered his mouth to your jaw and then up, voice brushing hot against your ear. âYou sure, sweetheart?â
You whined, desperate now, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him in with your thighs. âHarry, come on,â you panted. âYou didnât ask all these questions before. Just fuck me.â
He huffed out a laugh, nose nudging yours, the tease back in his eyes but softened by something that said this wasnât just fucking anymore. âYeah, well⊠things are much different now,â he murmured, lips brushing yours. âWanna do it the right way.â
You moaned, arching to press your mouth to his, hot and messy and already falling apart at the seams. He moaned softly against your lips, one hand sliding under your thigh as he shifted, bracing himself, and pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance.
And then he pushed. Finally. Slow, stretching, the stretch of it making your mouth fall open as he slid deeper, spreading you apart, inch by inch. He pulled his face back, eyes locked to yours, watching you crumble as he bottomed out with one long, devastating stroke. Your body shuddered, as if youâd needed him to stuff you full like that again.Â
âFuckâŠâ he gritted, brows pinched, jaw clenched. âY/n⊠fuck.â
You couldnât speak. Could barely breathe. Just gasped and wrapped tighter around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut at the way he filled every part of you.
The soft light spilling in from the hallway cast a warm golden wash over Harryâs face, his curls haloed, his jaw sharp, mouth parted as he watched you underneath him. He looked beautiful. Stupidly so. And somehow, it all just felt⊠right.
Not just the way his cock stretched you open so slowly, so deeply (this time, even better than before). Not just the press of his pelvis grinding against your clit with every push forward. But the feeling of relief. Of knowing the truth was out, that your name had been cleared, and the man above you⊠he wasnât your enemy anymore.
He was something else entirely now.
Oh!â you gasped when Harry drew back almost all the way out, leaving just the thick head seated at your entrance, before plunging forward again in one hard, wet stroke. The sound echoed through your small bedroom. Your slick walls hugged tight around him, and his moan bled into your throat as he kissed you againâmessy and hot and aching.
âFeels so fucking good, doesnât it?â he groaned, his lips ghosting over yours, breath heavy. âGod, I missed youâŠâ
You tightened your legs around him, heels digging into his thighs as he thrust again, hips rolling deep. Your bodies moved together so easily, the same way they always had. He fit. He just⊠fit.
The rhythm dragged something up in your chest⊠memories, flashed. Of all the heat and tension that had never really gone away. Like the last night you two worked on the project, finalizing everything in your dorm room. You were sitting on the floor with your laptop on your knees, saving the final draft. He was behind you, looming, warm breath on your neck as his fingers skimmed your thigh.
âHurry up. Get that done,â he spoke against your skin, lips grazing that sweet spot just below your ear.
You huffed and pretended to be unbothered but the truth was your panties were soaked. The entire hour of finishing up the project had been heated. You both knew what was coming.
The moment you hit save he slammed your laptop closed and lifted your skirt up, bent you forward, moaning as he licked you up and down and teased you for already being wet. But it was hard not to get wet just being next to him because you knew how the night would end, and you fucking loved how he did it.
But now?
You stared up at the man moving over you with those same desperate strokes, only now there was no hate. Just heat. Just that undeniable connection youâd tried to deny for far too long.
Truly you thought youâd never see him again. But here you were, nearly a year later, with Harry Styles in your bed, his cock driving into you and bumping into your delicate spots that had your head spinning and spinning. Like he never left. Like heâd always been there.
Your thighs gripped him as he rocked forward, slow and deep, hips plapping rhythmically against you. The weight of his body felt like gravity, like home. His scent, his skin, the stretch of him inside of you⊠it all came rushing back, familiar and electric.
He caught your thigh and hauled it up tighter around his waist, breath shuddering as the new angle dragged a broken moan from your lips. You clung to his back, nails sinking into muscle as your body arched up to meet every slick, heady thrust.
Your room was filled with the wet slap of skin, the soft creak of the bed against the wall, breaths and gasps, the low, aching sounds Harry made when you squeezed around him.Â
âShit, Harry⊠donât stop doing thatâŠâ your words were muffled against his soft lips.
âNot gonna stop, baby.â
You tilted your head back into the pillows, mouth parted in silent pleasure as he buried himself again, cock hitting that devastating spot that made your body seize and melt all at once. Your fingers threaded through his hair, dragging him down to kiss you, and he met you with a hungry press of lips, teeth grazing.
Sweat slicked his back beneath your palms, every flex of his hips powerful and fluid. You could feel how hard he was holding himself back, the tension in his thighs, the tremble in his exhale as he bottomed out inside of you again and again.
âFuck, Harry⊠thatâs so goodâŠâ
Somehow you didnât care that your bed was hitting the wall every time he thrust into you, you didnât care if your neighbors knew what was going on in your tiny apartment. You didnât care because you never wanted it to end. You didnât want to wake up from the dream full of disappointment and missing a man you hated.
âIs good, isnât it? Mmm... Fucking you was always so good, Y/n.â
Harry pinched into your thigh when your leg began to slip and you bucked up toward him with a yelp which just made him drive into you harder and faster. Harryâs cock was something you often imagined when you played with yourself alone in bed. You tried not thinking about it. Tried imagining anyone or anything else, but the memory of him and how thick, long, hard he was⊠It worked every time.Â
And now here he was in your bed, plowing that big thing into your guts again. âOh my god!â
He rumbled low, lips against your neck as he worked into you, his body shaking. âFuckâŠâ
Your body writhed under him, every nerve ending alight, pressure building deep in your belly with each thrust. He grunted into your throat, his pelvis grinding against your clit as he fucked into you. You gasped, legs locking around his waist.
The orgasm crept up quick and sharpâyour spine arched, mouth dropped open, in a silent cry as your body clenched tight around him, wave after wave rolling through your limbs. Harry groaned as your cunt squeezed him, his thrusts faltering, rough and sloppy.
âOh shitâŠâ he grunted. âIâm comingââ
He pressed his forehead to yours, breath stuttering, and you felt him throb inside of you, hips jerking and then he came with a strangled noise. You moaned when you felt him pumping into you.
The room buzzed with heat and the sound of heavy breaths. Harry collapsed next to you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, skin damp and flushed. You were still panting too, your body humming, limbs loose and sated, eyes half-lidded as you stared at the ceiling.
He turned his head to look at you, a satisfied grin tugging at his mouth. âSo⊠does this mean you forgive me?â
You let out a chuckle, tossing your arm over your eyes as you smiled. âForgive you? Oh, youâve got a lot more groveling to do, Styles.â
Harry laughed, rolling onto his side to face you. He propped himself up on one elbow and dragged the tips of his fingers gently over your belly. âGroveling, huh?â
You peeked at him from under your arm. âMmhmm. That was a start, though.â
âHappy to keep going,â he said with a cheeky smirk, eyes glittering with mischief. âIn fact⊠Iâm willing to give you another round. Just for penance.â
You rolled onto your side to face him, noses nearly touching, your smile matching his. âThat how you apologize to all the girls you wronged in college?â
He grinned, lips brushing yours in a lazy kiss. âOnly the ones who ruined me.â
You both laughed, and the sound felt good, like you hadnât laughed like that in far too long. Your legs tangled under the sheet, and neither of you made any move to pull away.
âI canât believe you still had that pencil,â you said after a minute, tracing a finger on his chest.
You watched his dimples carve into his cheeks as he thumbed at your temple. âWhat can I say? Was a bit hung up on you.â
It was impossible to respond to that. It was flattering, strange to hear now, all this time later, but flattering nonetheless. You smiled.
âIf I have a lot of groveling to do then that means youâre gonna have to put up with me coming around so I can work off my sentence. Earn my badge of forgiveness. The first favor Iâm gonna do for you is get rid of that terrible pantsuit.â He laughed.
You snorted a laugh and that just made Harry laugh even harder. You were surprised by how easy it still was with him. Only, it was a different kind of easy this time. A good kind that didnât leave you feeling regretful. It was the kind of easy that had you feeling giddy. The kind of easy that had you feeling hopeful.Â
âI was thinking you could start with making me breakfast tomorrow morning.â
âYou askinâ me to stay the night?â
You nodded. âYou have a lot of work to do. Might as well get started on it.â
âWow. Bossy. Just like back in college. Guess some things never change.âYou laughed as Harry pulled you in closer, mumbling something about burning that pantsuit first and then making you breakfast after. You honestly didnât even care if he did burn your ugly outfit. As long as he was still there to make you breakfast in the morning.
â â â
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Harry had slipped out before the footsteps on the stairs reached the bathroom door.
No moment to acknowledge what theyâd just done.
Just the echo of the door clicking shut behind him and the silence that felt deafening.
YN stood alone in the bathroom now, fingers gripping the edges of the sink like it might somehow ground her, like it might give her answers.
Her gaze flicked up to the mirror, but she could barely look at herself.
Her reflection didnât look differentâif anything she had a post-orgasm glow, her lips swollen, and her eyes wet.
She should be gutted, disgusted with herself.
She waits for it, actuallyâfor the guilt to tear through her, to reduce her to nothing but regret and horror and that sick, hollow ache in her stomach that comes from knowing you canât undo something awful.
But it doesnât come, at least not in the way she expects.
Instead, what comes is the memory.
It replays in her mind like a favorite movie scene sheâs watched too many timesâhis mouth on hers, the way he touched her like he couldnât get close enough, like heâd been starving and she was the first taste of heaven.
The sound of his voice when he spoke to her, praised her, called her honey.
The way her body had arched into his without hesitation liked they'd done it many times before.
The way sheâd wanted it.
And that was the most damning part of it all.
Because YN doesnât wish she could undo it.
She would do it again.
She wants to do it again.
She isnât sorry for the actâsheâs sorry for the implications.
She used to think cheating was a hard line.
A clear boundary.
A dealbreaker to any relationship.
And now here she was, standing in the aftermath of her own choices, wondering how sheâd ever believed in that kind of moral.
She canât go back out there.
She canât sit next to Ben like nothing happened, like the last twenty minutes hasn't rattled her entire being.
She canât make eye contact with Lauren eitherâespecially not Lauren.
So instead, she locks the bathroom door and gets into the shower.
The smell of Harryâhis cologne, his skin, his mouth clings to her like the campfire smoke, and she scrubs and scrubs until the scent is gone and the grief sinks in.
Because it is grief, in some strange way.
The awareness that she canât unknow what it feels like to be wanted like that.
Cherished like that.
Touched like that.
She turns off the water but doesnât get out immediately. .
Her nipples are tender from where his mouth had claimed them, a dull throb where heâd nipped too hard, too eager.
And then she sees itâa faint bruise just beneath the curve of her breast, dangerously close to her nipple, something she hadnât even registered in the heat of the moment.
She presses a thumb to it, and it aches, and somehow that small, physical confirmationâproof that it really happened undoes her more than anything else.
She sleeps better than she expects.
Thereâs no tossing and turning, no dramatic spiral.
Instead, her dreams blur into the feeling of his hands on her waist, his voice in her ear.
++
The next morning is a new challenge.
YN doesnât know how to act around him.
Her body stiffens when he walks into the room, embarrassingly enough, even in the morning she gets this gut punch of arousal from merely seeing him.
She isnât overtly avoiding himâshe tells herself that again and again but sheâs curbing everything.
Her gaze, tone, presence because she knows.
No one else knows but it feels like they could.
Any second now, someone will say something or see somethingâsome flash in her eyes, some tension in the way she shifts when Harry enters a room.
It feels like sheâs wearing it.
And when she looks at Ben, really looks at himâshe feels nothing.
Itâs like sheâs looking at a man who spent years tearing her down slowly, carefully, without ever raising his voice.
A man who made her feel like her body was an inconvenience, something to be tolerated or criticized but never worshipped.
The memory of Harryâs hands, the admiration in his touch, feels like a slap in the face when she compares it to the way Ben used to sigh before touching her, like he was doing her a favor.
She canât look at him the same way.
But itâs not Ben thatâs aching in her chest.
Itâs Harry.
Harry, whoâs sitting across the room while Lauren loops her arm through his and laughs at something he says.
Harry, who doesnât pull away from her touch but doesnât exactly lean into it either.
Harry, whoâs pretending like nothing happened, who keeps trying to catch YNâs gaze like when his fingertips were pressed into her backside to guide her cunt to his mouth.
And YN hates how it affects her.
How something green and ugly coils in her stomach every time Lauren brushes her hand over his thigh or leans her head against his shoulder.
She has no right to feel possessive.
She knows that.
But she does.
She wishes she could say it didnât matter, that she wasnât keeping score, but when Harry sits beside her on the couch and she immediately stands to go get something from the kitchen, she feels his eyes track her the entire way.
When she comes back and settles cross-legged on the floor instead of beside him, his eyes narrow ever so slightly.
She tells herself itâs about privacy, about timing, about not having this conversation in front of a house full of people.
But deep down, she knows thatâs only part of it.
The rest is fear.
Harry doesnât seem as concerned about timing.
She can feel itâthe way he keeps drifting closer, like heâs just waiting for the moment she canât dodge him anymore.
And she was right.
Heâs strategic, calculated, in that quiet way of hisâsubtle, but deliberate.
She has to give him credit for that, even if it makes her want to scream.
He waits until everyoneâs seated around the living room coffee table, shuffling cards, casual as ever.
Itâs some complicated game that YN doesnât know how to playâone with too many rules and not enough explanation and no oneâs really offering to teach her, either.
Harry, suddenly, claims the same ignorance.
âI donât remember how to play either,â He says with a shrug, grabbing his coffee from the side table and sipping it like he hadnât just lied.
Niall frowns, confused, âDidnât we play this last summer at your place? You got way too competitive and lost a bet to Tristââ
Harry cuts him off with a low chuckle and a casual wave of his hand, brushing the memory away like itâs irrelevant, âDoesnât ring a bell.â
Itâs a lie.
A lazy one.
YN knows it immediately, the same way she knows how Harryâs hands felt on her thighs just hours ago.
Niall accepts it with a laugh, already distracted, but YN's stomach twists tight.
She recognizes exactly what Harryâs doing.
Heâs making out space or more accurately, heâs isolating them.
Creating the moment.
And then he says it, âWill you help me start bringing supplies down to the boat?â
He doesnât look at her when he asksânot fully.
His tone is neutral enough to pass as casual to anyone not paying attention, but the weight behind the words leaves no room for misinterpretation.
Itâs not a suggestion.
And something in his eyes flickersâannoyance?
Frustration?
Heâs never looked at her like that before.
âSure, Harry,â She says, pasting on a smile on her face.
She catches itâthat tiny shift in his expression- relief, surprise, maybe even a bit of softness that slips through before he masks it again.
He didnât think sheâd go quietly.
But she does.
Fuck.
----
No one blinks when they leave.
Itâs natural enough to be brushed off.
Then theyâre goneâout of the house, down the back path, through the screen of trees that shelters the dock from the house windows.
Out of sight.
Harry doesnât speak at first.
Just moves methodically, stacking folded towels in his arms, grabbing a few lifejackets, nodding at her to follow as if this is all normal like theyâre just doing chores together.
Her legs feel like lead, heavy and awkward, and she hates how badly she wants to reach for him, pull him down to sit beside her on the dock, press her mouth to his and pretend that nothing else exists.
Instead, she scolds herself for even thinking about it.
She shames herself for wanting.
And when Harry finally speaks, itâs not what she expects.
âAre you angry with me?â He asks, voice measured and cautious as he kneels to shove the lifejackets under the storage bench.
His shoulders are so broad in his T-shirt, and the veins in his arms flex as he pushes the last one into place.
He crosses his arms as he stands, looking at her fully now, and the air around them feels dense, charged, thick.
She blinks.
âWhat? No,â She answers quickly, a bit too quickly, her voice almost defensive with how startled she is.
And really, how could she be surprised?
Sheâs been acting like heâs got the plague by avoiding eye contact, dodging proximity, stepping around him like her own guilt.
Harryâs mouth twists.
His brow furrows just slightly, and thereâs something vulnerable flickering there beneath the frustration.
âThen why are you avoiding me? Youâve done it twice now,â He says, and itâs not just irritationâthereâs hurt threaded through it, too, âYouâre making it really fucking hard to not feel like you regret all of it.â
She lets out a breathless laugh, dry and brittle, âI donât know, Harry. Maybe because what we did was fucked? What did you expect? That weâd skip out and hold hands ?â
His jaw clenches.
He doesnât rise to the sarcasm, but he doesnât shrink from it either, âI donât understand, YN.â
Because he thinks this is about attraction, about chemistry about lust igniting but for her, itâs always been so much more.
The way he looks at her.
The way he listens.
The way he makes her feel seen, not judged.
Sheâs spent years pretending it was nothing.
She canât pretend anymoreâbut sheâs also nowhere near ready to say any of it aloud.
âWeâre both in relationships, Harry,â She says stiffly, redirecting, deflecting, desperate to drag the conversation back to safer, more reasonable ground, âThatâs the issue, isn't it obvious?â
Harry rolls his eyes.
And itâs not playfulâitâs exasperated, disbelieving.
âCome the fuck on.â
Her mouth drops open, âExcuse me? What does that mean? I think itâs a pretty big fucking issue.â
âIâm not saying itâs not,â Harry replies, biting down on his inner cheek to control his tone, âBut letâs not pretend like those relationships are solid. You and I both know theyâre not, clearly not after last night.â
âI didnât say that,â YN snaps, defensive without even thinkingâbecause she hates the idea of him painting her so spot on.
Harry scoffs out a humorless laugh.
âRight. Okay,â He steps a bit closer, his voice lower, tighter, âYou want to pretend like everythingâs fine in your relationship? Go ahead. But Iâve known for a while that Lauren and I should break up. At least I can admit Iâm not happy.â
âWell, thatâs your relationship. You donât know anything about mine.â
He stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head, lips curling into a bitter, knowing smirk, âI know enough to make some educated guesses.â
She canât think of a retort.
She wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to kiss him.
Instead, she huffs out a sharp breath, âOkay, Harry.â
But he doesnât let it go.
âI know your relationship is bad enough that you let someone else touch you. That you let me touch you,â He says, and now the heat in his voice is unmistakable, blistering, âBad enough that you came on my tongue without a second thought.â
The words slam into her, vulgar and raw and true.
âIt was a mistake,â She spits, even though itâs the biggest lie sheâs ever told.
Harry recoils slightly, like sheâs slapped him.
Itâs subtleâbut she sees it.
The flicker of pain.
The shift in his jaw.
The blow lands, and for a second, it feels like she might throw up.
âYou regret it?â He asks quietly, and itâs not just hurtâitâs devastation laced with disbelief.
Her heart stutters.
Of course not.
Not even a little.
It was the first time in so long that sheâd felt alive.
But none of that makes it out of her mouth.
âOf course, I do,â She lies again, her voice barely above a whisper,âYou should too.â
And even to her own ears, the words sound like bullshit.
Harryâs eyes search her face, like heâs looking for the truth behind the performance.
YN and Harry had never argued like this before.
Not even close.
Their connection had always been unspoken and easy.
They never needed to raise their voices, never needed to defend themselvesâuntil now.
And this?
This didnât feel like a disagreement.
It felt like the beginning of a wedge.
Harryâs face had shifted fully into something she wasnât used to seeing from himâemotionless, cold, his jaw locked, and his gaze hard in that way that made her feel suddenly very small.
He spoke with calculated calm, each word weighted and clipped, like he wanted her to feel them down to her bones.
âI know the choices I made last night,â He said, voice low and deliberate, âAnd no matter what you think, I stand by them. Because I know my relationship. I know the hurt and I donât feel enough for her to care anymore. The only reason Iâd even begin to regret what happened is because of how youâre acting right now.â
Her stomach dropped.
The words landed like heavy bricks on her chest.
She wasnât validating him.
She was pushing him away.
And worseâshe was lying through her teeth to keep herself afloat, to not drown in the weight of her own fear.
But still, something in her ached at the thought that he could reject her over this.
That she could drive him to indifference.
That she might ruin something that meant so much more than she could bear to admit.
It wasnât fairânone of this was fair.
But she didnât stop.
Because what terrified her more than losing him⊠was wanting him this much.
She couldnât even admit that she was falling, that she had already fallenâand that the idea of him not being on the same page would gut her beyond repair.
So instead, she twisted the blade deeper.
âIt was just sex,â She said flatly, the words hitting the air like poison.
It wasnât even a good lie.
It cracked in her tone before it fully left her lips.
Harryâs brow lifted slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, and she hated how defined his biceps looked, even now.
He tilted his head, voice low, incredulous.
âReally?â He asked, with a slow, sharp edge, âYouâre telling me thatâs all it was?â
She knew that if she opened her mouth, her voice would shake so she just nodded instead, eyes dropping to the dock between them.
Harry wasnât buying it.
âYou didnât feel anything?â He pushed, clearly trying to drag the truth out of her, desperate or angryâshe couldnât quite tell.
She didnât know what answer he was even looking forâbecause she couldnât tell the difference anymore between physical want and the deeper, dangerous longing that had been rooted in her for so long, growing quietly in the heart of her miserable relationship.
Her throat was tight.
The back of her neck prickled with the warning of tears, and she swallowed hard to push them down.
She couldnât cry so she shrugged.
Harry scoffed, a sound that was both offended and exhausted, as he shook his head.
His voice was rough when he replied, âWhatever. I know what I felt.â
âAnd what was that?â She asked, voice barely recognizable as her own, hollow and hoarse.
âNo,â he said sharply, pointing a finger at her, âYou donât get to do that.â
âDo what?â She shot back, confused and defensive and unraveling.
âYou donât get to shut down on me and then ask me for vulnerability like itâs owed,â Harry growled, âYou donât get to lie to my face and then demand honesty from me.â
His anger was simmering, not explodingâbut controlled.
YNâs cheeks flamed, stung by the truth because he was right.
She was asking him to lay it all out while she built walls and hid behind them.
She felt like she was being scolded, called out on the kind of behavior she usually hated in other people.
âDid you feel anything?â Harry asked again, stepping closer now, voice quieter, but still intense.
The question felt too big, too overwhelming.
What did it even mean?
Anything?
âDonât ask me that,â YN pleaded, shaking her head, her voice shaking too, âIâm⊠Iâm in a relationship.â
Harryâs lip curled with frustration, his voice getting sharper again, âNot a good enough one that you wanted to be faithful.â
âYou donâtââ
âHeâs a fucking prick, YN,â Harry interrupted, not letting her finish, âNo one will say it to you, but I will. We all hate him. No one understands what youâre doing with him. And last night just proved it even moreâwhen you flinched about your own goddamn body, when you told me the shit he says to you.â
Harry was fired up now, his voice louder but not threatening.
Just emotionally charged.
âItâs fucked up, YN,â He seethed, stepping forward again, âThat he talks to you like that, that heâs made you feel like that. And if you ask me, noâI donât feel a fucking ounce of regret over last night. Not even a little. The only thing thatâs goddamn disappointing is that you are acting this way.â
Her heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears, and for a moment, she didnât know what her body was going to do.
Collapse? Vomit? Hyperventilate?
But in the end, it was tears.
The tears broke first.
They spilled over faster than she could stop them, as her mouth trembled and her shoulders sagged.
Her hands lifted in a weak attempt to hide it, to save face, but Harry saw.
And the shift in him was immediate.
His anger faded in an instant, his body moving without hesitation toward her, hand reaching outâgentle now.
âHoneyââ He said softly, voice breaking on the nickname, his expression unraveling into concern, into guilt.
But thenâ
âEverything good?â A voice cut through them.
Niall.
His voice was awkward, his body half-turned as if he was unsure whether to approach or retreat.
âI, uh⊠just came to tell you we switched to Monopoly,â He said, glancing between them with a raised brow, clearly trying to figure out what heâd walked into but smart enough to know not to ask.
YNâs face burned, and she wiped at her cheeks quickly, shoving all the pieces of herself back into place.
âYeah,â She said, voice too chipper, too fake, âAll good. Iâll play.â
She moved before Harry could stop her, before he could say anything else.
âYNââ He called, ignoring Niall entirely, voice rough with urgency.
But she turned to him, her gaze hard, final.
âYou can set up the rest, right?â She asked, and though her words were polite, the look in her eyes was not.
It was a warning.
Harryâs jaw clenched.
His eyes flashed something like irritation and desperation but he didnât push.
âYeah,â He said quietly, gaze locked to hers, âIâm good. Go have fun.â
And she left him thereâalone on the dock, in the sun, surrounded by supplies they were supposed to carry together.
Ignoring the tension that transferred onto Niall.
*
I have so much planned for these two! I'm going to try to do smutty angsts which I haven't done a lot of!! If ever really!
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.
Ch. 4 Word Count: 8,762
Ch. 4 Warning: Talk of menstruation and bleeding, mentions of blood and wartime, aggressive male behavior (Harry gets a little violent with the Lord Mayor), discrimination
It's Good to Be King Masterlist
. .
Y/n hadn't been given a choice on the style of her wedding dress. It had already been selected for her. But it was breathtaking. She'd never seen anything like it before, and that she would soon be wearing it in front of the kingdom? It was no wonder she was not given a choice. She would never have picked such a lavish thing because she did not feel worthy of it.
That morning was her first fitting. She stood with her arms stretched outward, one person on each side, holding her steady, while the dressmaker pinned and tucked and cut at the lace and the silk, adjusting it to her size. Mrs. Mable was the royal seamstress, and Y/n couldn't help but feel she held some contempt for her. The way she was pulling and prodding, even poking her with pins, all felt intentional.
"Ow!" Y/n winced when Mrs. Mable stuck a pin through the silk skirt, and it grazed her skin. Again. She was becoming ireful toward the woman when all she wanted was to relive the kiss she'd just had with the king, not a few hours earlier. She'd received a handful of strangers into the Rose Room for the fitting, and she'd been soaring with hot cheeks and a softly fluttering heart before Mrs. Mable got her hands on her.
She didn't know that the lace had its own name, Honiton, or that the diamond necklace they showed her (to be kept in its satin case until the day of the wedding) was Turkish. The dress had an off-the-shoulder, open neckline, with layered sleeves down to her elbows, all lined with the special lace. The silk corset bodice was pointed downward in a deep V, while the skirt was full and pleated silk.
Staring at her figure in the mirror, she felt like a fraud. How had this happened to her? How had luck (or misfortune, she wasn't sure yet) stricken her so abruptly? It was one thing to have been expecting her new lot, to have been raised up for it and accustomed to royal life, but it was another to have been plucked from the streets, shoved into it blindly, and to have people enraged by her presence without ever getting to know her first.
"Please be careful. You're poking herâŠ" Phoebe said to Mrs. Mable.
The woman, whose face was hidden behind silk and lace as she bunched up the bottom hem of the dress, dropped her pin cushion to the floor as she jabbed another sharp object into the fabric. "She'll be fine. I've only nicked her a few times. It's part of the work if you want it done properly."
"But she will be your queen. She is to be treated with the utmost care and â"
Mrs. Mable stood up and pulled at the back collar of Y/n's dress, making her nearly stumble. "Queen Consort. There is a difference. We'll see if she makes it that far."
"The King is taken by her. She will prove you all wrong. You'll see." Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the dressmaker.
Y/n glanced at Phoebe in warning. She didn't want people arguing over her status. It wasn't worth it. If Mrs. Mable wanted to treat her like she was still a street beggar, all while fitting her for her royal wedding gown, then so be it. She'd soon learn who she was dealing with, and Y/n would not forget the treatment she was being subjected to.
"We will see." Mrs. Mable turned Y/n around and took her measuring tape to her hips, waist, and bust, before spinning her around again to help her step out of the dress. "I'll return two days before the wedding for the final fitting, along with the finished veil. And don't get too heavy-handed with tarts or the dress will be too tight."
Y/n looked down at her figure and glanced at it in the mirror. She hadn't gained very much weight at all, but kept being told she needed to gain more. Now there was the dressmaker telling her to go lightly on the very tart Y/n requested to have in the room for herself and anyone else who wanted some. Her mood was a little foul after having been prodded and nicked, so she huffed, stepping past Mrs. Mable to grab a piece of tart and shove it into her mouth as she stared at the woman in defiance.
When the dressmaker and her helpers left the room, Phoebe closed the door and leaned into it, shaking her head. "That woman is awful. There's gossip that she's been vying to have her daughter meet the king before you two are wed."
Y/n slid her standard dress back on, and Phoebe pushed herself from the door to help fasten the back. "What do you mean? To present her to him? For marriage?"
"I believe so."
She knew that the middle and upper classes of Thornekeep were spoiled and mean. So, it shouldn't have surprised her that Mrs. Mable didn't take seriously her eventual new title, and that she hoped her daughter could steal the designation for herself. Y/n was slowly learning about the politics of the kingdom and she was going to have to brace herself for what was soon to come.
"Now let's finish that tart."
. .
Harry was seething. The council had found the Lord Mayor guilty, but he was only charged a measly fine for his transgression. A fine! Imagine forcefully taking the king's wife-to-be from her quarters, openly disrespecting the crown, and humiliating her in front of the kingdom⊠and the punishment was nothing more than a fine?
He couldn't believe it when the news was sent to him. He'd planned on an in-person visit to retrieve the brooch from the Lord Mayor, but when he learned he'd gotten away with nary a slap to the wrist, he immediately sought out his Proctor to go back before the council to appeal the decision. His only recourse was to prove she'd been hurt in some way.
He stormed into the room where Y/n was in the middle of her etiquette class, and the governess stood from her chair quickly and lowered her head. "Your Majesty."
He breezed by the woman and pulled Y/n's chair out, dropping down to his knees in front of her without so much as a glance toward the governess. Y/n gasped when he pulled her skirts up and he put his hand over the dark blue and brown spot on her knee. He'd seen the bruise the morning before when he tried to get her to join him in his tub.
"This. Did this happen when they pushed you around and removed you from the castle?"
Y/n blinked slowly at him as he looked up at her. He looked desperate, wild. She had nearly forgotten the bruise herself and she certainly hadn't realized he'd even seen the thing.
"Yes. I was pushed down to my knees and hands from the steps. It was bruised much worse at first, but it's better now. Can hardly feel it really."
"And who pushed you? His name, Y/n. Was it the Lord Mayor?"
"I⊠I'm not sure. It was two men⊠The Lord Mayor never touched me except to take the brooch."
She watched as he clenched his jaw and looked down at the bruise, his thumb running along the top of her knee. "He was there, though. Did you hear him order the men to take you?"
Y/n thought back to that awful morning, and she nodded. "Yes. He said that your duties fall on him when you're away and that it was his command. And Niall! The guard, who's just there outside the door. He was there and he heard it and saw it all. That's who he said it to."
"So he ordered men to do this to you. And we have a witness." He pushed himself to stand up and stepped away quickly, back toward the door, before he turned to speak again. "I will get your brooch back for you today."
When the door was closed, the governess looked shocked as she watched Y/n slide the fabric back down her legs.
"What? Is this what it takes for you to notice my presence? The king himself must barge into your classroom and cause a disturbance for you to realize I'm sitting here?"
The woman wiped her hands down her dress and turned toward the table to speak. It seemed she only spoke to Y/n with her back turned to her. "I notice. I've already taught you plentyâ"
Y/n stood up. "You should speak to me with more respect from now on. I will be the queen soon. If not, I'm sure the king will have words with you next. I will not return for any remaining classes. I understand now that I have much better manners than even you do."
She dismissed herself and stepped out of the room with that awful woman. Niall was waiting at the door, and he greeted her with a polite, sharp nod. "At least you and Phoebe are kind to me," she said, smiling at him as she began to walk toward the grand staircase that would lead them up to the king's chambers. "And you're kind to Phoebe as well. Thank you for that."
Niall didn't speak often. His duties didn't allow for it. But a few times he let his guard slip â so to speak â and he'd say a few words. "I've no reason to disrespect you or your lady-in-waiting."
Y/n smiled to herself as she continued up the steps. The stairs were wide, and they seemed to go on forever. The landings, on the way up, split the levels into threes, and the stairs curved around and continued up until they found the floor with the king's chambers and the Rose Room, where her chambers were. "If you disrespected Phoebe, I'm sure she'd be heartbroken. She rather likes you."
Before Y/n could pull the door open with it's heavy iron knob Niall spoke. "She does? Did she say something?"
She looked around the hallway and then up at Niall. "Of course she did. But that's nothing I can discuss with you. Secret is safe with me. No need to worry."
. .
Y/n had a large bruise on her left knee and a castle guard as witness. Harry doubted anyone else would offer to attest. He'd bring Niall with him the following day to meet again with the Proctor for proof of the Lord Mayor's mishandling of his queen-to-be. But first, he needed to find the Lord Mayor to deal with him at once and retrieve the brooch.
He didn't bother announcing his arrival or sending the house steward to call to the Lord Mayor that he was there. And it was good to be king because it meant that people had to listen to what he asked of them, even if they didn't much like him. So when he lowered his hand and stepped inside, the house steward bowed his head and let Harry in without a peep.
He wasn't hard to find. Harry spotted him quickly in his first-floor study, reading, and the Lord Mayor stood in haste. "Your Majesty. To what do I owe the honor of your sudden and unexpected presence?"
The king stepped toward the large bookshelf and ran a finger over the hard bindings. Harry's saunter and cold grin were vexing. The Lord Mayor had never met anyone so plaguy in his life. The king was full of himself and was purposefully bucking tradition. He had a much more suitable and beautiful option than Y/n, which the king would have loved.
"You have something that belongs to Y/n. The woman to whom I will be wed at the end of next week."
"I have nothing in my home that belongs to that girl."
Harry bit down on his molars as his dark gaze seared at the Lord Mayor before he bounded toward him, heavy steps over the wooden floors, until the king's hand was wrapped around the man's throat and his back pressed against the wall.
"I will not be disrespected by you once more, Virgil," he spat the name between his teeth. "First, you insult me behind my back and make a show of carting off my wife-to-be and her family like animals. And now you lie to my face? If you do not produce the brooch, that will be considered theft, which you will regret when I drag you before the council."
The man's eyes were wide as he tried to pry the king's strong grip from his windpipe. He wheezed as the back of his throat constricted when he attempted to speak.
"I can't hear you. Speak louder, worm."
Harry was enjoying watching Virgil squirm and gasp. He could squeeze tighter and hold on for a few minutes longer, be done with the man for good. But then, having to explain to Parliament what had happened would be awfully annoying, so he opted for just scaring him instead.
"You were much easier to subdue than I imagined. But then again, you have aged like spoiled curd. Flimsy muscles trying to pry my hand away. Give it another go. Let's see what you've got, old man."
The Lord Mayor did not have it in him to pry Harry's hand from his throat. And it was true, he was getting older and his body was not as virile as it had once been. He was no match for the young king. He tried twisting, but instead of working himself free, Harry released him and stepped back as the man fell to the floor and violently coughed.
Harry laughed as he stepped around the Lord Mayor to his desk and sat down in the chair, closing the book Virgil had been reading. "Where's the brooch? Or should I fetch your wife and tell her what you've done?"
The Lord Mayor, with his palm at his throat, coughed. "King StylesâŠ" He inhaled sharply, his voice pinched as he tried to speak after the king had restricted his air. "I was protecting you. Protecting Thornekeep!"
Harry glared at the pathetic man, still on the floor, trying to push himself to his knees. "You defied me and the kingdom. You showed contempt toward Y/n and her family." He pushed himself from the chair and stood over Virgil, looking down at him. "And on your command, you had two men push her down to her knees, inflicting pain and making her bruise. That is assault, which will not go unpunished."
The Lord Mayor finally leveraged himself to stand, placing a hand on the bookshelf and pulling himself upward. "My Lord, please. The girl is a street beggar. Her word is not to be trusted. My advice is to consider anotherâ"
Harry stepped in closer, his boots bumping into the old man's as he pushed him by his chest, his back against the bookshelf. "Your advice is not needed nor warranted. I am King. I will choose what I please, and I will have what I want."
The man stood with his hands upward as he bent back and away from the king, still standing toe-to-toe with him. "I didn't hurt the girl or her family. I simply returned them from where they came."
"I will have you tried for treason. Assault! What you did to her is inexcusable. You flagrantly disobeyed my command. If the council doesn't find you guilty, I do. And if they don't impose a more severe penalty, I will. I'll take this into my own hands if need be."
"There's a beautiful young woman. Much lovlier than Y/n. Pearl is her name⊠Smart, golden hair, a virgin. Her family comes fromâ"
Harry laughed loudly, cutting Virgil off. "I will marry Y/n. I want no one else for my queen. You have overstepped your duties with me, and after I'm done with you, you will not be welcome in or near the castle. You will be stripped of your title, and you and your wife will be considered a disgrace to the kingdom. I will see to it."
"Please⊠My LordâŠ" He kept his hands upward in surrender. "This is excessive. Do you really think that having my title stripped will be well received by the proletariat who elected me? It would be bedlam! The people would not stand for such controversy!"
"Has it not gotten into your skull, yet, that I am not concerned by outrage or controversy. Let them be angry. Anger is better than complacency."
"Complacency is prosperous. Anger is costly."
"And I have the means to pay whatever the cost if need be."
"You are going to bankrupt the kingdom with your frivolous actions. Your father would be turning in his grave if he knew what you were up to."
Harry spat, "Good. I hope my father rots. Let the spoiled aristocracy learn to work for their meals like everyone else. Have you seen the rookeries? Do you know the reality of what sits on the outskirts? Thornekeep is prosperous, but only for you. Only for those who don't need it."
"Oh, pish!" Virgil laughed incredulously. "You act like some kind of martyr, yet you've seen the rookeries of Thornekeep but once! Stop this madness! You will drive our kingdom into the ground with your foolishness! You've no idea the damage it will causeâ"
Harry slammed his fist into the wood of the bookcase directly next to the Lord Mayor's head. "I have been to the slums in many a kingdom. You forget, maggot, that I spent most of my adulthood outside of Thornekeep as commander-in-chief of our kingdom's armies. I led my men to victory in dangerous battles across the land. I fought alongside the downtrodden. I've lived it. I've seen it all up close. I do not care who hates me. Let my father's rest be disturbed. I care not!"
"Heavens! What is going on?" Virgil's wife appeared in the doorway, the look of surprise on her face quite amusing to Harry.
Harry patted the Lord Mayor's shoulder and stepped back. "We were just having a good ol' chat about my future wife. Though Virgil here does seem to fancy a golden-haired girl called Pearl, I explained to him that I'm a man with morals and already spoken for. I'm sure any other man would be grateful for a chance with her. Even married ones like yourself."
The woman blinked in surprise at her husband. "Little Pearl? You mean Mr. and Mrs. Mable's daughter?"
Harry nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he moved toward the doorway and smiled casually at her. "Yes. I believe that was who he was referring to. He's quite fond of the girl. I don't know how he's become privy to her virginal status, but your husband seems quite excited about that detail. Bit too young for meâŠ"
He leaned in closer to the Lord Mayor's wife and spoke quietly. "I prefer 'em thicker through the calf and more mature personally, but your husband has his own tastes, I presume. Just keep an eye on him around little Pearl, will you?"
"Your majesty!?" The woman looked at the king, her mouth agape.
Harry grinned back at the man. "My wife's brooch, the one you stole? Have it sent to her within the hour, or I will be back again before nightfall."
. .
Y/n felt feverish and her insides were twisting and turning and squeezing tight, like her guts were being clamped together and wrung into a ball. Her sisters' bickering about the little game they were playing nearly tipped her over the edge of anger. She wanted to scream at them for silence. And most interestingly, she hadn't been able to finish the dinner that was served to her either. She had no appetite.
"Y/n. Are you feeling alright? You look unwell." Her mother put the back of her hand up to her forehead and gasped. "My child! You're burning hot! Phoebe! Where is Phoebe? Where is the guard?"
Y/n sighed and leaned forward as she closed her eyes, placing her elbows on the table. She wasn't worried about her manners at that moment. She felt like she was about to vomit. She heard her mother shuffle from the dining room to find Phoebe, who'd just wandered off only moments before.
If she hadn't been in so much sudden pain, she would have found it amusing that both Phoebe and Niall were nowhere in sight. Pushing herself from her chair to stand, her father rushed to her side. "Careful there. Here we go."
He leveraged her to standing, draping her arm over his shoulder, and began to help her back to the King's quarters. Before they had reached the stairs, Phoebe was there on her other side, arm drawn across her back to help. "I'm so sorry, madam! I didn't know you were poorly. I would haveâ"
"It's okay, Pheobe. Don't stress. I just need to lie downâŠ"
She hadn't seen the king all afternoon and figured it was better that he wasn't seeing her in that state. He'd probably change his mind about her altogether if he saw her like that. If she wasn't healthy, what good was she to him? She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth when a spasm wracked her organs.
"Should we fetch a doctor?" Her father said.
"I just need to lie down. Please."
Y/n was brought to the king's bed and propped against the pillows when she noticed her mother, sisters, and Niall standing in the doorway watching. She didn't want an audience. She wanted to rest and needed the pain to go away.
Phoebe pulled at the blankets as she tried to make the bed more comfortable, and Y/n groaned. "Please⊠I just need rest. I'm not dying." Although she felt like she was.
"Yes. Of course. We'll leave you be. But we will be fetching a doctor whether you like it or not."
Y/n closed her eyes and rolled to her side as her father and Phoebe finally left the room. She groaned quietly and hugged herself around her stomach. She wondered if she'd eaten something bad. Or perhaps God was finally punishing her for her lustful thoughts and behavior.
Making herself into a ball, she clenched her teeth and felt something wet on her leg. She paused and slowly she reached down, bringing her hand under her chemise to feel, and when she lifted her hand in front of her face, she hadn't expected to see blood.
Blood coming from⊠there?
She pushed herself up to sit and pulled at her skirt. More blood. "Am I with my monthly sickness?" she whispered.
It had been some months since she'd bled at all, so to suddenly see blood⊠Well, it explained the pain she was feeling, though it'd never ached like that before. Hissing in pain, she bent forward and closed her eyes. At least now she knew she wasn't going to die.
. .
Y/n startled when the door to her chambers was suddenly pushed open, and in stepped a vexed-looking Harry. "Are you okay? I was told you've fallen ill."
"I'm not ill. Not in the sense that I'm sick with something I've caught. It's myâŠ" She glanced away and sighed before looking him back in the eye. "Lunation."
"Lunation," he said the word slowly as he stood there, blinking at her. If she'd ever seen a confused man before, he was it. She nearly laughed at the expression on his face. To see the king look at her like that⊠Well, it wasn't something she felt she'd be seeing often. Had no one told him? She'd assumed everyone in the castle was talking about it by now.
"I'm having my menses."
"Oh! Yes. I see..." He stepped in closer next to her bed. "But why must you be here? I thought I'd find you in my room."
Y/n pressed her hands into the top of the bedding she sat upon. "Special mattress. They put this over the bigger one underneath. To catch my blood. I didn't think you'd want me next to you while I'm⊠wellâŠ"
Harry pushed his hand over the thin, smaller mattress and nodded. "Is it comfortable. Feels stiff."
"Nicer than anything I used to sleep on. I'm perplexed that this is meant for me to bleed on, and then it gets burned after. I'd have loved to have had this mattress at one time."
"Is it always like this for you? Your menses?"
Y/n leaned back and placed her hands over her stomach. "No. I haven't bled in some time. It was never on schedule anyway. The doctor said I must have been malnourished, and now that I'm eating well, my body is⊠revitalising was the word he used. He did come with tea and some medicine, and I feel much better now, though. He said I'll be fine."
She heard him push out a breath, like he'd been holding it in. "I've got something for youâŠ"
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the lovely brooch that had been taken from her. She smiled and sat up. "I'm so glad it's not been lost for good. It's so beautiful."
Harry reached for her hand and placed the golden breastpin into her palm. "Virgil will not be coming around here again. His invitation to the wedding has been revoked. My Proctor is working on having his title stripped."
"Thank you for getting it back for me. I realize my presence here is an incumbrance. To you and to everyone who cares about the crown. I can see I'm not well-liked in this castle."
Harry furrowed his brow and trailed his eyes over her figure. "Who else has been rude with you?"
"Besides you?" She tucked her lips into her mouth and watched his expression fall.
"My rudeness was meant to be a test of your resolve. Have I not amended myself to you?"
"Little by little, I suppose. I can't expect you to dote on me like a man burning with desire when you have none for me."
"I may not express my desires plainly, but I would not have you here if I didn't want you here. Perhaps it's not evident to you, my motivations, but you have been a surprise to me. A pleasant one. One that I intend on keeping for good."
Y/n had only been teasing at first, but his tiny confession was consoling to her. She knew there was a small flame burning between them, but his visage was not an easy one to see through.
"You chose me to anger the kingdom and to produce an heir. Are you saying now that there's more to it than just that?"
He clenched his jaw and slid his irises down to her bare feet. "It is true that was my initial purpose with you. But as I said, you've been a surprise to me."
She looked down at her feet as he ran the pad of his finger over her ankle and then upward to her shin, stopping at the bottom hem of her chemise. She swallowed as she looked back up to his face at his lips. The lips she'd kissed just the morning before. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about how it felt. It left such a warm, lingering sensation on her skin that she was sure she'd never be without it again.
Harry sat down at the edge of the mattress, his hand still on her shin, before he drew his fingers back down to her ankle. He'd been so worried about her at first. His assistant, Fred, told him she'd nearly fainted at dinner and had to be brought to bed, and something about a doctor. He probably should have waited to hear the rest, but his legs were carrying him quickly up to his room to get to her before he could even think about what he was doing.
When he didn't find her in his room, he dashed back into the hallway like a madman to the Rose Room, to her quarters. His heart had been racing, and he was already thinking the worst. Until he saw her propped against her feather pillows with her pretty eyes aimed wide at his intrusion.
The truth was, his mind had been in a fog since he'd kissed her. He wasn't a man who kissed his conquests typically. He found kissing to be a waste when his only intention was usually to get himself off. But Y/n's mouth was soothing and sweet. He could have let himself kiss her for hours, just savoring the smell of her skin and the tiny licks of her tongue against his. Best of all, her breath wasn't offensive in the least. It was like herbs and warm honey.
He brushed his knuckles against his lips in reverie and pressed his palm over her shin, wrapping his fingers around the underside, and kept his gaze fixed on her. He didn't know what he'd have done if she had been worse off. He was still feeling the waves of calming relief easing his mind now that he'd found her well.
"You've also been a surprise to me. I disliked you at first. Thought you were the devil." She smiled softly, biting her lip and then releasing it.
"I'm still the devil, little mouse. That, you were not wrong about."
She shook her head. "No. You're different with me. If you were still treating me as you had at first, I'd be contemplating running off with Lane."
His brows stitched together tightly, and the ease on his face was gone. "Lane. Is he going to be a problem for us?"
"A problem? He's my friend."
"He's a friend who's smitten with you, and you just said you'd thought of running off with him. Are you also smitten with him?"
Y/n laughed and shook her head. "Heavens no! Never."
Harry did not laugh with her. "But you're close to one another. Has he ever tried to kiss you?"
She stopped chuckling and blinked at the king slowly. Was she to lie to him and say no? Certainly, he wouldn't take it well if she told him the truth. She'd seen him in his jealousy before and wasn't keen on another outburst from him.
Looking down at where he was now clutching her shin, she shook her head no but kept her lips pressed together. She was afraid that if she were to speak the lie, he'd see right through her.
Harry reached toward her chin and tilted her face up. "Look at me when you answer. Have you kissed him?"
She blinked harshly and inhaled through her nose as she shook her head again, but she couldn't lie when she was looking directly at him. "Just⊠Well⊠Once. He was drunk, and I only wanted him to stop asking, so I let him, but that was it. I never even thought of him like that⊠Iâ"
"Who else have you kissed other than me?"
"My Lord, Iâ"
"Harry." He interrupted. "In private, you will call me by my given name, unless you plan on running off with another man, then the cold formalities will do. So tell me. How many others have you kissed?"
"No one else. Just you. I can hardly even count Lane, it was gross."
He let go of her chin and stood up, stepping away, his back to her. "And did he do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere he shouldn't?"
"Of course not. You are the only one who's ever touched me where he shouldn't."
Harry turned to look at her. "Where I shouldn't? Are you the maker of the law now? To tell the king, your husband, that he shouldn't touch you?"
"We're not wed yet."
"I could wed you tonight if I so please. Do not forget who I am."
"How could I? You're the devil. Just like you said."
Harry let out an incredulous sigh and shook his head. "You're free to leave if you like. I'm sure you'd prefer Lane over the devil."
She crossed her legs together and sat up, glaring at him. "Your jealousy is risible when the whole kingdom knows of your past exploits. How many women before me did you lie with and kiss, and how many do you still take?"
She wasn't sure she was prepared to hear his answer. She was sure he'd been having his fun and would continue to.
Stepping back toward the bed, he narrowed his eyes at her and placed his palms down on the mattress. "Since you? None. I haven't."
"You didn't return to your room last night. I must assume you were in another woman's bed."
"I was in my office working. I slept there. I have taken no women since you have arrived, and before you, it matters not."
She wanted to believe that he had not been soothing his heathen nature with other women, but a man like Harry, the king, could do as he pleased, and Y/n would have no say in what he did when he was away from her.
"Then why should it matter that a boy once kissed me a long time ago? And I don't think I believe that you've been keeping your fiddle clean either."
He couldn't answer her first question without sounding like a pathetic sap, but he knew the answer was because he was, in fact, jealous. He thought that when he'd kissed her, he had been her first. Harry didn't know why he was feeling so sentimental about a little kiss, but he likened the feeling to someone having poked a sharp pin into his chest. Even her accusation left him stung in pain.
"I might be the devil to you, but your accusations of me are false. I have no interest in anyone else in that way."
"But you could if you wanted. You're the all-powerful king. What's stopping you from rogering any other pretty girl who surely throws herself at your feet? Certainly, it isn't because of me."
Harry stood up, removing his hands from the mattress and stared at her in disbelief. He'd been accused of many things before, but somehow, having Y/n fault him with infidelity when he'd practically been a saint was absurd.
"Would you like me to go off and stick my fork into another woman? I have no interest in doing such a thing, but you seem quite fond of the idea."
She looked away from him. She wasn't sure why he cared or why she was provoking him. "I'm tired. I need rest."
"You didn't answer me earlier. Who else has been rude with you, Y/n? Tell me."
Crossing her arms over her chest, she sighed as she looked back at him. "The governess, the laundress, the dressmaker, some of the maids, the castle steward, the butler's servants, one of the footmen was particularly hateful when I was being dragged away into the cartâ"
"Is your lady in waiting also hostile with you?"
She shook her head. "No. Phoebe's very kind. I think of her as a friend. Niall too, he's also very genial. I trust them both equally.
Harry looked down at the floor and worked the bottom part of his jaw from side to side. He hadn't realized that so many of his staff had been cruel to her. He expected some friction, but this? He lifted his gaze back up to hers. "Why haven't you told me?"
"Did you not already imagine I'd be treated with such disdain? No one wants me here in the castle⊠Well, most don't. I represent everything they hate."
"I suppose I was mistaken in thinking that even if they disliked you, they wouldn't outright scorn you. Even the governess?" He shook his head and placed his hand on the wooden poster of the bed.
"I've tried everything with her. I meet with her on time for every class. I'm polite, quiet, and I always practice what she's shown me. But I've come to accept that she thinks she's wasting her time with me⊠that I'm not worth the trouble. She never looks at me. Only speaks with her back turned, and then half the class acts like I don't exist. Most of the hour is spent looking at a wall while she reads. One time, I arrived early and she wasn't there. When she finally stepped into the room, it was half past and she never once looked at me or spoke, even when I asked her what she'd be teaching me that day."
"Do not indulge her anymore. You needn't put yourself through that kind of turmoil for a class that teaches useless politesse."
"I won't. I told her today that I wouldn't return."
"Good. And how are your parents faring?"
Y/n smiled, confused and a little astounded by the sudden change of subject as well as the shift in his mood. "They are very happy. I think they, too, are treated poorly, but they ignore it because they're so strong-headed. The beds and the food are quite enough to keep their mouths shut about ill treatment."
She watched as he traced his fingers over the thin stuffed mattress she sat on. "As soon as you are given your title, anyone who treats your family badly will be punished for it."
Y/n nodded and looked down at the brooch in her hand, running her thumb along the engraving. The small thing was heavier than it looked. She was glad to have it back, mostly so that it wasn't lost. She knew it meant a lot to Harry because it was once his mother's.
"She didn't have a chance to wear it but a handful of times," he said, looking at the breastpin. "They were going to bury it with her, but I stole it." He smiled at the memory as he traced his finger along the edge of the blanket near her thigh. "It was sitting in a tin tray with her other valuable jewels, and after I took it, my father tore the castle apart to try and find it. No one ever suspected it was me. Had hidden it for many years, then took it with me to war. No one ever knew."
Y/n looked up at him. She wasn't surprised that he'd stolen it as a child, and somehow it made him seem so much more human. He was just a small boy when he lost his mother. He deserved to have a piece of her to take with him.
"So you've always had a rebellious heart."
He licked his lips and looked down at her. "Yes. I suppose I have."
"Do you miss her?"
Stress lines carved into his forehead. "Not anymore. I still think of her, though. Fond memories⊠I came to terms with all that a long time ago."
"You're a very strong person."
"Strong? Maybe. Most everything is a farce, Y/n. I prefer the appearance of stoicism, so that's what I allow everyone to see. It's better to keep emotion out of reach."
"Does that mean you don't allow yourself to feel sad or happy?"
"I don't allow others to see it. That does not mean I don't feel those things. I do, however, prefer to remain rational. I let logic rule, not my emotions."
"But you are making significant changes by rejecting convention. You are causing tumult in the kingdom, and people are outraged. How is it that you are ruling by logic when you've created such a stir amongst the people?"
Harry sighed and sat down next to her, his eyes reaching from her face down to the brooch in her hand. "Do you believe that my actions speak of a man governed by his irrational feelings?"
"Some people think you're acting rashly. But to me, I find your plight noble. The poors are always overlooked. We fend for ourselves the best we can, but now to have the king on our side feels like our voice has finally been heard. Emotional or rational thinking, I don't know. But it's not without good virtue or mindful discernment."
"Mindful discernment." He smiled as he returned his gaze to hers. "I suppose I do have a soft spot for the undervalued among us. Even if it began as a means to an end."
Y/n let the words sink into her pores. She knew all along that he chose her to upset people. She wasn't delusive. Even if he'd started being nicer on occasion, she was still but a means to an end for him. But he was also a means to an end for her as well. She and her family could live comfortably, well fed, well rested, safe⊠Maybe true love had not been meant for her like she once imagined.
"Well, I'm certainly glad you saw me that day. Otherwise, I'd just be another undervalued, begging strangers for any kindness. At least I have a comfortable bed to lie down in." Yn laughed and closed her fingers around the brooch. "My mother thinks you courted me. I don't know why she'd believe a king would be interested in a street beggar, but I won't correct her. She still believes in true love and fate and all that. Don't have the heart to tell her how it happened. That you selected me out of convenience. A means to an end, if you will."
Harry's brows pulled together. "Is that what you think? That this is all just a show?"
"Is it not?"
"You will be crowned Queen, and you will be my wife, with whom I will produce an heir. That is not a show."
"Maybe not a show. But you said it yourself, a means to an end."
"What were you expecting, Y/n? Love at first sight? Anyone I would have selected would have been the same. But I did not anticipate to find you so alluring. I've grown very fond of you in these weeks."
She swallowed as her skin burned hot. It was most infuriating to her that he could sway her emotions so rapidly. In one beat, she was a disappointing burden, and yet in another, she was fond and alluring.
Even as she sat there, the thin fabric of her chemise covering most of her skin, while she bled into the mattress below her, he meant his words just the same. She was more beautiful and captivating by the day. Lifting his hand up to the curve of her jaw, he let his pupils wander over the features of her face, and he could tell she was nervous.
"What is it, mouse?" he asked in a soft timbre.
She blinked her eyes and looked back up at him, her mouth parted as she paused for a moment to let her irises mesh with his. "Sometimes you're confusing to me. I don't know how to feel when you speak about me. I know you don't love me. I never expected that from you. But I don't think I imagined you'd find me alluring either. Especially right now while I'm painting the mattress under me in red."
He slid his thumb over her cheekbone as he pushed out a breathy laugh.
"Is what I said laughable to you?" she asked, her brow raised.
He grinned. "Yes, your words amuse me. You're quick-witted. Do you think that because you're having your mensus that I would recoil in disgust?"
She nodded. "Yes, in fact. Even my father is repulsed, and he loves me."
Harry shook his head, and she watched his gaze drag down to her bare ankles and then back up to her face. It was almost lewd the way he so brazenly wiped his sight over her frame the way he had. She might as well have been lying there naked.
"I'm not squeamish by a little blood, Y/n. I've sewn limbs and gashed wounds together. I've used my bare hands to stop the bleeding of maimed soldiers more times than I care to count. I saw the most ghastly things when I was leading our royal army not that long ago. Your mensus does not unnerve me in the slightest."
"I see. But even still, it isn't desirable. You cannot tell me you find me alluring in this moment."
"And why not? You are not less beautiful or mouthy because of it. It does not deter my fondness." He grinned.
She had a hard time believing him. But why would he lie to her? He had no reason to try and make her feel better about herself because either way, she wasn't going anywhere.
"Even when I offered myself to you the morning before, you didn't want me, and I wasn't yet bleeding. How can you say these things to me now?"
Harry shifted, his knee pushed into her thigh as he took her face in his hands. "What are you on about? I made it clear my feelings about that. And then I kissed you. Do you not remember any of it?"
Her lashes fluttered as she tried to maintain calm. Of course, she remembered it all. Word for word. And then the kiss⊠Every brush of his lips and tongue, the way her body washed in heat every time she relived the kiss in her mind. It had changed a part of her, so of course, she hadn't forgotten.
"I remember."
He nodded and let go of her cheeks. She remembered, but did she remember it the way he did? Had he been alone in the way his heart pounded wildly behind his chest, in the way his fingertips burned, and his blood simmered⊠The way he was breathless when he finally pulled away? For that had never happened to him before, and it marked him so violently that he couldn't think straight all night.
And it had just been a kiss. Was he a fool to let the feel of her warm mouth against his take up so much space in his chest as he had? Even then, he'd wanted to kiss her again to revel in the sensation.
"I can't stop thinking about it. The kissâŠ" she confessed.
He looked back up at her face, relieved at her words but stricken by his shameful inner thoughts. He couldn't help but feel a kindred madness working its way through his veins.
"Nor can I," Harry replied quietly, almost reluctantly, like an admission passed between the cracks of armour. âThe kiss, I can still feel it sitting on my lips.â
His thumb skimmed her bottom lip, light as breath, his eyes fixed there. "The moment I felt your mouth on mine, I knew it was something that would stay with me.â He paused. âAnd I found myself imagining it over and over.â
Y/n sat still, afraid to breathe too loudly, her heart fluttering rapidly like a mouse, the pulse pumping in her neck.
Harryâs voice dropped lower. âIt lingers. The feeling of you. I wasn't prepared to let it sink me to the depths.â
She shivered, her nerves causing her skin to prick, as his words lay gently over her heart. "But you left so quickly after and didn't return to me last night. I know you said you were working, but you made your choice to keep away from me."
âBecause I didnât trust myself last night.â His hand slid to the side of her neck, his thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of her throat. âYou offered yourself to me, and I was feeling reckless things. I have spent a lifetime reining in heedless actions. Staying away was best for us both.â
She boldly slid her shaky hand against his leg as his gaze lifted sharply to hers. He hadn't expected it, and in that brief moment, a recognition passed between them; they were two people, human and flawed, no different than the other. Their outward status meant nothing in those seconds that ticked by.
He leaned forward slowly, his nose brushing against hers. âYou drive me mad.â
She smiled gently, their lips nearly touching. âYou deserve it.â
That earned a brief breath of a laugh from him, more air than sound. And then, before reason could interrupt, before obligation, or her own festering doubts could rise to interfere, Harry kissed her.
It was not like the first time. This one felt impatient, a test of sanity or madness, a sating of curiosity. It was filled with a slow ache that had been building since their first clash of wills. His mouth moved over hers with devastating precision until she pressed her tongue to his, and the precision turned into a starved pace, as though every second he didnât kiss her was one he could no longer justify.
Y/nâs fingers crept up his hard, solid chest, curling into the soft linen of his shirt as she responded, matching his hunger with a keenness of her own. Her body ached with a desperate need to be touched, to know she mattered to him.
And Harry touched her like she did matter. As if the truth he couldnât yet speak was being carved into the space between them. His lips opened and closed around hers, his fingers slid gently up her spine to the back of her neck as she moaned into his mouth.
A harsh knock on the door startled them. The king slowly parted from her and turned toward the door. "Who's there?"
Y/n sat forward to watch the door open, and in stepped Harry's assistant, hands clasped behind his back, head lowered. "Your majesty. Forgive my intrusion, but your presence is requested. The Lord Mayor and His Grace, Duke Hughes are here to settle a dispute."
"Send them away. It's far too late to be resolving conflicts, and I have nothing more to say to the Lord Mayor today."
The man nodded shallowly as he kept his eyes turned to the floor. "He said that if you refuse to meet with him, he will report you for theft, assault, and trespassing."
Harry laughed and ran a finger under his nose. "That spineless worm. Fine. Tell him to make himself comfortable in the drawing room. I'll come find him soon."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Fred said as he closed the door behind himself.
Harry moved his hand from hers and fixed his gaze on her pretty eyes. âYou should rest.â
âI wonât be able to,â she murmured. âNot after that.â
âAfter the kiss or the intrusion?"
She smiled shyly and looked down at her lap. "The kiss."
Harry nudged her chin upward to look at him. "Then think of it as a dream.â
She looked at him as he pulled away, her voice barely above a hush. âDid you feel reckless again?â
His soft green eyes scanned hers for a quiet moment. Then, with a final kiss to her brow, he answered, âMaybe.â
With that, he stood, smoothing the front of his waistcoat, his mask of control slowly knitting itself back over his face â but not before she caught the softness still lingering at the corners of his mouth.
âI'll be around to check on you, but I'd better find you fast asleep when I return. And Iâll see to the governess tomorrow.â
He made for the door, and just before exiting, he glanced over his shoulder with a glint of something playful in his eyes. âRest, little mouse. The devilâs watching over you tonight.â
She pushed a breathy laugh from her lips and watched the edge of his mouth turn upward before he left her alone in her room. The silence around her felt stiff and accusatory, but she quelled the burgeoning shame and guilt that started to rise up in her. Y/n was done with needless worrying about wanting to kiss a handsome man who would soon be her husband. She touched her lips softly, the feel of his mouth engraved on hers.
Perhaps he was the devil but she was beginning to see that maybe the devil wasn't as bad as everyone had said.
. .
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lil teaser below the cut
When she opened her door she turned to block her doorway and raised a brow to feign control of herself. "Thanks for the ride."
Harry shook his head, his eyes piercing hers as he took a step closer. "May I come in, sweetheart?"
"Why? You got me home safely. What more could you possibly want?"
He had some ideas.
"Don't be a brat. I'm trying to apologize."
"Oh. I see. So, calling me a brat is your way of apologizing?"
The smallest smirk pulled at his lips as he held his tongue so he didn't say what he was really thinking. "I didn't realize that you were so upset over what happened on Saturday. Let me come in. I promise I'll say goodbye this time when I leave."
"Ten minutes." Y/n gestured for him to step inside.
Harry unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled it off, draping it on the arm of the couch as he walked into the small space of the living room and looked around. Y/n felt like her face was hot as she watched him assess as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. She imagined he thought the place was too small and too cheap for the likes of him.
"Seriously. You didn't have to do all that with Erick, Harry. He wasn't going to hurt me. He's just pushy is allâŠ"
He turned to look at her, his gaze dark and narrowed. "I thought I told you to stay where you were in the bathroom. That would have been much easier for everyone. But you didn't listen to me so I had to escalate."
"You did not have to escalate. He's incapable of hurting a fly. You took it too far."
"I helped you get out of a sticky spot. You're welcome."
Y/n felt like her eye sockets were getting a workout from all the eye-rolling she was doing. She turned away and began to walk to the kitchen for some water. Her mouth was dry and she needed to do something with her hands because having him there was making her body thrum with wild nerves.
She placed her purse down on the counter and reached up to grab a glass, sitting it next to her purse. But when she turned he was right there, standing over her. Too close for her to breathe or think.
"What? What is it you want?"
He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what he wanted himself or why he was there with her in her kitchen. He didn't know why he was bothered that she'd been out with her ex. He couldn't wrap his brain around it at all in fact.
When he didn't answer her she flailed her arms. "Just like I thought! The completeâ"
Harry's hand wrapped around her wrist before she could knock the glass from the counter and it was like the words she was about to say got caught in her throat.
"That's the second time I saved you tonight." He looked from the glass back at her.
She groaned. "I didn't need you to save me."
He squeezed tighter, keeping his hand around her wrist as he pushed her arm down and nudged her into the counter. "I think you did."
Her skin was buzzing as he placed his free hand on the counter next to her hip and dipped down so close she felt his breath on her cheekbone.
"HarryâŠ" She spoke in a weak warning.
"Y/nâŠ" He pushed his nose to the side of hers. "Will you forgive me?"
âDo you like feeling out of control of your body?â Oh, so she had definitely heard him right.Â
âI mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?â Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that â why did he ask that?
Harry laughed â itâs a real thing; something sheâd only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesnât last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, âDepends on the context, huh?â He repeated, and Y/N didnât think sheâd ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that sheâd rather ignore.Â
or
Harry thinks Y/N is cute and Y/N is having horny nightmares
part 1
(18K+ words)
ii.
âHe said what?âÂ
Y/N has always believed that there were people who liked sitting on the floor and people who avoided it at all costs. She had always been a floor sitter, for as long as she could remember. When she was younger, sheâd play on the floor with all her stuffed animals and dolls. Then she got a little older, and laid on her stomach over the purple faux fur rug she begged her parents for (only for her cousin to spill wine right in the center of it on a summer visit) while she pretended to do homework and study, but listened to music and daydreamed about her crushes. And when she was in college, sheâd have her legs spread out on the floor surrounded by notes she actively ignored while stalking her (now ex) boyfriend online. Then she went to culinary school, and there really werenât a lot of options to sit on the floor in the kitchen, yet somehow she always found herself with her bum on the linoleum after cleaning up, waiting for her food to be finished in the oven.Â
And now she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom overanalyzing every interaction sheâd had with her boss.Â
The thing is, she knew the whole point of her taking home his shirt to get the stain out was so that her spilling the drink on him didnât plague her every thought this whole break they had â but that actually did very little to help. It wasnât just spilling the drink that tormented her, but every waking moment she spent thinking about the whole night. From the second Harry plopped down in the booth across from her, to the moment heâd let her door swing shut behind him. Each memory twists, spins, and dances along the forefront of her brain to the sound of Beethoven's 5th Symphony because sheâd recently heard it in a commercial and itâs stuck in her head. The music swells, crescendoing, Harryâs carefully curating a lettuce wrap and making her eat them, then thereâs a lull of sweet violins and heâs smiling at her dancing with Niall with his drink in hand, and they start beating on the kettle drum around the time Harryâs pulling his shirt off, saying she flusters easily, calling the side he saw of her cute.Â
Just a month ago, Y/N would have expected cats to pose a coup against the government and throw the whole country into a state of chaos and fish-flavored treats before believing that Harry would have ever even thought anything about her existence. Apart from annoyance, at least. Despite Harry going out of his way to email her professor and let her know that he wanted Y/N to study under him, she often wondered if he even liked her. Technically, you didnât have to like someone to work with them or to teach them. Heâd seen promise in her and seemed like he wasnât particularly fond of her as a person, but sheâd accepted that with relative grace for the last year. Again, there were moments when she wished for a closer relationship with him but sheâd given up that dream about five months in when he still hadnât referred to her by name and Adam and Niall were already sharing inside jokes.
So to think now that he had smiled at her with dimples and called her cute? It doesnât even feel real.Â
The morning after, her head was throbbing and she was convinced that the mushrooms Harry had cooked on the grill were actually psilocybin and sheâd had a psychoactive hallucination for the rest of the night (because that had seemed more likely than any of what she was remembering). Then she sees his shirt, soaking in her sink where sheâd left it the night before, and it feels a bit more tangible. Her face feels hot because now sheâs completely sober and embarrassed over every single word she uttered. Then it feels like her cheeks might melt off when she thinks about how she saw his bare torso, and how she knows his nipples pebble quickly when heâs cold, and how he has laurel tattoos leading down to his dick like itâs a prized possession.Â
With a face hot enough to melt ice, she diligently works to get the stain out of his shirt. Thereâs a concoction of many different laundry agents that her mum had to teach her when the grass stains from playing outside turned into the blood stains of an angry uterus. It works well to get the brown liquid out of the shirt, maybe even making it whiter than she started. For a quick, pathetic second she wishes she hadnât started soaking it last night so she could have pressed her nose to the fabric and seen what it smelled like â but then she wipes that thought from her brain and pretends she never had it. Â
The rest of the day she forced herself to tidy up, do laundry (that wasnât Harryâs), and go grocery shopping in preparation for the threatening snowstorm. She prepped a roast that she would throw in her slow cooker the following morning, then snuggled with Hazelnut and a hastily made sandwich. Every couple of minutes an image of Harry from last night doing something flashes through her brain like a strike of lightning that sheâs desperate to ignore. It could have been worse though, she decided, that maybe her brain had finally taken mercy on her and stuffed this down into a locked box.Â
Until Niall called her just before she started to get ready for bed.Â
âOkay, I think Iâve allotted us both plenty of time to get over the hangover,â he started, âNow what happened when you and Harry left the club?âÂ
So thatâs how Y/N found herself stretched out on the floor, phone pressed to her ear, Hazelnut taking it upon herself to sit heavily on Y/Nâs chest and make it a little harder to breathe. Sheâll blame Niall for prying open the box sheâd just tried locking and sealing (even though she did a poor job of locking and sealing it in the first place) because itâs incredibly hard to act like it didnât happen when sheâs recounting it to Niall. Niall, who gasps at everything, from Harry opening the car door for her (a tiny gasp and a murmured, âHe totally wants to fuck,â), to him peeling off his shirt, (a louder gasp, another murmur, only this time a question, âOh my god, did you guys fuck?), to him more or less calling drunk-easy-to-fluster Y/N cute.Â
âHe said what?âÂ
Y/N covers her face with one hand, âThat the side he saw of me last night was cute.âÂ
âOh my god,â she can picture Niallâs face, mouth ajar, his hair pressed from his forehead by the fluffy polka dot headband she forced on him â sheâd just heard him spit the toothpaste out of his mouth, so she knew he was washing up for bed, âY/N he is trying to fuck you. This isnât even me being delusional.âÂ
She swallows, âI mean, itâs a little delusional, all he did was compliment me,â she plucks at her bottom lip, sighing, readjusting her hips with a grimace because they hate the floor sitting agenda, âIf you can even call it that. Now that I repeat it, it sounds like he was making fun of me.âÂ
The faucet turns on, on Niallâs end, âIf Harry were any other man, I might believe you and think it was just a compliment,â he sounds like heâs drowning while she speaks, so he must have moved on to washing his face, âBut he isnât just any other man. This is Harry â I donât think he does or says anything that isnât deliberate. Taking off his shirt, saying youâre flustered easily, calling the side heâd seen of you cute â this man wants you to slobber on him. Or maybe he wants to slobber on you. A mutual slobbering.âÂ
Y/N laughs and the movement of her chest annoys Hazelnut enough to peek her eyes open at her but not to move off, âI donât know, I just keep replaying like every moment and hating how I responded and reacted. Like. . okay, letâs say we arenât being delusional and he does want to sleep with me â I definitely blew it. I was not sultry or seductive and I sounded like a dumbass.âÂ
âHonestly, I donât think thatâs what he wants at all,â she could hear him splash more water on his face, âNot to speculate, but I think he wants someone easy to fluster and cute â both of which you are. I donât know much about him besides that he scares the fuck out of me, but from how he was last night, he just seems like the type to tease and taunt. He probably went home and got off thinking about your face after he said it.â The water turns off, âWhat kind of car does he drive? Was it nice?âÂ
She knuckles at her eyes, âIt was so nice â some kind of SUV, but it had seat warmers and drink warmers. And he didnât ask what I wanted to listen to, but he picked a playlist that had a suspicious amount of artists I listen to.âÂ
âHeâs probably stalking your socials,â Niall deduces, âOr heâs listening when we think he isnât. Think about how many times weâve been talking in the kitchen with him around. He probably knows more about you than you think.â Niall sighs, âAlright, babe, I need to put on this face mask and get ahold of Adam â he called like 3 times while we were talking âcos he wants me on League. You should probably start looking for toys around Harryâs size to train, âcos how long has it been since youâve slept with anyone? Youâre practically a virgin now.âÂ
âOh God, goodnight Ni.âÂ
Y/N clicked off the phone, flopped it down on the floor beside her, and made no move to get up. Hazelnut doesnât either, barely even stirring when Y/N covers her face with her palms again and groans. Delusions aside, it was a little helpful to have spoken it out loud â the thoughts had been vibrating, pushed up against her skull, ready to seep through her ears had she kept it to herself any longer. Niall had put more things to think about in her head though â the possibility that Harry wanted to sleep with her, for one.Â
Thereâs no way â she knows thereâs no way. . .but. . .but like, was there a way?Â
No. No there wasnât â sheâs being silly. The other night Harry was just looser than he was when he was in the kitchen, thatâs all. Adam had even said he was excited for them to see who Harry was outside of his role as a boss, so maybe this is just what he was like. Heâd been kind to Niall too â he certainly hadnât been feeding Niall as diligently as he was feeding her, and maybe when she would look over sheâd catch his gaze more often than Niall did but he was looking at the both of them, right? Just watching his subordinates have fun. No thoughts other than being able to relax and show a side of himself that he doesnât allow outside of the kitchen. His attitude must have just been softened by good food and his glass of whiskey, or whatever. Or maybe it was all about the vibes â which had been immaculate that night â he might have just been in a good mood too.Â
He probably just felt guilty because she told him that he was scary and that contributed to her whole passing out thing. And, despite prior interactions and feelings before heâd started being the tiniest bit more gentle â Harry was someone who had a heart and a conscience. Thereâs a chance that he didnât necessarily want to come off as scary, but his austerity and desire for structure and success made him come off that way.Â
So, once again, she tries to carefully pack away the night and the thoughts of him looking at her in any way other than his apprentice that heâs become at least the tiniest bit fond of. Or, at least, one that he cares about even a little.Â
If she goes and looks at eight-inch, silicone dildos â well, thatâs her business.Â
                                                              .              .              .
Snow blankets the ground by the time she goes back to work.Â
The weather had been all over the place the last couple of days, so she was happy that they had them off, even if it meant she couldnât do much with her time but rot away inside. Clouds couldnât decide whether they wanted to spit out freezing rain, sleet, or snow until they settled for big, fluffy white flakes that refused to melt along her window panes. Sometimes a random, intense gust of wind would rattle the glass and pique Hazelnutâs attention but otherwise, her flat had decided to be kind to her and withstand the intense weather. Her furnace stayed warm and her water heater kept running, and even though a few times her service was a little spotty, things remained in relative working order.Â
Being stuck inside did very little to soothe her overactive brain but each day that passes, last Friday seems like a distant memory. Something closer to a dream â at least thatâs what sheâs going to pretend like it was. And after a near treacherous time getting from her flat to the restaurant in the still icy cold weather, all she could think about was how to warm her frostbitten hands. Despite coming in later in the day, the sun did very little to warm anything where it was hidden beneath the clouds. Y/N finds herself wishing hopelessly that she was back in her bed, pressed up against Hazelnutâs warm little body, but no matter how many times she closes her eyes, she opens them to see nothing but practical snowy tundra in front of her.
Because the universe has something against her, the first person she sees when she steps through the door is Harry. He doesnât drop to the floor and kiss her feet like Niall seems to think heâd do, but he does give pause when he usually wouldnât. Head tilted, eyes curious, âYou seem cold.âÂ
Y/N can barely get a laugh out, her lungs frosted over and stiff, âYeah,â she agreed, âItâs freezing outside.â He continued to stare at her, and. . .well, yeah, things have changed but havenât really. The stare he levels her with makes her mouth move while her brain tries to catch up, turning into a fumbled, rambled mess of words, âThatâs um â I donât really like driving when it's snowy and icy like this, so I have to take the subway here. And they havenât really taken care of the sidewalks well enough, so thereâs still a lot of snow to walk through and I donât have snow boots so my shoes are like. . .like sopping wet, so Iâm pretty cold, yeah. Iâll warm up soon though, being here â sâalways hot in here.âÂ
Harry looks displeased, brows knitted, âYou donât have boots?âÂ
âUm, no? Iâve never really had boots for the snow since we â it doesnât get that bad, that often.âÂ
They are quiet for a moment, an awkward tension thick in the air. Y/N was stupid for even considering that Friday night might change their dynamic because this is much of the same. Weird breaks in the conversation, uncomfortable periods of heavy silence, and Y/N feeling stupid after every word she spoke. It mustâve been the shots and the presence of Niall and Adam who very rarely let the mood get unpleasant. It had nothing to do with her, with Harry realizing anything â yeah, maybe he found some aspects of her cute, but sheâs also still not entirely sure she didnât hallucinate that.Â
âYouâll be with Oliver today,â he changed the subject abruptly, motioning toward their saucier standing at a station she rarely gets time at â it would be good for today, considering all the different, intricate sauces and gravies they have on their seasonal menu around dinner time, âHis shift ends soon. When he leaves, Iâll take over with you.âÂ
Thatâs all he says before pivoting on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Y/N to trek to the coat room so she could disrobe her winter garments.Â
The day goes as a typical day goes â the evening is busy, busy, busy but Oliver is nice and helps remind her of the basic principles Harry had taught her about sauces. How to get the right consistency, the proper flavoring, and what to do if it doesnât turn out right the first time. Heâs not much of a teacher but in this case, Y/N doesnât need a teacher, just a guide â thatâs the only reason why Harry would allow her to be following someone else. The first part of her night goes relatively fast with the number of people desperate to eat their food after being denied it for several days. She thinks the second half of the night slows, but only because Oliver is smiling at her regretfully when he tells her heâs clocking out and Harry will be covering the rest of his shift.Â
It isnât bad â itâs the same as before, which should be good, but Y/N canât help being a little bummed about it. For all sheâd convinced herself that Harry didnât want her like that, there was a sliver of her that still hoped that she was wrong. That Niall had been correct in his interpretations and Harry was actually chomping at the bit to slobber on her, or with her, or mutual slobbering â whatever heâs said. That he pulled off his shirt in front of her because he wanted her to think about it for days and days and days. That he was teasing her because he wanted his dick inside her too.Â
Alas, this wasnât a movie. Or a show. Or a book. If it was, then she thinks the setup for them to have a riveting, whirlwind romance is there but sadly, this is real life. Harry was nice to her because she was drunk, had recently called him scary, and sheâs pretty sure he knew she was crying when he yelled at her last time.Â
Being the same as before meant he was still making an effort to encourage her more, which is nice. Y/N guesses sheâs most glad that he isnât trying to prove to her that their dynamic hasnât changed by being rough with her again. When he tastes the bordelaise sauce she prepared, he nods his head, âItâs good,â he complimented, âAdd a bit more pepper and itâll be better.âÂ
She still feels like sheâs glowing when Harry verbally compliments her food, no matter what the compliment is, itâs much better than just a grunt and a pissed-off look on his face. Y/N tries not to show too much that sheâs gleaming, but she feels the stretch on her cheeks long after heâd disappeared to answer Adam calling for him. Like being praised by a kitchen deity; or a kiss of favor by a kitchen king.Â
Harryâs freshly washed, unstained shirt has been folded neatly in her bag all day, waiting for the perfect time to hand it off to him. She knew better than to do it in front of the other staff because gossip runs through this place like a grease fire, difficult to snuff out. Y/N might have been saved for the fact that the number one runner of the rumor mill, in charge of oiling all its gears, is Niall â but heâs a sucker for a good story. If someone got him going, heâd probably reveal his whole theory about Harry wanting to sleep with her.Â
Itâs easy to find the time to give it to him because she and Harry are always the last in the kitchen. Everyone cleans up, but Harry specifically delegates her to help him with storing whatâs left, putting in orders for the inventory diminished by their day of work, and tidying after theyâve tidied. A double tidy â to make sure everything is actually clean.Â
On a normal day, Y/N would be whining about this, but it does allow her to hand him his shirt after theyâd finished.Â
âHarry?â She called to him, still feeling a little weird not referring to him more formally while they were here. Harry hums from where he was tucked away in the office so Y/N ambles her way over. She reaches into her bag and has it set out on her hand before he even turns around from the file cabinet heâs digging in, âI â your shirt,â she says, very intelligibly, of course, âI have it.âÂ
When he turns around, he seems surprised â like he must have forgotten about it, âOh?â Tentatively, he takes it from her hand, unfolding it. An impressed look twitches at his eyebrows, âYou really got the stain out.âÂ
âYou didnât think I would?â Y/N pressed, pulling her bag more firmly over her shoulder.Â
âI didnât know if you could,â he countered, carefully folding it back up, âBrown liquor is notoriously difficult to get out of clothes â a white shirt at that. Are you sure you donât want a career in dry cleaning?âÂ
Y/N huffed a laugh through her nose, eyes rolling as she turned on her heel, âVery funny. Goodnight, Harry.âÂ
âI hope you arenât planning on taking the subway again,â he mentions before she can get too far. It does make her pause, twisting back to face him, head tilted because. . .well, how else was she supposed to get home? âItâs dark and even colder than when you came in. Youâd be lucky to make it home without a cold.âÂ
She tugs at the end of her scarf, âI â well, I donât really like spending money on Ubers though, and their prices skyrocket in this kind of weather, so ââÂ
âSo Iâll take you home,â he answers definitively, âLet me get my coat.âÂ
Harry disappears toward the coat closet before Y/N can even register what heâs suggested. Or rather, what he told her was going to happen. There had been really no room to argue and, honestly? Y/N wouldnât have argued, to begin with. The thought of trekking through the snow and ice while a thin layer of frost formed over her eyes seemed horrific, and sheâs certain her toes almost froze to the point of snapping off on the way here. She couldnât even find it in herself to do a polite, pretend denial of it. One of those, âOh no, I couldnât ask you to do that? Really? Okay, only if youâre sure!â Instead, she just follows Harry out to his car and tries not to eat shit on the pavement when her feet catch on the patches of ice.Â
He pops the car door open for her and waits until sheâs fully seated before shutting it and walking to his side. Y/N realizes that sheâs much less suited for a car ride when she isnât a couple of drinks in, so her blood is sort of roaring in her ears. Harry shivers when he gets in and keys the engine to life.Â
Itâs quiet while they wait for his car to warm up. Y/N wondered if it would be too awkward to ruffle around through her purse and grab her phone, so she could at least look kind of busy, and not seem as socially inept as she did right now. Or maybe Harry just thinks sheâs tired â which isnât a lie. Y/N is sleepy; it weighs heavily on her bones, especially after having so much time off. Itâs hard to return to being a productive member of society when sheâd lounged around with Hazelnut for the last few days.Â
âWhy didnât you ask Niall to bring you home?â Harry inquired, finally, piercing through the silence.Â
Y/N hums, shifting in her seat, pleased by the seat warmer melting heat into her bum, âHe and Adam were gâna have one of their League nights, so I didnât want to make them wait for me.â Itâs true â Y/Nâs always there earlier than everyone and later than everyone because Harry is her mentor and those are the hours Harry works. That wouldâve meant an additional 30 minutes eating into their weird little cult video game thing, and at that point, theyâd try to drag her with them to make sure they didnât lose any more play time. Y/N loves them but she doesnât need to be involved.Â
âLeague?â Harry sounds confused and Y/N sighs â maybe he does hear a lot in the kitchen, but he blocks out a lot too. Y/N wishes that was an option for her, but Niall will just debrief her on everything anyway, so itâs better to listen for the first go around.Â
âLeague of Legends,â she replies, âTheir game that they go bananas over â donât ask me to explain it, I donât understand a thing and Ni will go on about it for hours if you let him. Once we tried ecstasy together and he made me listen to a 40-minute spiel about this show based on it. The show was good though, so I get it.âÂ
Y/N doesnât realize her slip-up until Harry hums softly, âEcstasy, huh?âÂ
The blood drains from her body, flushes from her face, down her chest, through her belly, spinning out of her legs, and through the bottoms of her feet. Oh my god â how the fuck did she let that slip? Maybe she couldâve said that when she was drunk and could use that as an excuse, but now? Completely sober? What if Harry gets rid of her on the spot? Pushes her out of the car? No chef training under him is going to have experimented with ecstasy a year ago.Â
âOh, I â um â thatâs â that was a lie.âÂ
âA lie?â He repeated, âYou know how I feel about liars.â Her face pulls into a look of true and utter distraught panic, opening her mouth to explain herself, but sheâs cut off, âJust kidding,â his face does not suggest heâs joking at all, apart from the tiniest twitch of his mouth, âI donât care what you do and try, as long as you donât come to work impaired by any measure,â he slows to a stop at a light, then briefly turns to face her, âUnderstand?âÂ
She nods, eyes wide, nervous, âI â yes,â she tells him, âIâm sorry for â still, I didnât mean to tell you that. And I donât want you to think I do it regularly! We just wanted to see what it was like â or at least I did, the last time Ni did it was in UNI during a rave, and I definitely get why people do it at raves because â yeah. But I havenât done it since.â Y/N kind of wishes someone would shove their hand over her mouth to make her stop talking (Harry, preferably, but she thinks that would probably make her moan). Sheâs just stuck in the perpetual need to impress him, and finding out that she and one of his other learning chefs did ecstasy and then talked about a video game for 40 minutes is like. . .not impressive at all.Â
Harryâs gaze darts around her face like heâs looking for something. Or maybe heâs just registering that sheâs freaking the hell out. Whatever it was he finds, he turns back to the front and slowly eases the car past the light once it turns green, âI wonât judge you,â he finally says, âIâve done it before.â
Y/N had never once learned anything personal about Harry in their time together. Everything she knew about him was based on old interviews and untested hypotheses because picking his brain was impossible. He was someone who believed that work was for just that. . working; there was no time for gossiping, sharing anecdotes about each otherâs lives, discussing interests, and through that somehow decrypting their political ideologies. So Y/N knew nothing about him, except for the amount of salt he thought necessary to add to certain dishes and his preferred method of slicing onions.Â
So this was â riveting information, actually. A tidbit â a small sliver into Harryâs life that sheâd never been granted before. She takes it in, and â greedy as she is â wants more.Â
âYou have?â She turns to face him more, âThatâs â thatâs crazy! When did you?âÂ
Harry pulls right, driving down a relatively quiet street. For a Thursday night, there wasnât as much hustle and bustle as usual, but that makes sense with all the snow. Nobody wanted to risk breaking their front teeth on the pavement because of poorly shoveled and salted walkways, âMy second year of culinary school,â he replied, âAfter a particularly grueling semester. Someone in my class offered it to Adam, who then offered it to me.âÂ
âThatâs â whoa,â she says, very intelligibly, and she thinks she hears Harry puff through his nose an amused noise, âDid you ever do it again?âÂ
He shook his head, âNo. I donât like feeling out of control of my body.â Then, he tacts on, âDo you?âÂ
Y/N stilled, blinking at him.Â
Did she hear him right?Â
âHuh?âÂ
âDo you like feeling out of control of your body?â Oh, so she had definitely heard him right.Â
âI mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?â Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that â why did he ask that?
Harry laughed â itâs a real thing; something sheâd only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesnât last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, âDepends on the context, huh?â He repeated, and Y/N didnât think sheâd ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that sheâd rather ignore.Â
âWhy do you â um â why do you ask?â Her face felt hot.Â
There was a smile on his lips that sheâd never seen before â taunting, goading, before he answered simply, âNo reason,â with a pleasant-sounding sigh, even though Y/N thought that there was definitely a reason, but there was certainly no way that the reason is the reason that she was thinking about. Because if it was then. . .then that would mean that maybe her and Niallâs grandiose delusions had more accuracy than they originally thought. And if that were true, then that would mean Harry is thinking about doing the naughty, despicable, filthy things that Niall has been prophesying for weeks now.
The rest of the ride is quiet, though itâs not very long â just five minutes of Y/N fidgeting with her fingers in her lap before they pull into her complex. Harry remembered the way from the last time he dropped her off â sheâd only realized at the end of the trip that she didnât have to direct him once. He pushed the car into park, then turned to face her, still seeming humored, his eyes tickled with an emotion she doesnât see often from him. So infrequently, in fact, that she didnât know what emotion it was. . .just that it wasnât the typical, aloof gaze that he normally leveled her with.Â
âThank you,â she gathered her purse in her lap and gripped the straps like theyâd keep her from saying something stupid, âHave a sweet night, or good dreams, or â have, um â christ,â the grip hadnât worked, âHave a good night.âÂ
Harry nodded politely toward her, âIâm sure I will,â he replied, âYou too.âÂ
As Y/N took the elevator to her floor, walked to her door, ambled her way through her flat while she started shedding layers, and made her way to the bathroom (all while Hazelnut slithers around her ankles), her mind raced. Niall had heard from his friendâs, dogâs, cousinâs, ownerâs sister (or whatever) that Harry was a freak, hadnât he? That he was into different kinky dynamic play, how his dick is huge, he edges people for weeks, he fucks nasty. Did he actually want to do that with her? Why else would he ask a question about her opinion on feeling out of control of her body?Â
Or â fuck, did he really just want to know if she did other drugs? And then she accidentally made it weird saying it depended on the context. Like, seriously â what other context could there be? Drugs, alcohol, or giving your body to a kinky sadist and letting them make decisions over it? She seriously thought her face could melt off from how much heat it held, despite the way glacial winds battered against her cheeks while she walked to the front door.Â
Of course, she updated Niall, after her shower, when droplets of water were still clinging to her skin and she avoided stepping out of the bathroom because she knew it would be freezing.Â
Ten minutes later, she gets a reply (probably in the middle of a snack break, or a piss break â they have one scheduled in every thirty minutes of their gaming).Â
OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!!!Â
He might as well just tell you he wants to fuck at this point, heâs being so obviÂ
Should you show up to work in a collar and buttplug or would that be too much?Â
                                                         .              .               .
The thing is â Harry is a professional.Â
There are no lingering gazes or suggestive questions during work hours, nor are there references or insinuations that theyâd ever spent even a moment together outside this kitchen. Again, unless being scrutinized by the razor-sharp eye of the deluded, their relationship dynamic hasnât changed by much. However, Harry is much more giving with compliments, or soft praises to encourage her. She roasted a rack of lamb the other day and when Harry tasted it, accompanied with a careful hum and a pissed-off face, he verbalized, âThis is good,â with a nod of his head, âIt can be even better next time. Weâll work on the seasonings together.âÂ
So thatâs nice â because Y/N doesnât necessarily want to be the source of kitchen gossip. For example, when one of the servers that used to work there started hooking up with Vivian, their saucier, only for Vivian to find out the server had a wife. Then she found out at the beginning of their shift one day, promptly cried about it to the other kitchen staff (the kind of inconsolable sniffles that were hard to stop), and as Y/N recalls, Harry had said something like, âTake the day to compose yourself, we donât need tears in the sauce.â Which. . .could he have been nicer about it? He sure could have, but the more she grew to know him, the more she realized that this was Harry being nice.
(Heâd run the sauce station that day, had Y/N follow him around like the imprinted duckling she acted like, and â mysteriously â the server quit a couple of weeks after that.)Â
The moral of the story was â if people were fucking at work, they kept quiet about it. As long as nobody brought the drama and theatrics of their relationship into the kitchen, and so long as their meals never paid the price of the emotional toil an argument in the break room could have â Harry didnât care what anyone did. Though Y/N isnât sure if he knows who is rendezvousing with who. He doesnât care to concern himself with petty things like that â or so Y/N thinks. Itâs just the vibes he gives off.Â
Does he give off the vibe of someone who would fuck an employee? Well. . .Y/N and Niall have differing responses to this question. If you ask Niall, Harry is frothing at the mouth to stick his hands down Y/Nâs pants in the pantry room and make her beg for him to spit on her tongue. If you ask Y/N â yeah, Harry kind of does seem like heâs into that, but she couldnât be positive that he wanted it from her. Or, maybe he might, but heâd realize how inexperienced she is in kink and that could be a turn-off. Who wants to have to teach someone how to fuck the way they like it? Thatâd probably be so aggravating, especially for him. Up until recently, she thinks he barely liked teaching her anything to begin with and that was the basis of their relationship.Â
âYouâve clearly havenât read enough corruption kink literature,â Niall flicked her ankle, Y/Nâs foot resting on his thigh while he carefully brushed the nail polish over her pinky toenail (Y/N helped him get rid of his calluses and ingrown nails in a very grueling âat-home-spaâ day last week, so this was his repayment â he was surprisingly very serious about it and doing a great job), âIâll send you some recommendations.âÂ
Y/N sighed, dropping her head against the back of her couch, and narrowly avoided landing on Hazelnut (who lifted her head and glared momentarily before going back to sleep), âHeâs been â like, you know how he has me come in on off days to practice?â Niall hummed a small nod, âBeyond a few subtle things Iâm definitely reading into, he doesnât mention anything crazy at all. Iâm starting to feel like he just wants to fuck with me.âÂ
âFuck with you, fuck you â itâs the same difference,â he shrugged, pressed the brush back into the bottle and dunked it a few times, âHarry is a serious guy, yeah? Heâs not going to interrupt prep or cooking with clear signals that he wants to blow your back out. Itâs why he only does or says shit kind of blatant outside of that environment â his personal and work life are separate.â Niall tilted his head to the side, âIâd say youâre one more outing from the work setting away from him having you call him Daddy, but thatâs just my hypothesis.âÂ
With her unpainted foot, she nudged his knee and ignored him when he clicked his tongue, scolding her for it, âShut up,â she sighed again, âUgh, I want to fuck him.âÂ
âIn due time,â he murmured wisely, âNow stop moving your damn foot before I paint the whole toe.âÂ
Niall did have a point and it did stand with Y/Nâs â Harry is a professional through and through. Thereâs no way he would hint anything at work, right? At least definitely not during working hours. She guesses why sheâs frustrated, is because there arenât many opportunities that involve her and Harry outside of the kitchen. So theyâre basing all these theories off the whole two times something kind of happened, and it would probably be an outstanding amount of time before they were alone outside of the restaurant again.Â
Unless Adam could convince him to come out for dinner and drinks again, but â well, Y/N doesnât see that happening any time soon.Â
                                                                    .             .            .
Y/N was in a bad mood.Â
It was mostly hormonal, she knew that; this morning she woke up to her period which had been looming over her with threats in the form of symptoms. Her breasts were tender, her lower back ached, and the fatigue was so intense it was hard for her to stay awake for more than a couple hours at a time on her off days. Plus she was horny and hungry, in equal, large, thought-consuming amounts which was the biggest red flag (no pun intended). Still, she could have had an LED sign light up on her ceiling that said YOUâRE PERIOD STARTED!!! and she still would have worn the same shocked, annoyed expression when she wiped after peeing.Â
Thankfully sheâd only bled in her underwear, but still, she was annoyed that it forced her hand to start laundry. And all she wanted to do was eat a breakfast sandwich, take a bath, and crawl back into bed but she needed to be at work in a couple of hours. There were errands she needed to run, Hazelnut had a vet appointment, and she thinks she promised her neighbor sheâd change the batteries in their smoke alarm (it was an older couple, who had no business standing on a chair to reach it). A list of things that were daunting on a normal day, but even worse today, and she had to work a busy shift on top of that.Â
Things have been hectic at work lately â it always is after the holidays, so theyâve been running around like crazy. Even Harry and Adam have had to jump in even more than they already do, preparing dishes, cooking the meat, sauteing vegetables, and the like â because theyâve been getting slammed. Both during the day for lunch and at night â Y/N wonders if the rich were trying to quell their seasonal depression with fancy meals or something. So she knew that having a nice, easy night wasnât promising, and while she woke up in a foul mood already, that did nothing but worsen it.Â
Then, to add icing to it, her ex messages her again and she should really just block the dumbassâs number but something in her heart wonât let her. So there was that too.Â
Still, she goes about her business in the morning and when she gets to work, she puts on that sheâs doing just fine. Y/N had always been a firm believer that you shouldnât make your bad mood other peopleâs issue, so she tries to keep it to herself as much as she can. And sheâs good at it too â only Niall notices that sheâs more grumpy than normal, and it wasnât for anything but the sound of her laugh being just a touch different. Niall is very in tune with the people he considers himself close with, so a tonal shift of any kind has his brain dinging. He seems to know the root of the issue before Y/N could disclose it (sometimes she wonders if he has a tracker on his phone to keep up with her dates) because at lunch thereâs a piece of chocolate and two paracetamol waiting for her in the breakroom.Â
Everyone else doesnât seem to notice anything wrong either, save for Harry, maybe. It feels like his eyes are more keen on her today than they typically are on her, following her around the kitchen. Or maybe heâs just in super mentor mode and is making sure her dishes are being prepared correctly, even in the fast-paced environment of a dinner rush. Either or, every time she looked up his eyes bore into her with the same apathetic glare he always had and she always darted her gaze away quickly (could he at least look a little happy when he saw her? Why did he always seem so unimpressed?).Â
For the most part, he leaves her be, too busy with his own shit to have time for any additional hovering than normal. He sticks close by so he can taste or correct a technique, but far enough that Y/N can zone out a bit â fall into the methodical structure of making mass amounts of potage aux legumes and let the rest of the night zip by. Heâd barely spoken to her today, but once two hours ago, when he tasted the soup.Â
âThe taste is good,â he told her, âThe consistency could be smoother but this isnât a bad start. Try pureeing less at a time and it will improve.â It does take a knock at her confidence but he rebuilds it rather quickly the next batch she makes when he stirs it and hums approvingly.Â
By the time the end of the day rolls around, sheâs dog-tired. The exhaustion only weighs heavier in her bones when Harry grabs her attention as they are cleaning, âStay after tonight.â That is all he says, and she immediately wants to flatten her face into a pillow and scream but instead, she nods and replies, âOkay.â with little fuss. Despite how extra fussy she feels.Â
Soon enough, Niall is squeezing her shoulder and telling her to message him when she gets home, and Adam is threatening Harry to not stay here too late. Really, this is no different than any other day â Harry typically expects her to stay until he tells her to go, but a request like this must mean heâs planning something. She just couldnât figure out what, considering his normal âteaching her something newâ days are the days the kitchenâs closed. Y/N thinks sheâd be more annoyed about staying if Harry were anyone else but â well, itâs Harry, after all. Even in a foul mood, she is appreciative of any extra time he wants to give her to instill some of his knowledge.Â
They finish tidying â or, Y/N finishes tidying. She wasnât sure what Harry was doing until she turned around to find that he had a variety of ingredients out, some in their respective measuring cups, some still in the packaging. The confusion must show on her face, because without so much of a hum to question him, Harry is explaining what sheâs looking at, âWeâre going to make a slice of cake.âÂ
Y/N tilts her head, âA slice of cake?âÂ
âA big slice,â Harry nods resolutely, âDo you like chocolate?âÂ
She blinks, his eye contact undeviating, âI â yes? Yes, I do.âÂ
âGood. Letâs begin.âÂ
Itâs. . .weird. Y/Nâs very confused because Harry has never given any indication that heâs interested in desserts at all. Of course, she knew that he was capable of creating pastry dishes, but he always seemed to prefer savory dishes â his owning a restaurant like the one he does was proof enough of that. A weird fact that sheâd picked up about chefs in general is that once they find their flavor they tend to stick there. A chef who prefers searing steaks and curating the perfect plate for dinner typically fumbles through baking a cookie made from scratch. Sheâs unsure why that is, but it has happened enough times for her to make note of it.Â
Harry, as always, seems to be perfect at all things. He moves around, showing her what order to add the ingredients, the consistency it should be after mixing, and how to perfectly melt the chocolate â all with the practiced ease of someone who bakes every day. Maybe he does when he gets home, but she hardly believes that.Â
Harry just belongs in the kitchen. Every aspect of cooking, of baking, of creating something delicious for people to consume and enjoy â seems to be a craft that heâs perfected somehow. Y/N knew that if culinary school hadnât worked out, she would use her business minor to do. . .something. Having a degree would make it easier to get hired at some random skyscraper building, doing desk work 9-to-5. She wouldâve made do with that â it wasnât her dream by any means, but she could still find happiness somewhere, even if it wasnât at work. There were still holidays to cook for her family, friends who wouldnât have survived off more than the fries in her university cafeteria, and neighbors who appreciated her replicating old school dishes from their childhood.Â
But Harry? No. . .there was nothing else he could do. He didnât fit anywhere else â or at least, she thinks he is too stubborn to fit anywhere else; his heart, his body, and his spirit all belong near pots and pans. At least thatâs what she thinks â sheâs honestly quite sure heâd agree.Â
It doesnât take too long, and when he slides it into the oven to bake (sheâd never seen a tin that was cut into multiple slices before â and they only filled up one of the six), she wonders what theyâll do while they wait.Â
The answer is clean up, which she shouldâve seen coming, but that only takes a little while. As sheâs wiping off the soap suds from her hands, Harry is prompt against the counter theyâd been working on. The area theyâd utilized is wiped down, sparkling, and smelling faintly of the cleaner he orders in large shipments (the boxes are heavy, Y/N knows firsthand). She doesnât know what theyâll do â hopefully not stare at each other for the remaining 15 minutes of the bake time â so she searches for questions about the baking process to fill in the empty space.Â
Harry beats her to it.Â
âHow is your mood today?â He inquires, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the counter.Â
âMy mood?â Y/N repeats, and he nods, âOh. . .well. . .I mean â why do you ask?â The question seemed kind of cryptic to her. Did she have a huge blood stain on the back of her bottoms? It sounded like the kind of thing you ask someone before you potentially tell them something that would put them in a poor mood. How is your mood today? Because just so you know, Iâve been staring at a blood spot the size of a small country on the back of your pants, just so you know â itâs probably been there since about midday.Â
âYou were different today,â he tells her, âYouâre typically more bubbly. You seem to be in a poor mood â am I right?âÂ
Y/N is shocked. Like, legitimately â if anyone had told her a couple of months ago â or, arguably, even last week â that Harry would notice any sort of change in her mood, she thinks she would have popped a lung from laughing so hard. Because the very idea of Harry paying enough attention to her to even recognize what her baseline was is hard to believe. So hard to believe that itâs actually kind of hilarious, the thought â like imagining a llama baking a cake.Â
She stares at him for probably a little too long to be normal, the gears cranking and turning in her head before she finally thinks to reply, âOh!â Y/N shakes her head, then realizes it looks like sheâs disagreeing with him so she fixes it to a nod, and in the end, her head just looks like itâs wobbling and knocking her brain around (it feels like it too), âI mean, yeah I wasnât in a great mood today? Was it that obvious? I thought I was doing a good job hiding it.âÂ
âYou did well,â he countered, âI was just paying close attention today.âÂ
Y/Nâs breath catches in her throat, âYou were?âÂ
âMhm,â he nods, âIs there something wrong?âÂ
She sighs, shoulders sinking, âNo, not really, just â tired, I guess? Itâs like. . .personal or whatever,â she says, but then motions to her uterus and forgets that sheâs trying not to be blunt and continues, âMy period, so like Iâm just tired. And my ex messaged me which was annoying, then I had a busy day so there was just. . .a lot stacked against me today.âÂ
Harryâs mouth opens around an âAhh, I see,â before the oven beeps. He holds his finger as if telling her to put a pin in the conversation before he goes to retrieve it. Harry brings it to the counter they were at to cool. âAnd itâs been busy today, so Iâm sure that was no help.âÂ
She shrugs, her face feeling hot when she realized she might have been too open, âItâs â thatâs life I guess. Sorry for telling you that, by the way,â she wanted to melt into the ground, form a puddle that he mops up then pours down a drain, âYou probably didnât want to know that.âÂ
âI asked you, didnât I?â He rebuts, âIf I ask then I want to know the answer. I appreciate your honesty.â Harry pulls the icing that they made closer to them, âThis is my second time hearing about your ex. Why does he keep messaging you?âÂ
âUgh,â Y/N flops her body further against the workbench, groaning, noting that the pressure of the edge pushing against her lower abdomen is nice â Harryâs big ass hand against it would be nice too, probably, and warm (she would be imagining that later while she was in bed), âItâs stupid because heâs always just asking me for restaurant recommendations, or wondering if I can get him a table and a discount here, like â heâs so annoying about it.âÂ
Harry hums again, thinks for a moment, then replies, âPardon my language, but why donât you tell him to fuck off?âÂ
Y/N laughs a little, humorlessly, âI â Iâm not sure,â she plucks at her fingernail, âMaybe then because that makes me the bitter ex-girlfriend? We ended things mutually with no hard feelings. . .or, like â he thinks it was no hard feelings at least.âÂ
There were plenty of hard feelings, actually, Y/N was just good at pretending that there werenât. They had dated for three years, the longest relationship sheâd ever been in and the most serious she had ever felt about another person romantically (at least next to her long-standing celebrity crushes â that was an untouchable love that no man in her life could ever come close to). Y/N thought things had been going well, enough that she was starting to wonder if they should talk about moving in together. There had never been any glaring red flags that something was going on, that his eyes were wandering, that when he was with her he was thinking about his new coworker who understands him on a deeper, personal level than their relationship could have ever gone â according to him, at least.Â
Y/N remembers how it felt with her hands in his, the way he stroked her knuckles, how he made a big deal of looking empathetic like the situation wasnât his fault, to begin with, âI never physically cheated,â he promised, âBut emotionally. . .emotionally I havenât just been yours for a couple of months now.âÂ
âHow long?â Sheâd inquired, her voice steady as she could have made it. She wanted to cry but she didnât, because. . .well, Y/N knows how to hold them in, you know? And sheâd rather feel them burn behind her waterline than let this stupid fuck see her upset.Â
âSix.âÂ
She remembers pulling her hands away, slipping them from his grasp, with a soft frown, âOkay,â she wanted to shove him off the chair he was sitting on, âThanks for letting me know.âÂ
It probably hadnât been the reaction he was expecting. Part of Y/N thinks that it hadnât been the reaction he wanted either; who didnât want their girlfriend to grovel at their feet? Beg to be chosen? Remind him of all their time spent together and why he shouldnât throw that all away. Thatâs the reaction he wanted â to be sought after and fought for, but she didnât give him that. And she thinks, maybe, every time he just pops up and asks her about recipes to impress someone, or to get him a reservation and money off at a high-class restaurant â he thinks heâll get that big reaction. Almost like he wants to feel justified in what he did â his bitter ex, he had to break up with, it just wouldnât have ever worked, like see how hostile she got when he just asked a question?Â
Harry watches her, as she relives the moment, with furrowed brows, âWhat a prick.âÂ
Y/N laughs, âItâs fine, itâs whatever,â she waves her hand, âThis place is way too ritzy for him to afford anyway, so at least I donât have to worry about him showing up.âÂ
After the cake cools, Harry carefully transfers it to a decorating board. He shows her how to spread the icing so itâs a smooth finish, where to add the slices of strawberry, and the appropriate and classy amount of whipped cream to dollop on top. âReady to try it?â Y/N nods, probably the most enthusiastic sheâs been all night. Harry only grabs one fork, and sheâs confused â did he not want to try it himself? Or was he going to indirectly kiss her again so she could think about it like a loser for two weeks nonstop?Â
Harry slices into the desert, a spot that has the right amount of ganache icing they made, that shows off the fluffiest most moist part of the cake, it gets some of the strawberry and some of the whipped cream too. Sheâd never witnessed someone so methodically get every aspect of desert into one bite, nor had she ever had them present it to her either. Hovering near her mouth, waiting for her to part her lips â which she does â so that he can slip it inside.Â
For as careful as he was getting all the right parts of it onto the fork, he was not very careful in the transmission â or maybe Y/Nâs coordination is just worse off than she thought because some ended up on her lips and chin.Â
But the cake is delicious; what sheâs chewing and swallowing down is divine. As she looks for a napkin she whines, âThatâs so yummy,â with a frown, âItâs a waste to have to wipe any of it from my chin.âÂ
She expected a huff from his nose, maybe. The way he shows heâs a little amused by her before taking to the rest of the cake and having a bite for himself.Â
Instead, Harryâs hand raises to her face.Â
Y/N freezes â like a predator has just spotted her in the forest foraging for seeds. She canât read him (could she ever?) exactly, as his fingers carefully cradle her jaw. Her breath sticks in her throat when the pad of his thumb swipes over the mess on her chin in a way thatâs almost too tender for how fast her heart races. Has he ever touched her before? Have Harryâs fingers ever gotten anywhere near her face?Â
Sheâs dizzy when he swipes it up, over her bottom lip, resting carefully at the seam of her mouth. Itâs his turn to still, waiting quietly, patiently, for her to make a move, but Y/N is seriously frozen! Her brain is not computing a single bit of stimuli right now and she thinks sheâs malfunctioning, blinking at him, not pulling away, not getting closer.Â
Harry wears the tiniest, smallest smile at the corner of his mouth, âOpen,â he orders, and Y/Nâs lips part automatically â did he plant a chip in her brain or what? His thumb sinks between them and rests on her tongue, sweet from the chocolate, salty from his skin â his skin â that sheâs tasting, because his thumb is in her fucking mouth! âSuck.âÂ
Was she really doing this? Yes, absolutely. Somewhere, hardwired in her brain is the desire and need to listen and enact every instruction heâs ever given her. Even if that instruction is to suck on his thumb while the rest of his fingers splay out over her jaw, and her heart was hammering like a rabbit's, and the gleam in his eyes resembled a wolfâs.Â
Y/N is tentative about it; honestly, itâs probably way less porn-y than it could have been. She wishes she had the wherewithal to bob her head, make it sexy, something for him to remember and dream about later â that would make him want her more. But it isnât like that. She is shy, the way she curls her tongue around his knuckle, how she pulls him deeper into his mouth with careful each careful suck. The icing is long gone by now, but she doesnât want to let go or look away from him and how he stares at her mouth.Â
The only thing that gets her to let go is when Harry starts to pull away, and even then â she grazes her teeth along his knuckle when he withdraws. A whine bubbles in her throat when she swallows thickly, wanting more, but itâs like Harry reads her mind. With one hand, he grabs her wrist as if to keep her still, and with the other, Harry pulls a slice of strawberry from the cake and offers it to her, holding it at her mouth. This time he doesnât have to instruct her to part her lips, she just does it, and he seems pleased as he feeds it to her. Watches her chew, rubs his thumb along her bottom lip, and once she swallows, urges her mouth open again.Â
She opens up as wide as he wants her to and lets him carefully prod his fingers inside of her mouth. Harry uses his index and middle fingers, sliding against the ridges of her teeth, petting the inside of her cheek, and sliding down her tongue again. When he does that she tries to close her lips around him again but he clicks his tongue, âAh ah,â he shakes his head, âI didnât tell you to do that, did I?â This time she does whine, pitiful and needy. Something wanting curls low in her gut and she thinks she might pass out because she really hasnât taken a proper breath in like three whole minutes.Â
But she lets him explore her mouth and feel what he wants to feel, and she isnât sure what his motive is. Maybe just to prove that he could â perhaps just to see that Y/N would do anything he told her to.Â
Eventually, he finally pulls his fingers from her mouth. With the ones not wet from her spit, he caresses her cheek with his knuckles, sighing, âHm, itâs time to go home,â he murmured, âYou had a long day.âÂ
What? That was it? Wasnât he supposed to. . .Y/N doesnât know, she thinks he was supposed to like âbend her over the table and fuck her or something, right? Thatâs usually where these things go, donât they? The hot, sexy mentor throws his sweet little mentee down and stuffs her full. . .or something like that.Â
Harry must notice her confusion because he laughs â a bright sound from him thatâs rare to hear. Sheâs used to the puffs through his nose and the mild look of amusement, not something so outwardly jovial, âWhat is it?â He inquired, âExpecting something else?âÂ
She blinked at him.
âOh, uhâŠ.no?â
âOkay then,â he nodded, âIâll pack up this cake for you.â
                                                                 .            .            .
Y/N hasnât stopped thinking about it.Â
She doesnât think anyone in their right mind could stop thinking about it., honestly. The ghost of his fingers still weighs in her mouth, poking and caressing all the spots hidden from his eyes. His gaze, staring at her curiously but knowingly, all in the same glance â like he knew she would let him do it but wondered how far she would let him go. And Y/N isnât coy; thereâs no cat-and-mouse game with her. She would have taken anything he put into her mouth without a second thought, probably, just because Harry was the one telling her to.Â
Did he like that, or was that a turn-off? This was only one of many questions plaguing her every waking thought, along with her subconscious, that had been unhelpfully supplying scenarios in her dreams, all of which ended with her legs spread and needy. A recurrent theme in every naughty dream is that she canât see Harry at all, but she knows that itâs him â she could feel him, his aura, the true, honest-to-god vibe that he just emitted from being near. And just as soon as heâs about to come into view, crawl up her body, unzip his trousers, and finally let her see what the hell heâs been hiding in there. . .she wakes up.Â
Itâs a cruel joke, and one she has a feeling would make Harry a little giddy. Honestly, it's more like a nightmare, really. A horny nightmare.
She hadnât told Niall about this recent development yet because it had suddenly gone from fun, delusional daydreams to horny, lingering nightmares. How was she going to explain to Niall that Harry had poked around in her mouth but then didnât fuck her? Honestly, she was like. . a little embarrassed about how easily she gave in. How much better would it have been had she trailed her tongue around his knuckles, grazed her teeth against the skin, hummed, and maintained eye contact but with a twinkle that bespoke her playful, confident demeanor? Harry probably would have had no choice but to fuck her then. . .like it might have been a need at that point, had she really pressed forward and been sexier.Â
The next day, Harry is painfully normal. Not even a glimmer in his gaze would suggest he even made a cake with her yesterday (one that she had already consumed when her belly was aching with cramps and her mind was aching with questions), let alone shoved his fingers in her mouth. Y/N tried her best to act the same: indifferent and calm. But when Harry stands beside her, when he tastes the soup she was preparing and murmurs his praise, when he accidentally touches her arm as heâs reaching for the ladle â goosebumps pimple all over her body. She stiffens, her heart races, she thinks maybe she could pass out, and her mouth feels significantly empty (and sheâs significantly upset about it).Â
But nobody else seems to notice. The person would have been her delusional partner in crime, but when lunch comes around, and all he has to talk about is the Grammys and how heâs been farming for gold in League â well, Y/N knows sheâs not being obvious. At least not to anyone but Harry, who could probably smell the tension on her when he was within 400 meters of her, like a shark sniffing out blood in the ocean.Â
All she received as acknowledgment for the night before was a question right after lunch when Y/N had just left the storage room carrying two large containers of chicken broth. Theyâre balanced on top of one another, and she keeps them stable with her hands and her chin on the top of the second container.Â
âDid you enjoy the rest of the cake?â He inquired, appearing out of thin air and taking them from her easily, holding them close to his body âOr are you saving it?âÂ
Y/Nâs face felt hot at the memory, especially when she admitted, âI finished it already.âÂ
âAhhhhh,â he seemed pleased, âYeah? It mustâve been really good then.âÂ
She nodded, her breaths felt thin in her throat, âYes,â she agreed, âThank you again, for that.âÂ
Then Harry tilted his head, âWhich part?â Either heâs just a pro at pretending to be aloof in all situations, or this particular situation didnât leave him as giddy, breathless, or frazzled as it did her. Sheâs more inclined to believe the latter as his gaze sits still upon her, undeviating, and. . .well, he didnât look like he cared much what her response would be. Â
Before she could answer, Adam came barrelling out of the kitchen, âY/N!â Heâd exclaimed, and he seemed so frantic that it had Y/Nâs heart kicking in her chest â what could be wrong? âPlease settle this between Niall and I. Heâs making an absurd claim that my leather club pants are outdated and tacky but ââÂ
âThatâs because they are,â Nill emerged after him, âWhen was the last time you saw someone in leather pants for a night out, and it wasnât a Groovy 70s-themed event?â He tossed his arms up, âJust buy a fitted trouser if you want to show off your ass! Ask Harry where he gets his.âÂ
Harry had disappeared from her side in the fuss, so Y/N never got to answer â though she didnât know what her answer would be. Thank you for noticing I was in a bad mood? Thank you for making me a slice of cake under the guise of teaching but you actually just wanted to do something nice for me? Thank you for saying my ex was a prick? Thank you for putting your fingers in my mouth and then implanting what will easily be months worth of wet dreams?Â
Other than that, he hadnât brought it up, and it had been a full week. Y/N was going crazy thinking about it over and over and over again, mouth feeling painfully empty. Every time she swallowed, she imagined the weight of Harryâs fingers on her tongue, how much space heâd occupied, how she thought he wouldâve kept going even if she started drooling all over him. Y/N hadnât even thought about actual dick-in-vagina penetration with her ex as much as she was thinking about Harry putting his fingers in her mouth, like â seriously, sheâs feeling a little pathetic.Â
Still, she persists through her days, cooks, cleans up, pretends like she isnât itching to crawl into his shirt, and refuse to leave. . .letâs Niall talk about his campaign in league with Adam (whatever the fuck that means). Y/N figures that either something will happen or. . .it wonât. She sure as fuck wasnât going to bring it up â like, what if he regretted it? Maybe he thought about it and decided it wasnât what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted something different, someone different, someone prettier, who was sexy and didnât ruminate about a two-minute situation for seven days.Â
Y/N is kind of abandoning all hope one night when everyone had left the kitchen, and only she and Harry remained. It was quiet, reminiscent of how it was just a month or two ago, with Y/N stuck in a loop, wondering what Harry was thinking when he was silent like this. He made his way around the kitchen, tidying, marking things off on his sheet, carefully storing what could be preserved.Â
There are so many thoughts roaming around in her head that sheâs barely paying attention to what sheâs doing, which technically shouldnât be a problem because sheâs just cleaning. But maybe when sheâs cleaning the stove she should be just a little extra careful. Even if itâs been a while since itâd been on, a burner thatâs been scalding hot all day typically takes quite a while to cool down. The light near the dial warning of its heat was still illuminated, but Y/N wasnât paying any mind to that. So she isnât extra careful like she should be and she ends up accidentally burning the side of her finger on the burner grates.Â
She flinches, cursing low to herself and gripping her finger.Â
âWhat happened?â Harry, who had just been across the kitchen, was suddenly at her side when Y/N turned to toss the wash rag in the sink. Sheâll admit that it made her yell, startled by his agility and wondering if he should have looked into being a private detective, or a spy even. His eyes widened at the volume of it, echoing through the kitchen.Â
âShit!â She breathed out, holding her fingers from the pain, then both of them held to her heart, feeling it slam against her chest, âHarry, you scared me!âÂ
Harry is firm but gentle in the way he reaches out to her; his fingers slide down her forearm to get a grip on her wrist before guiding her to the sink. He twists the faucet on, and a soft, cool stream flows from the nozzle. When Harry can identify which finger she hurt, he carefully pulls it to sit beneath it. At first, Y/N hisses, her body jerking, but Harryâs grip on her is so steady that she barely even budges and that. . .sheâs real enough to admit that it does something for her. But what doesnât do something for her these days â sheâs really easy to work up lately, and she knows the man holding her so tightly right now is the one to blame.Â
âYou need to be more careful,â he scolds her after a little while, and when Y/N turns to look at him, she realizes his face is much closer than she thought itâd be. Her gaze darts back down to her finger as she clears her throat, âYou arenât normally clumsy like this. Are you alright?âÂ
She nods quickly, âYes, yeah, sorry I just â got distracted,â she shrugs, âIâm a little tired.âÂ
Harry stares at her for a moment, holding her finger beneath the water â it really isnât necessary for him to stand there but she wasnât going to complain about him holding her hand. Even if this is a little more clinical than how sheâd like it, sheâd take this â how big his fingers looked compared to hers, the way they swallowed her hands up when theyâd move from her forearm, stretching out over her knuckles. Theyâre warm too, and surprisingly soft. Sheâd expected more callouses from him, but they were smooth like heâd used a sugar scrub on them. And because her pervy brain couldnât do anything but haunt her, she tried to remember if they felt that soft in her mouth too.
âYouâre always saying that,â he clicked his tongue, âHow tired you are.â Yeah, Y/N guesses she says that a lot, but the thing is â sheâs never said that to Harry directly before. To complain about being sleepy in front of Harry would have been like trying to piss him off on purpose. Itâs just a rule of thumb not to whine or moan about how busy you were or how tired you are to Harry. Honestly, it was a rule of thumb not to speak unless spoken to when it came to him during work hours. The only person to break this regularly was Adam, and Y/N was second to that, only because she had just recently gotten comfortable calling him over to ask questions about the dishes she was preparing.Â
So how Harry had been hearing her complain about being tired, she wouldnât know. Thatâs something she only thinks about or fusses with Niall over. Maybe sheâd said it once or twice to the other staff in the kitchen this week because it had been extremely tiring, but she couldnât imagine speaking loud enough that Harry would have heard her.Â
âIâm just having trouble falling asleep lately I guess,â because my sexy as fuck mentor is all I can think about, and itâs haunting my dreams â Harry hums again, âEven when itâs busy here and Iâve been running around all day, I just kind of. . .stay awake when Iâm home. Hazelnut doesnât help, she loves playing until late. I have to tire her out.âÂ
Harry smiles a little, at what Y/N believes to be the thought of Hazelnut, but then he opens his mouth, âIt seems like you need something to tire you out too, hm?âÂ
It was a loaded statement to make, and Y/N is immediately reading into it. Â
So she could either stumble over her words, or she could try something â to propel this further. To make him understand that she wanted this too if he did â that itâs all she can think about. That she wants his stupid, dumb, soft fingers filling her mouth again. Pressing at her gums, the back of her teeth, stroking along her tongue, making her feel dumb and needy because she wants it to be his cock so badly, but sheâll take whatever he gives her.Â
âAre you. . .are you offering?âÂ
It could have come out more confident, for sure, but the message comes across clearly. Harry, once more, allows a smile to twitch at his mouth when he looks at her â a brief thing that makes her insides stir up as he slips his hands from hers.
âThat depends,â he answers, turning off the faucet, âAre you a good girl?âÂ
Y/Nâs breath feels like it leaves her lungs but she somehow manages to speak, âI â yes,â she pouts her mouth, âYou know I am.âÂ
Another hum, âYouâd let me fill up your mouth with my fingers again?â Itâs his only true mention of it happening, and Y/N thought she wanted him to be direct about it, but her heart slams against her sternum hard enough that it might crack it. Her ribs rattle with each beat, and all the blood in her body is surging this way and that. Every cell in her body shivers and vibrates in anxious excitement.Â
âYes.â She agreed urgently.Â
âWhat else would you let me put in your mouth?â Harry goads, but Y/N doesnât mind playing into it. Sheâs never been one to play hard to get, really, and maybe that makes her look extra desperate and extra pathetic, but she doesnât care if it gets her what she wants. Right now, sheâll look as pathetic and desperate as she needs to, if thatâs what Harry likes â if itâs what finally pushes him.Â
Y/N wheezes, practically, âAnything.âÂ
That does make Harry chuckle, the smile returning only this time much bigger, and she sees that dimple again â honestly, she might scream if he doesnât fill her mouth up quickly. Harryâs palm is soft when it cradles her cheek tentatively and slowly before he introduces his thumb to the corner of her lips, âAnything, huh?â He repeats, pressing down into the tender flesh of her mouth, firm enough that it pushes her bottom lip against her teeth, âYouâd let me fuck my fingers in your mouth right here again if I wanted, right? Youâd drool all over them like the messy, greedy little puppy you are. Open your mouth.âÂ
A sound leaves Y/N, something like a whine and a gust of breath leaving her lungs again, and sheâs so worked up she feels herself squeeze around nothing. She parts her lips instantly and feels strings of spit stretch and snap with her mouth as it opens and Harry slips his thumb inside of it. Y/N should wait for him to tell her to suck again, probably, but she canât help it â she wants to, so badly, and sheâs been thinking about it, and his thumb actually feels really good in her mouth. Does she have an oral fixation? Wouldnât have that arisen at some other point in her life? She isnât sure and she doesnât care either, not when Harryâs tender hold turns a little sterner.
âI thought you were good, hm? Who told you to start sucking?â He inquired but he makes no move to make her stop, and only huffs a laugh when she whimpers around the thumb in her mouth, âLooks like you wanted this badly, hm? This is whatâs been keeping you up at night.â He doesnât say the last sentence like a question, more like a statement, and heâd be right so thereâs nothing for Y/N to pop off and correct him for. She nips around his knuckle, and pulls his thumb in deeper, and she doesnât know what to do with her hands â so one of them â the one that isnât burned â grips onto his wrist to keep him from moving it.Â
Harry does start to slip his thumb from her mouth, but before she can protest it, Harry slips his index and middle finger into her mouth. Now the sound Y/N makes is a little more gleeful, a content hum, and really, since when is she into this? Y/N has never had the urge for something to fill her mouth up like this before, but she needs it more than anything â maybe itâs just because sheâs ovulating. Sheâs always been a bit ravenous during this part of her cycle, and Sabrina Carpenterâs lyrics have started making a lot of sense over the past couple of days, so that would add up. But she needs this more than anything right now.Â
Embarrassingly enough, Harry must be able to tell, if the way he murmurs, âYou really like this, hm?â is anything to go by, âYouâll need training, wonât you? To be a really good girl for me. Iâll teach you how I like my puppies to act. Do you like the sound of that?âÂ
She nods, her mouth full, her eyes threatening to close, her cunt clenching around absolutely nothing and leaking into the cotton covering her. The whole thing should be extra humiliating, but it only turns her on more. A puppy, huh? Thatâs what heâs into? Y/N could do that â she could wag her tail and bark too if he wanted, sheâs just as big a pervert as he is â she might be an even bigger one.
Harry seems. . .endeared? Fond? Y/N doesnât know if sheâs just seeing things, but she hopes thatâs what heâs feeling right now. He doesnât seem disgusted or annoyed, at least, and thatâs reassuring to her.Â
âYouâll need to let go of me for a second,â he murmurs, âWe need to go to my office.âÂ
Itâs with a mighty sense of will that sheâs able to pull away, ultimately more embarrassed now that she wasnât actively doing it. Harry looks at her lips for a moment longer than she was expecting before guiding her to his office. Y/N had only been in here a couple of times before, one of which when she first came here, Finley by her side as Harry told them all the things he didnât like and all the things that they would do. When he outlined their schedule, when he was so scary Y/N was regretting accepting his offer, while she wondered if she had what it took to be a chef studying under him.Â
And now heâs pulling her in here, pushing the door closed behind them, and offering his fingers back up to her mouth. Maybe Y/N is a greedy puppy, because she takes them back in and this time she does bob her head once, pulling them deeper, down to his second knuckle. Her throat convulses at the intrusion, rejecting it, and it makes her shudder as she withdraws some. The saliva in her mouth is on another level right now, but Harry doesnât seem to care at all. She wonders what heâs thinking about â wonders what he wants from her. Was he getting off on this too?Â
Y/N looks down, but her view is obscured by his hand. Even if it wasnât, he uses his other hand to tilt her chin up, âAh ah, eyes above the belt, Pup,â and the nickname â wow, is it possible for her to cum untouched? She kind of thought stories like that were bullshit but the curl of arousal in her belly is so intense, it feels like thereâs no way that it isnât a possibility.Â
Harryâs free hand moves from her chin, down to her top. The black button up she has tucked into her bottoms is carefully pulled up from beneath her trouser band, and the button of her trousers follows shortly after. Harry works with a precision only someone with experience could move with, dragging the zipper down, pulling the fabric out, entirely. The tips of his fingers graze along the delicate waistband of her underwear, before he stretches the elastic and slips his fingers in.Â
When he feels how wet she is, he cusses.Â
âJesus fucking Christ,â itâs the first time heâs sounded truly affected by anything, and Y/N bristles with it, humming around his fingers, âSuch a messy pussy. All from sucking on my fingers?â Her hips move without her say, bucking into his touch â his fingers are cold in comparison to her scorching insides and she wants more of them. Wants him to rub her clit, wants him to tuck them inside of her, wants to ride them while he sits there with them still and makes her do all the work. She wants, and wants, and wants so viciously that it feels like she might go crazy.Â
Harry plays around in her wetness a bit, slipping his fingers through it between her folds before slipping the pad of it up to her clit. Itâs swollen, flicking beneath his fingers before looping soft circles over it. Y/N moans, her brain fizzling out for a second, all soap bubbles from the sink filling the grooves. Itâs the only thing thatâs gotten her to stop sucking this whole time, her mouth falling open around it. She wonders if he could feel her pulsate and squeeze around nothing if he liked it, if he liked how she felt. She wonders if heâs hard, and she wants to touch so badly she doesnât know what to do with herself.Â
âThere you go,â she shivers, his voice is placating like he really was talking to a greedy dog. Itâs humiliating in the best way for her and makes her leak more â could he feel that? âPoor thing, all this worked up over a little treat. How cute.â Itâs the first time heâs called her cute since after the Korean barbeque, and Y/N is suddenly reminded of that entire night. How heâd made sure she was fed, how he took care of her after, drove her home, calmed her panicked drunk self about the stain sheâd left on his shirt. How soft we were with her led to all of these delusions that might not have been delusions in the first place. He did want her, at least in some way. Maybe not in all the ways Y/N wanted him, but still, something was better than nothing. Maybe she could fuck this out of her system and actually sleep without her subconscious bullying her.Â
It goes from feeling good to feeling really good in just a couple of spins. How all orgasms do, itâs building, and building, and building, until suddenly things are feeling great, and thereâs a point where thereâs no turning back. Thatâs where she was at â her teeth dig into his fingers, which is not helping the puppy allegations in the slightest, but Harry doesnât seem to mind it. He seems amused, tickled, and a little too joyful for someone who hasnât even gotten touched yet. This alone should have rang alarm bells in her head, but it didnât, because her head was full of cotton after her brain finished melting from her ears.Â
So when Y/N knows it would only take a couple more circles of his fingers before she would cum, and he pulls his fingers away â well, sheâs shocked. Shocked and horrified and appalled. The look must be written all over her face because Harryâs biting down on a huge smile then, dimples and all, slipping his fingers from her mouth too.Â
âWh-why?â She asks, and the distress is palpable â enough that Harry even gives a small, pitied laugh while he thumbs at her bottom lip, âI was almost â I almost ââÂ
âMm, I wasnât ready for you to do that yet.â He tells her, and Y/N frowns â nobody had ever snatched an orgasm away from her before. Honestly, her ex just seemed stoked that he could get her there every once in a while. Y/N hasnât even done that to herself. Â
âBut I was!â It sounds whiny, even to her own ears, and Harry still seems pleased with himself.Â
âI thought you were a good girl, yeah?â He rubs his fingers, wet from her spit, on his shirt. The fingers wet from her, he merely drags his tongue across right in front of her because he hates her guts and he wants her to suffer before continuing to speak, âGood girls wait for their treats. Are you going to be a well-behaved puppy or not?âÂ
Y/N feels frazzled and overwhelmed and so needy she could scream. Sheâs starting to think that maybe she was right from the start â maybe he was just fucking with her.Â
Still, she relents, âYou hate me,â she accuses him, but Harry just laughs again, like sheâs just the most amusing thing in the world. Probably like when youâre watching your dog look at its reflection for the first time or when you put them in socks and they walk funny. Harry takes it upon himself to rebutton and zip her pants while she pouts, her arms crossed over her chest, âYou really do, I knew it.âÂ
Harry doesnât bother to tuck her shirt in, âYouâre fussy when youâve been edged,â he murmurs, âPoor thing.â He calls her again and plucks at her bottom lip again, only pushing on it until she sucks the pout back into her mouth, âAlright, letâs put some cream on your burn and bandage it.âÂ
The contrast between what they were doing five minutes ago and what was happening now â honestly, was kind of funny. If Y/N was in the mood to find humor in anything, then sheâd be laughing, but sheâs still feeling a bit huffy over it. She rubs the cream on her little burn while Harry cuts a sliver from the bandage, then helps her loop it around her finger carefully, âTake it off in the morning and air it out,â he murmurs, but then slips the cream and the rest of the bandage in her pocket, âIf you do this for three days then it should heal up nicely, and barely scar.âÂ
âOkay,â she nods, âThank you.âÂ
Harry looks like heâs thinking about something when heâs staring at her, watching as she tucks her shirt back in at least a little bit and addresses her hair that had been smashed between her head and the wall, so her bun was all fucked. When sheâs finally halfway righted herself, she finally looks back at him, blinking, waiting for him to speak.Â
âBe careful on your way home, Puppy,â is what he decides on, and Y/N feels her face get hot all over again, âIâll see you tomorrow.âÂ
                                                                     .          .           .
âWhy in the f-u-c-k am I just now hearing about his fingers in your mouth?â Niall is staring at her across the table at a Greek restaurant where she should definitely not be explaining this story. She couldnât help it, though, because her brain-to-mouth filter is nonexistent when it comes to being with Niall, even when theyâre in public. And all Niall had to do was say, Any new Harry stories, I need something to preoccupy my time with â and she was explaining everything.Â
She did cower beneath his glare, a little, âBecause I kind of felt pathetic and stupid because he wasnât doing anything about it afterward, and he wasnât bringing it up so I was like â well, guess he decided that I was ugly and â ow!âÂ
Niall, who had kicked her from underneath the table, is staring at her with crossed arms, âCall yourself ugly again and Iâll kick you harder.âÂ
Pouting, she reaches down and rubs at her shin, â--and I was like. . .licking my wounds a bit. But then he did it again so ââÂ
âHe did it again?â Niall exclaimed.Â
âSo I was like â well, I better tell Ni,â she finished, then nodded, âIt was â Niall, it was crazy! Iâve never been so horny in my life, which is insane, because it was after I burned myself so ââÂ
âOkay, hold the fuck on,â Niallâs pretenses of keeping his language somewhat appropriate for a dine-out setting are lost almost immediately, âStart from the beginning of the night, after I left with Adam.âÂ
Y/N does â she explains it all. From he burning her finger, to Harry sending her off with soaked panties and stuff to treat her wound, and everything that happened in between. Niall is good to tell stories to, even if they arenât very interesting ones because heâs a very active listener. He gasps, he asks questions, his eyes widen, his brows furrow, his mouth falls agape in shock and he scoffs at the right moments too. By the time Y/N finishes the story, you wouldâve thought Niall had gone through it as well, with how flustered he seemed.Â
âOh my god,â heâs holding his head in his hands, âI canât believe you were getting felt up while I was begging Adam to wax my ass for me.âÂ
âPlease, Ni, nobody wants to see your balls from that angle when they arenât planning on fucking you.âÂ
âOh my god, he is a fucking freak, my sources were correct.â He ignores her, then his head darts up, âWait, so showing up to work in a collar and a buttplug wouldnât have been too much! God I understand kinky fuckers so well, itâs like my brain is hardwired for it.âÂ
âYour brain is hardwired for it, because youâre also a kinky fuck. Did you forget?âÂ
He ignores her again, âWait, so how do you feel about the puppy thing? Is it a turn on or do you actually hate it?âÂ
Y/N had been mulling over this for a couple of days now, âI think if anyone else did it, I wouldnât like it,â she explained the conclusion sheâd come to at 9PM one night, when Hazelnut was lying on her belly, purring, her eyes shut but her right paw kneading her nails just below Y/Nâs breast, âBut with him it just like. . .feels right? Like I couldnât imagine him treating me any other way.âÂ
âYouâre so right, this is like â this makes perfect sense for him,â he nods.Â
âWhat do you think I should do though?â Y/N asks, her hands squeezing around the glass of water sheâd been preoccupying them with, âLike â how should I be sexier? What would make it hard for him to keep his hands off me?âÂ
Niall is good to ask, not only because he knows how a guyâs brain might work but because he is sexy. Heâs coy and flirty, and every person that he sets his sights on to date ends up obsessed with him. When heâs dating someone, or even when he just has a fuck buddy, heâs always covered in love bites and hickeys, and theyâre messaging him nonstop while he ignores them in favor of snapping those medieval torture hair ties with the balls attached to them on Y/Nâs head (when she wanted to try a âcyberpunkâ hairstyle that didnât even work out). If anyone knew how to lure Harry, it would be him.Â
âDonât do anything differently,â Niall tells her instead, shaking his head, âClearly, whatever youâre doing does have him worked up.âÂ
Her brows dip, âBut I feel like I just come off like a. . .like a. . .âÂ
âBig virgin dummy?âÂ
âHey!âÂ
âMaybe Harry likes big virgin dummies,â he teases, pulling his straw to his mouth, taking a sip of whatever fruity lemonade heâd ordered, âListen, Harry is like. . .at the risk of sounding cliche, not like other men. I donât think the same tactics would work for him. If he wants a âdumb little puppyâ to train, then you fit the bill, Sweetheart.â He slides his drink away, âNot to say that youâre dumb or that you even come off as dumb. But you clearly space out when heâs trying to talk to you, listen to what he says, and have this cute deer-in-the-headlights look about you. Plus, youâre good at your job and followed his lead when he acted like nothing happened between you two.â Niall leaned on his hand, âYouâre probably pretty interesting to him.âÂ
Y/N runs her thumb over her brows to relax them, âOkay, if youâre sure,â she replies, "I'm like, worried Iâll make the wrong move and heâll snap out of whatever spell I accidentally cast on him â hey!â He kicks her again.Â
âYouâre cute and funny, there was no spell involved,â Niall scolds her, before a smile pulls at his cheeks, âI canât believe heâs going to edge you! Iâm so giddy right now, I could squeal.âÂ
She hides her face in her palms and shakes her head, âStop! Iâm so â not giddy about that! I know heâs going to be mean.âÂ
âThatâs the fun part isnât it?â Niall pulls at her wrist, âNo stop hiding, we need to look up collars and measure your neck when we get back to your place.âÂ
                                                                 .            .           .
Another week of nothing passes. The air outside is still cold for the most part, but theyâve come to the part of winter where thereâs a fake promise of spring for a week or two. Just before the area plunges back into the icy tundra that torments them until the actual solstice. Still, Y/N enjoys it while she can â opens her windows, and accepts the fresh, warm-ish breeze, and the sun that blares through the glass.
So she starts her day in a pretty good mood. She and Niall are back on the mornings now, but this day in particular Harry isnât coming in at 5 AM so he relieves her of her 5 AM duties as well. He will be seeing her promptly at 6 AM, however, which. . .okay, yeah, itâs only an hour but an hour is still an hour! Plus the sun was so pretty the day before, Y/N sat outside and soaked it up so sheâs high on vitamin D and vibes.Â
It must show on her face when she walks in, and Harry instructs her to start preparing the vegetables for the day (theyâre already washed and waiting for her on the cutting board).Â
âYouâre awfully cheery this morning,â he made note, and Y/N shrugged.
âIs that a bad thing?â She asked.Â
Harry looked like he was considering it, before shaking his head, âCarry on then. Be in a cheery mood.âÂ
So she does. She even kind of hums a little until Harry side-eyes her, and then she stops humming. Even with the new development in their dynamic, Harry is still intimidating as hell and kind of scary, so she doesnât want to annoy him or bother him. By no means did she believe that him having his fingers in her mouth and his hand down her pants gave her any special treatment. If Mora gets a glare when she starts singing and cooking the steaks, then Y/N sees herself as no different.Â
They move harmoniously, as they always do. Adam and Niall come in loud and bright like they always do. Everyone else filters in; the mood is light and airy, and Y/N is excited to start cooking.Â
The good vibes continue until around 2 PM when thereâs a complaint about Y/Nâs plate. And the vibes diminish entirely when she walks out to speak to the customer to see whatâs wrong, and she sees the same annoying prick that is always there bothering everyone. She hadnât seen him since the last time heâd come and stirred a fuss. When Harry initially yelled at her, and then she went and cried in the food storage closet. Y/N still remembers how horrible it felt to be accused and scolded for something that she hadnât even done, and she has a feeling that the same thing is going to happen again today. Because no amount of being a cute, dumb puppy is going to stop Harry from being upset when the state of his business is questioned.Â
âOh, what a surprise,â the man says, this time with a different woman sitting across from him, âItâs you again. You think theyâd have put some sense into you since the last time.â He raises his hand, this time another piece of hair, another color so far from her own that she could have screamed over it. The only thing that is a little confusing is she doesnât remember plating this. Y/N was supposed to prepare the seared salmon, but Harry had told her she was needed in the sauces to help Niall. Sheâd been a little confused but didnât question it, because any chance to hang out with Niall in the actual kitchen was pretty fun but theyâre always at different stations.Â
So Y/N didnât make this one, because she hadnât made salmon today, but it must have come from her station for the waitress to come get her.Â
The manager is at her side, opening his mouth to apologize again but another presence emerges to the left of them. Y/N turns to see Harry, her heart hammering â was he going to remember that she hadnât prepared that dish? Or would he have forgotten? This is. . .not a good look, being in the same position as she had been before, even if this time it definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, could not have been her fault. The piece of hair was long in length â longer than Harryâs, and the wrong color too. But he hadnât noticed the color last time â heâd probably been so mad at her that he was blinded by it.Â
âThank god youâre here,â the man shook his head, looking disturbed, âAnother piece of hair. You should really look into monitoring the women who ââÂ
âYou planted that.â Harry cut him off.Â
The man stops, blinking.Â
âWh-what? Thatâs absurd?â He exclaimed, âWhy would I have done that?âÂ
Harry has the same, impassive look on his face that he did the last time they were in this position, but this time he shrugs, âYou tell me. Why would you plant your dateâs hair into a dish that I prepared?âÂ
The color drains from the manâs face, âWhat?â His eyes darted between Harry to Y/N, âWhen I asked the waitress she said ââÂ
âShe said that chef Y/N made it,â Harry filled in the blanks, âBut the thing is, Sir, Iâve been hearing a lot about you since youâve been here last. How youâre always bothering the female staff, how you seemingly only enjoy the food and leave a good tip if it was a male chef, or if you had a waiter as opposed to a waitress. How youâre always here with different women who look uncomfortable in your presence. So I imagine that you saw your food, asked who cooked it â as you always do â heard it was a womanâs name, and thought that you could get a free meal again, correct?âÂ
âExcuse me ââ The man was red now, bright red, looking enraged, but Harry continued.Â
âBut I had the hostess alert me when you came in, and I made sure that I was the one to prepare your plate. This ââ he plucks the hair from the hands, holding it between his fingers, then holds it up to his head, âIs not my hair. Itâs not the same length or the same color, and I was the one to cook the fish, plate the dish, and have it sent out to you. Itâs not the same color as your waitress; hers is bright pink, and Chef Y/N has never come into contact with your plate. This does, however, look very similar to your dateâs,â Harry holds it out now toward the woman who looks embarrassed to be sitting across from him now, and it is a perfect match â if he dropped it onto her shoulder, nobody would have questioned where it came from, âYou planted it.âÂ
âI â I did not ââÂ
âI donât like liars,â Harry takes another step closer, withdraws the plate from the table, âAnd I wonât stand for you harassing my staff anymore. Get the fuck out of my restaurant.âÂ
It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, which is unusual for this time of day, with this amount of people seated and eating. Y/N is staring, wide-eyed, and flustered by the whole situation when Harry pivots from the table, âY/N.â He says her name and it startles her from her trance. Sheâs worked with him long enough to know that this means he wants to speak to her, so she trails after him, her heart slamming against her chest.Â
Harry drops the plate onto the kitchen counter and directs Y/N into his office. Adam catches her gaze, looking distressed â he must think sheâs about to get yelled at again. Honestly, maybe she was â Y/N doesnât know.Â
He closes the door behind them and Y/N tentatively sits in the chair across from his own at the desk. Harry doesnât sit though, instead standing beside her, his arms crossed â oh she was definitely getting yelled at â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
Y/N is confused instantly.Â
âWait, what?âÂ
Harry takes a deep breath, âI donât want you thinking that the only reason I did all of this is because of the change in our dynamic,â he explained carefully, âAnd I want you to know, going forward, how I treat you will not change no matter if we are friendly outside of the kitchen or not. I know you understand this, yes?â Y/N nods, eye gaze locked onto his own, âBut after last time, I inquired about this particular customer and heard a lot of stories that I wish would have been shared with me before. Then you cried â and for all Iâve yelled at you, youâve never looked like that afterward. Never seemed so distressed or sad either, itâs when I first got a feeling that something was off. So I wanted to apologize to you because you deserve it. I should have heard you out and asked you what happened instead of assuming the worst and berating you.â His gaze is softer than sheâs ever seen before, despite how angry he just was â it melts her insides and makes her insides swirl with an emotion different than the usual, horny demon that tries to overtake her, âSo Iâm sorry.âÂ
âOh â itâs,â she raised her hands, âItâs okay, I ââÂ
âIt isnât,â he replied, âIt isnât okay at all. Iâm sorry.âÂ
Y/N swallows thickly, nodding, âI â okay,â she replies, âThatâs â I accept? Honestly, I forgot about it like a couple of weeks ago, so I promise Iâm not holding onto it or anything! So I accept your apology.â She answers, and she doesn't necessarily know what to do with her hands so she holds out one of hers for him to shake. Y/N isnât sure why â sheâs just a loser, and panicking, and her boss was just really fucking hot out there, so she isnât sure what to do with herself.Â
Harry entertains her at least, and meets her hand with his own, shaking it once, âAlright,â he agreed that it was settled on, âAre you okay? I know the situation was uncomfortable.âÂ
She smiles, nodding, âYeah, it was â it was kind of uncomfortable, but you were really cool out there,â she told him, âLike, badass and cool. That dick has had it coming for a long time, and you told him off so it was. . .it was pretty cool.âÂ
This makes Harry laugh, and he doesnât let go of her hand. Instead he squeezes hers, warm against his palm.Â
âYouâre cute,â and even if heâs said it before, it still makes her shiver, that he thinks her bumbling and fumbling through her words and sounding stupid was in any way endearing, âDo you have plans tonight?âÂ
Y/N shook her head, âNothing besides â well, Hazelnut and I may watch a movie.âÂ
âTell Hazelnut youâll need a raincheck,â Harry told her, âYouâre coming to my flat.â Â
âYou want verbal praise.â It didnât necessarily sound like a question, but Y/N still nods anyway, âWhy havenât you said that before?â
Â
Y/N is blinking at him again, confused, âBecause youâre kind of scary? And I thought youâd. . .I thought youâd be annoyed with me.â
Â
He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, taking it away with a soft popping sound. Y/N is worried that she accidentally offended him, but he only nods his head, his face twisted up in a way that tells her heâs considering what she said, âAlright,â he finally said, âIâll do my best to give you verbal praise if you do your best not to lie to me. I donât like liars,â he motioned toward the foil, âNow eat, I made that for you.âÂ
or
Y/N wants to be a chef and Harry is her grumpy mentor
(16k+ words)
i.Â
Y/N is not going to cry.Â
She isnât, she really isnât. Tears burn up her cheeks but she has become seasoned enough in the last year and a half to blink them back even when the reprimand is brutal. She chokes them down, straightens the wobble in her voice, and bites the fleshy part of her bottom lip so it doesnât quiver. Y/N takes all criticism, all admonishments, all the scoffs and disappointed glares in stride. She nods curtly, replies tersely, and fixes the problem.Â
Then once all thatâs done, she finds a quiet corner and cries. If she can wait longer, sheâll go home, scream into her pillow, take a hot bath, and maybe let a tear or two slip out, but she gets over it quickly. She went into this knowing what it might be like, so she tried her best to let most of it brush off her shoulder, just as sheâd been advised to. Take the (harshly put) advice, channel the anger and upset into making not even just the next meal better, but the next plate â and never let them see you cry about it.Â
So Y/N isnât going to cry, sheâll make damn sure of it. Maybe it was harder today because she didnât sleep well last night, but that was her own fault â the show she was binging was getting too good to stop and it was 1 AM before she realized. This morning she woke up seconds from chattering her teeth from the glacial-like cold the air in her room took on, only to find her furnace wasnât working. The water from her shower greeted her in icy slaps to her skin so she found her water heater was just about as useful as her furnace currently was. And she was late this morning because sheâd missed the subway, and she stepped in something sticky so her shoes kept squeaking with each step, and just before she walked in she checked her phone and saw a message from her ex that she promptly ignored, but in the middle of ignoring that she ran into Niall who spilled his lukewarm latte down the front of her shirt âÂ
The day had just been pretty shitty already, is the problem. The last thing she needed was a rich prick complaining about the taste of his food when questioned about it. Donât get her wrong, she typically takes complaints from customers as a learning experience to grow and nurture the outcome of future meals â but this particular dick does this with all the female staff, heâs noticed. Either the waitress was rude (because she didnât answer his advances), or the hostess was unprofessional (because the flower tattoos on her forearm were somehow offensive to him), or the whole establishment was filthy (because there was a hair laid delicately on top of his beef wellington).Â
One look at the hair and Y/N knew for a fucking fact it wasnât her own. It wasnât the same color at all, or the same length â actually it looked quite similar to his date sitting across from him, who seemed. . .relatively put off by the show he was putting on. He canât do things discreetly, thriving off the attention delivered from the spectacle he makes of himself in these situations. Thatâs why he announces it particularly loudly and demands to speak to the chef who made the meal, and when Y/N isnât giving him the reaction that he wants (beyond a gentle apology and an offer to remake his plate), he demands to speak to a manager. Better yet, he demands to speak to Harry Styles himself.Â
Harry Styles isnât a manager. Harry Styles, back in his early twenties, joined the group as one of the youngest chefs to receive two Michelin stars. Before his 30th birthday, heâd gained eight more, was on the cover of Time Magazine, had received critical acclaim and praise from some of the most refined chefs in the world, and quickly became the enemy of any restaurant on the same block as one of his seven locations across the globe. He was skilled beyond reason, a true culinary god born from a spark of heat on a carbon steel pan, someone to look up to, study beneath, attempt to emulate, and then fail because his mastery is something untouchable. He was almost perfect in every way.Â
Almost.Â
Harry didnât have the best temperament, his personality was scored with bad-tempered moods, and his attitude left much to be desired. He wasnât personable, rarely smiled, and the inflection in his voice was typically nonexistent if not for him scolding you. Y/N is unsure why heâs so serious â from what sheâs read and heard his childhood was pretty decent, and his love life was nonexistent but he seemed relatively content about it, he was rich which â Y/N knows money doesnât buy happiness but it surely allows you to live comfortably. Sheâs sure he must have faced hardships at some point, but he doesnât talk about it.
So studying under him is a privilege just as much as itâs a thorn in the ass. Itâs difficult to become his apprentice â heâs had a total of 10 apprenticeships in the past couple of years and only 3 of them made it past the 5-month mark, and only one of them actually finished out the three years. The fact that Harry is such a coveted culinary artist that the waitlist to apprentice under him stretches long before heâs even reached 35 is something to be noted. And every day Y/N is both endlessly confused and grateful that he chose to take her under her wing (she and another aspiring chef, Finley started together but Finley left pretty early on, after the first time Harry tasted a soup he made and told him it was shit and to start over).Â
Harry Styles isnât the manager, but he runs his kitchen so precisely and so strictly that if someoneâs asking to speak to the manager, you can bet your ass that heâll be present at the table as well. Much to Y/Nâs chagrin, that is, she stands there while the patron stirs a fuss holding up a hair that was the wrong color to be hers. If Y/N was apprenticing under Adam, the other chef in the kitchen (second in command and much less intense, but still really good) then she would have told him it seemed like the fucker just had his date pull a piece of her hair out and lay on his food. Harry has all of his staff wear their hair slick back, pulled tight into a bun if it is long enough to, with a black headband stretching over part of her scalp. Even those with short hair are expected to have hair nets on, and theyâve not had a problem with hair in the food. The whole thing was just hard to believe, especially with who it was coming from.Â
Alas, Adam was not Y/Nâs mentor, Harry was and Harry doesnât like excuses. So instead of defending herself when he nods at her toward a small alcove before they return to the kitchen, he remarks, âIâm not teaching you for you to embarrass me.â She merely dips her head and agrees, âPeople come here to enjoy their meals without the fear someoneâs fucking hair is going to be mixed in. Whatâs next, huh? Your fingernail? A band-aid?â He clicked his tongue, âNever again. Quality control must be done on every single plate after we plate it and then again before we send it out to the floor. If this happens again, you can kiss the rest of this apprenticeship goodbye. Do you understand?â Y/N nodded again, âNow get out of my sight.âÂ
In comparison to all the other lashings sheâs received in the past, this was relatively light, but it affects her just as poorly. Maybe even worse than some of those times, because Y/N could admit that the times sheâd been scolded before, those mistakes were her fault and she knew it was something to learn from. What the fuck could she learn from a prick messing with the food for the sake of being an asshole? It hurts worse because she knows she didnât do anything wrong, but sheâs still getting yelled at, and sheâs exhausted, and the day has been long, and she thinks sheâs a week off from her period which is when she feels the most emotionally frazzled.Â
Still, she waits to find her quiet corner â deeper into the restaurant, in the food supply closet thereâs a space between two of the racks that forms a corner. She squeezes in there and lets the tears burn down her face quietly, scrolling through her phone for a second to try and get over it. It would help if she could get the disappointed glare from his face out of her head. His eyes are a light green but they always seem darker when theyâre narrowed, and his manicured eyebrows seem more daunting when theyâre furrowed. His hair is on the shorter side, neatly gelled and styled, and thereâs a mole to the left of his lips that sheâs never seen pulled into a smile except for a couple of photos from an interview a few years back.Â
Y/Nâs there for about five minutes before she thinks she should get back. Niall finds her just as sheâs easing her way out of her crying corner with a pitied expression on his face, pouting his lip out at her. âDonât look at me like that,â she grumbles, knuckling at her eyes, âIâm fine.âÂ
âYou just look like the saddest small animal in the world when you cry. Like a pound puppy or summat,â he reaches into his back pocket and produces a pack of tissues, pressing them into her hands, âWhy didnât you tell Harry that dick planted the hair? That clearly wasnât yours.âÂ
She shrugs, taking a tissue from the plastic wrap and wiping her eyes with it, âIt doesnât matter,â she sighs, heavy and dejected, âLike heâll believe me over a customer. Itâs better to just let him fuss at me then get over it.âÂ
Niall is still frowning as she blows her nose, taking the pack back and slipping it into his pocket, âStill, itâs fucked,â he checks his watch, âOnly two more hours to go though, yeah? Do you wanna stop by that one burger place on the way home? We can eat our feelings, and maybe discuss how youâre going to learn how to do laser hair removal so you can zap away some of my pubes.âÂ
Niall was learning under Adam, who was good enough to gain Harryâs respect but still managed to be lax and pretty easygoing. One time, when they first started (Niall started just a month before Y/N did), Niall had made the wrong dish entirely and sent it out to the table. When it was brought back, Adam shrugged, and told him to make the right one, âBut do it quickly so that this one is still warm and you can eat it.â In comparison, if Y/N had done that, Harry might have had her hung, drawn, and quartered.Â
âIâm begging you to just learn how to wax,â Y/N straightened out her top and apron, rumpled her lips, and set toward the door, âAnd Iâm begging you to learn how in a way that doesnât involve me seeing your balls.âÂ
âWhat do you have against my balls?â Niall presses the door open and almost mows someone down immediately. The squawk that echoed through the hall (drowned out by the neighboring clank of pots and pans) told them before they saw that it was Adam, who caught himself on the door and held a hand to his chest.Â
âI hope you werenât in the food supply closet trying to show off your balls Ni,â Adam recovered quickly, shaking his head, âThatâs bad for business. Hey, Y/N â oh my god, have you been crying?âÂ
âWhat? No,â Y/N lies and sheâs thankful she did because Harry rounds the corner in hot pursuit â she hopes for the salt inside the storage room and not his lowly apprentice, âI have bad allergies this time of year, sometimes they just act up. Itchy eyes and all that,â she waves him off, âI took some medicine though.âÂ
Adam looks wary, but smiles goodnaturedly, âAh, yeah, okay I get that. If you need anything just let me know, yeah?â Because Adam knows that his head chef is kind of a dick, and rough with his apprentices not only because he works with him, but because he learned right beside him, from the same man â Harryâs grandfather. They grew up together, which is why heâs the only person in the kitchen not tiptoeing around Harry. Itâs also why Y/N could never let him know that Harry upset her, because he wouldnât have a problem bringing it up to him.
(Which is what happened to Finley, who â after confiding in Adam that Harry was a big meanie â Harry found him, pulled him to the side, and asked, âDid you think tattling was going to make me go easier on you? Honestly, you just pissed me the hell off.â)Â
She smiles, nods her head, and when she inevitably makes eye contact with Harry (whose scowl has relaxed minutely) she gives a curter nod, before ducking away. Niall stays back with Adam and Harry doesnât yank her back by the collar to yell at her some more, so she hurries off. Itâs only a couple of more hours, just like Niall said, and hopefully, in that time, she could redeem herself even remotely.Â
It can be hard. Y/N signed up for this sure, but not directly â not really. The culinary school sheâd been attending had many chefs come to speak to them, some from smaller establishments and some from bigger chain restaurants, offering them apprenticeships and speaking about life after they graduate. Nobody had expected Harry Styles to show up one of the days, closer to graduation, and nobody expected him to pick anyone to be his apprentice â least of all Y/N â but she remembered the day clearly. How he bit into her shepherd's pie (what Y/N had been embarrassed about making now that one of the most masterclass fine dining chefs was coming to taste their food), and his face pulled into one that Y/N had misinterpreted at the time as disgust. She found out soon after that when Harry enjoys a dish, he looks pissed off about it.Â
âWho made this?â He asked and Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach when she raised her hand, blinking a million times a minute like her eyelids might help her fly away if she tried hard enough, âCome here.âÂ
The room had been quiet; silent enough that youâd be able to hear a soap bubble pop as Y/N weaved through the tables to where he stood. He was at the space she prepared it at, his hand lying on the counter while his other hand held the fork. Harry sliced into it with the side of the utensil, motioned at the inside of it, how it falls out slowly, âWhereâd you learn to make this?âÂ
âUm â a cookbook, sir.â Y/N was lightheaded, and she kind of thought she might pass out in a second if he didnât stop staring at her so hard.Â
Harry huffed a laugh through his nose, and at the time, it felt like humoring a god, âYeah?â He must have been in a good mood, âWhat is your name?âÂ
âY/N, sir.âÂ
âY/N,â he repeated her name back to her, then brought another forkful to his mouth â it was the only time heâd gone back in for seconds, âThis is good.âÂ
âOh, really?â Her eyes went wide, âThank you, I â I mean, yeah. Thank you.âÂ
It wasnât some grandiose request for her to study under him. Actually, Y/N thought heâd just been in the mood to give at least one compliment, until her instructor emailed her that he was interested in having her as his apprentice.
Anytime he scolds her, or is mean to her, or kind of rough â she vividly remembers the moment. It brings her some comfort, on the days that sheâs certain he hates her and her cooking and thinks sheâs useless in the kitchen beside him. That, at the very least, the shepherdâs pie recipe she used to read out of her Nanâs cookbook from decades ago was enough to make him take a second bite.Â
âY/N,â her name is called as soon as she steps foot in the kitchen, one of the waiters smiling at her, âAn old bloke from table three legitimately said âsend my compliments to the chefâ over your seared tuna.âÂ
That soothes the sear over her heart for now at least.Â
                                                                   .              .             .
Y/N and Harry do not speak to each other. Or, well â thatâs a little dramatic. They do speak to each other, but itâs nothing beyond the matters of the restaurant and cooking. When Y/N sees Harry, bright and early for Mise en place, she is barely spared a âgood morningâ before he discusses what the specials for today are and what needs to be prepared outside of the norm. Y/Nâs there early enough some mornings that sheâs helping him unload the trucks and of course, thatâs something theyâre doing in relative silence. And then he speaks to her to scold her for something, usually, or to tell her that she did well which can be few and far between and is â at most â a small nod when he tastes a sauce that sheâs made or cuts into a fillet and checks the tenderness.Â
But they donât talk about life. Harry has no idea what Y/N does when she leaves the restaurant and she has no idea if he even lives outside of this kitchen. He doesnât know that sheâs got a cat named Hazelnut or that her ex messaged her the other day asking for restaurant recommendations and she doesnât know if he has any pets or if heâs ever dated someone in his life. While Adam and Niall knew the intimate details of one anotherâs scrotums, Y/N couldnât even tell you what Harryâs favorite color was â but she guesses thatâs okay. They donât have to be best friends for Harry to teach her properly, and honestly, itâs probably for the best that heâs a dick. Thereâd be no way sheâd be able to focus on anything if he was nice to her â because nice and attractive in the animal side of Y/Nâs brain flashes alarm symbols that scream SUITABLE MATE!!!!! and thatâd probably be a mess.Â
With all of this being noted, Y/N is well and truly shocked when she shows up at 5 AM to sharpen knives and chop vegetables, and Harry speaks to her beyond a perfunctory greeting.Â
âHow are your allergies today?âÂ
Y/N blinked at him, stilling where she was pulling off her coat like a bunny whoâd just been spotted by a predator in the wild. Sheâs like, almost halfway certain that he isnât speaking to her at all, but theyâre the only two in here â Adam and Niall donât turn up for another hour.Â
âMy what?âÂ
Harry has a clipboard in his left hand, his fingers around the base of his favorite ballpoint pen â he mustâve been doing inventory checks before she got here, âYour allergies,â he repeated, âYour eyes were red yesterday â you told Adam it was your allergies acting up.âÂ
This honestly might have been the most words Harry has spoken to her without any food being involved. Y/Nâs struggling not to seem like an idiot but sheâs certain sheâs staring at him like heâd grown a second head, and he might as well have. In the mornings, she gets orders and maybe a grunt of approval now and then if she fulfills them as he intended. She has never been asked how she slept, what her commute was like, if sheâd eaten breakfast â none of those routine questions you ask someone to start the flow of social interaction.Â
Yet here Harry is, questioning her about allergies she lied about. Y/N does get seasonal allergies sometimes, but typically when one season is beginning to melt into the other. It was too far into winter for her to suddenly have itchy eyes, with all the pollen dormant, waiting to really destroy her come spring. Anyone who had allergies could kind of guess that and Y/N has the horrifying thought that Harry has allergies, and knows that she was lying. Even if he didnât have allergies, he probably already knew sheâd been lying â she was relatively certain that his eyes had a second setting that was programmed to see right through her.Â
âOh, uh â better,â she swallowed thickly, praying that he only thought she was being awkward because they didnât do casual conversation like. . .ever, âTheyâre better. I took medicine though.âÂ
Harry eyed her quietly and Y/N shuffled beneath his gaze, wishing he would look away from her. Y/N had always thought she wanted a relationship akin to the one Niall and Adam had with each other, but sheâs finding quickly that she wouldnât be able to handle it well. At least not now, when theyâd already established their dynamic as begrudging mentor and feeble mentee.Â
Thatâs. . .different. Not the order to start cutting but the fact that Harry had already washed and prepped the vegetables for her. Thatâs normally a job he leaves for her while he tends to more important matters like inventory checks, delegating tasks for the others when they come in, or even prepping some of the other ingredients for their plates that day (he prepares his meat very precisely and particularly, and he hasnât shown her exactly how yet â Y/N knew it was going to be something that took her weeks or maybe months to master in his keen eye and she wasnât looking forward to it at all).
So Y/N is kind of sketched out but sheâs learned to not look a gift horse in the mouth when it comes to Harry. If he was in a good mood, then she would accept it graciously and do everything in her power not to muck it up.Â
Being in the kitchen with only him is more peaceful than one might think â at least for her it was. Most of the time Y/N doesnât even think what sheâs done is enough to piss him off, but a collection of small things by multiple people. Itâs just a matter of the wrong mistake at the wrong time when Y/N does something little and stupid that grates his nerves and sends him right over the edge, but had she been the first one to make a mistake, he probably wouldnât have cared as much. Y/Nâs only scientific backing for this hypothesis is that Harry seems to be more at ease in the morning. Maybe thatâs just because the day had only just started. Y/N likes to pretend itâs because he feels more at ease when itâs only the two of them in the kitchen.Â
Niall and Adam arrive after an hour and a half of Y/N silently cutting vegetables, just in time for the meat prep which is admittedly her least favorite part. She likes to pawn off some of that job onto Niall who does it so long as she listens to his escapade and offers meaningful commentary, which sheâd be doing anyway but he didnât need to know that, necessarily. Harry had told her the ingredients he wanted in the marinade and went through the steps rather quickly but Y/N had scribbled it down (heâd slid her a notepad and let her have his pen. . another small grace that he typically didnât offer).Â
âFuck sake,â Adam shivered as he pulled off his winter coat, âHarry isnât it a bit rude to have a woman come out in this weather this early? Reckon thatâs like â a fuck you to chivalry or something.âÂ
âYou could take her place in prepping then,â Harry replied coolly, not raising his eyes from where they were fixed on his inventory sheet, âBe here by 5 AM.âÂ
Adam grimaced, then looked at her, âSorry Babe, I gave it a go. Donât think heâs willing to budge.âÂ
âIâd just like to state for the record that Y/N has never requested Adam to get her out of anything,â Niall said loud enough for Harry to hear across the kitchen, âHe did this of his own free will without the consultation of my client.âÂ
âWhatâre you, her lawyer?â Adam snorted.Â
Niall clicked his tongue, âIâll have to be if you make damning statements like that.âÂ
Y/N laughs though she does glance over at Harry, who mostly seems to be in his own world. He typically is, when Adam and Niall are going back and forth. However, today â and maybe sheâs just hallucinating it â but he has the tiniest of smiles twitching at the corner of his mouth. Like. . .barely there. It was so invisible that nobody could tell he was smiling if she took a picture and held it up side-by-side with his normal face. So maybe he wasnât smiling at all, but it was a fun thought to have at least. The idea that he might be even remotely interested in kitchen antics apart from business was always kind of fun to pretend now and then.Â
âY/N,â Harryâs voice sliced through the kitchen, âGet back to work.âÂ
She hadnât realized sheâd been idle with a potato in her hand since Adam and Niall walked in. Her eyes widened as she set it back down on the cutting board, âOh, oops, sorry I will,â she replied before grabbing the knife again. Adam and Niall were headed to the hand-washing sink before they started their task. Y/N, once again (and sheâll do this several times throughout her shift), wondered what it would be like if she and Harry had that type of relationship. Where they came in together (Y/N thinks they honestly drive each other sometimes), relaxed and laughing. Comfortable in each other's presence whether that be in the kitchen, goofing off in the stock room, drinking after work. One time Y/N messaged Niall and his response was Sorry, Adam and I were bowling what do you need â like, itâs crazy! Y/N canât imagine Harry doing a recreational activity with her without someone threatening him â and even then, he might still say no.Â
What would he be like outside of work? Does he laugh at things? Like â has this man ever had a belly laugh in his life? Does he watch movies? What genre does he like? Has he ever binge-watched a TV show? Does he cuss at the screen during footie games? And what color are his sheets? Does his house look like someone lives in it? Does he think about her outside of work? Does he remember why he chose her to apprentice under him in the first place?Â
She has to shake her head free of all the questions â she could ask a billion and go crazy with no real answers. Some days Y/N wishes heâd accidentally dropped a journal or something that she could dig through to get a better understanding of him, but it has yet to happen. And she thinks if she asked him any of these questions heâd glare at her and tell her to mind her fucking business and organize the seasonings on the rack by name and color.
Maybe one day sheâd learn more about him.Â
                                                                      .            .            .
âIâm just wondering like â has he ever made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?â Niall inquired idly when he and Y/N were hiding in the break room for the 15 blissful minutes of peace they were afforded. They had to take their lunch, not actually around lunchtime â either a little bit before or a little while after since noon was a busy time of day. Theyâre smack in the middle of the business district, so plenty of workers â mostly the bigwigs who can afford the high prices of their meals without overthinking about it â come around for their 30 to 60 minutes allotted for lunch to have steak flambeed at table side.Â
Y/N was, funny enough, warming up a frozen meal to scarf down. For as much as she loves to cook, she rarely has time to do it for herself anymore. She canât even remember the last time she ate a full meal that she prepared, now only able to take little sips and bites to make sure the sauce was to taste or that the meat was tender. Around holidays she can work her skills for potlucks and family gatherings, but otherwise, sheâs eating cheap little meals to stave off hunger pains and keep her bank at least partially appeased.Â
There wasnât a lot of time though â she had ten minutes before needing to go back out there while Niall chewed through his peanut butter and jelly, swiping at the grape jelly that stuck to the corner of his mouth, âSâlike, I canât imagine it. I feel like he was 4 years old eating coq au vin.âÂ
She snorted, watching the time on the microwave, âYeah, most likely,â she sighed, âIf he made one though itâd somehow taste like it cost a hundred quid to make.âÂ
âI agree,â Niall nodded curtly, âHe could probably piss on the bread and itâd still taste like gold.âÂ
âGod, youâre so grossââÂ
âY/N,â Harry peeks around the door. His voice always startles her, especially when he refers to her by name. He spends so much time catching her attention with a matter of grunts and staring until she makes eye contact, that sheâs surprised he even remembers it sometimes. This would mark the second time this week that heâs referred to her by it though, and a part of her is reeling because of it. Even though heâs only saying her name to tell her, âSince weâre short today, Iâll need you to step in and run Freyaâs station.âÂ
Freya is their garnish chef, always plotting out the most perfect plates and adding them intricately. Itâs a job that goes unnoticed by many, but Y/N has always been able to appreciate how beautiful sheâs able to make even something as simple as a salad appear. Half of the restaurant experience is to appeal to a visual appetite, going hand-in-hand with how it tastes. Something could taste delicious but look like shit, and youâd lose one of these customers in a blink of an eye. Freya makes sure that this isnât something to worry about.Â
Y/N actually spent a couple of weeks following Freya last month, and her plating game had been upped tenfold. She can only imagine this is why Harry wanted her to run her station, but still. . .it feels like a kiss on the cheek from a god. For him to show any amount of trust in her to run a station speaks to the growth in their relationship as apprentice and mentor; when sheâd first started, Harry barely even let her hold a knife without him hovering.Â
âOh! Oh my god, yeah, Iâll do that.â She agreed, taking her phone and sliding it into her pocket.Â
Harry gave a short nod, âGood. I need you there now,â his eyes flickered to where Niall sat, his hand frozen in a pack of pretzels, âHave you eaten?âÂ
âYes,â she lies, and when Harry pointedly looked at the microwave, now beeping, she motioned toward Niall (and made sure to step on Niallâs foot a bit to keep him quiet, though sheâs certain he wouldnât speak out of turn to Harry ever), âThatâs his â heâs really hungry today.âÂ
Harry eyed her for a moment, and she guesses he decided it was not worth investigating before turning on his heel and leaving. Niall looks at her, brows raised, âHoly fuck, heâs letting you run a station? Thatâs like next level.âÂ
âShut up, youâve run stations before,â she replied, sneaking her hand in his bag of pretzels and grabbing a couple. Y/N probably shouldnât have lied about eating but she was worried that he would find someone else to run it if she wasnât quick enough. Plus, what if he thought less of her for trying to feed herself over the general public or something? She could hear him scolding her now, something like They eat then you can eat â your hierarchy of needs matters very little in comparison.Â
âYeah, but thatâs because Adam is Adam, but Harry is Harry,â he stressed, âDonât mess it up, heâll never trust you again.âÂ
âThanks for the upbeat pep talk, Ni.âÂ
âI mean, youâre gonna do great! Iâm proud of you!â He cheered, fist in the air to rally with her, âUm, but do you think he heard me say the thing about him pissing on a sandwich? Because he showed up like 5 seconds after that.âÂ
Y/N doesnât bother answering him more than a squeeze to his shoulder then sets off to go run the station. Her stomach growls at her but in her head, she chastises it and tells it to suck it up. Sheâd gone plenty of days skipping lunch to work, even before she was even a chef, so she was used to it â she wished sheâd had a better breakfast in preparation, but she was praying that the two pieces of toast with peanut butter and her fiber infused yogurt would do her well. At least until her next break.Â
Sheâs got this though! Sheâs going to prove to Harry that he can rely on her, and their relationship will be better because of it. Maybe they could have even a sliver of the camaraderie that Adam and Niall share. Y/N has lofty hopes, she knows, but itâs what pushes her. Sheâll do her best â no, sheâll do even better than her best.Â
Thatâs what Harry expects of her.Â
                                                               .             .           .
What Harry doesnât expect from her, is for her to nearly pass out two hours into taking on the assigned role.Â
How the restaurant is set up is like this: they serve lunch and dinner. Every two weeks she and Niall alternate between working the lunch shift or the dinner shift, though somehow Y/N still gets stuck coming in early a lot of the time to do prep work â but after prepping sheâs free to leave. Ideally, if Finley had stayed then he would be working the alternate shift of her and heâd be doing it but that didnât happen. Y/N doesnât think Harry flips â she imagines that heâs there all day every day, except Mondays and Tuesdays when theyâre closed. Adam, who is a hard worker but not willing to break his back or sacrifice too much of his life, has another chef who works under him, and he garnered Harryâs approval. She is who runs his side of the kitchen during dinner if heâs on the lunch shift, and vice versa.Â
So this week, in particular, Niall and Y/N were on the lunch shift. Both shifts have their own complications and their own menus. Both can tend to be busy as well, though usually, lunch is a little slower than dinner, nowhere near as hectic as it gets from 5 PM to 8 PM. That being said, getting dishes out in an appropriately timed manner is imperative, because people need to get back to work after their lunch break is through. This means that if there is an influx of customers, itâs fucking brutal.Â
And today, when Y/N was finally trusted enough and given the task to take on Freyaâs role, it was fucking brutal.Â
She did it though! Y/N was actually so good, if she was able to stroke her ego, she did much better than she thought. Everything looked pretty, it tasted nice, and things were plated and sent out in record time with the help of two other kitchen staff (Max and Gretal). Harry had come over to see how she was doing and didnât say a word, which â for him â is the same as high praise. If he doesnât speak sometimes itâs because thereâs nothing to correct. He thought it looked good, even if he wasnât saying it aloud, but Y/N knew he wouldnât send out a plate that he didnât approve of.Â
It was just â once the rush had settled, Y/Nâs vision went spotty and she almost fell right into the stove.Â
Not a great look at all, and sheâs horrifically embarrassed. She wasnât sure who saved her from slamming into the boiling pot of soup until her vision righted itself, Adam looking at her with the same wide, panicked eyes he had when he caught her crying, âJesus Christ!â He cried out, âWhat happened?âÂ
âSorry,â she replied sheepishly, âI just â um. . .I think I need to eat?âÂ
So she was directed not to the breakroom, but to an abandoned little alcove far down a hallway. Nobody ever comes here, and Y/N needed a minute to lick her now very tender and mortified ego. There was something inherently embarrassing about people seeing her nearly fall and though she knew reasonably nobody was going to point and laugh at her, she still couldnât shake it. She felt silly and the thought of people remembering this every time they saw her was enough for her to want to smother herself.Â
Adam had told her he would bring her something to eat, just to hold tight, and left her with a juice box. They donât have kids come here often, but if they do, their limited kid menu does include apple juice. She slurps through the tiny straw and feels the threat of a headache tickling around her temples. Sheâs sure Harry isnât even going to register how well she did today because thereâs no way this wouldnât completely overshadow it. At the very least, sheâs thankful that she didnât actually tumble into the stove â she probably wouldâve ruined the soup boiling on it and Harry would have her head.Â
She wasnât sure how long she was sitting there before the door leading into the hallway opened, the wind it created, and the subsequent clearing of the sounds in the kitchen that itâd been muffling giving it away. Y/N had prepared herself for a doting Adam, worried and fretting, making him promise not to fuss at Harry over this. She was ready to eat, get herself right, then return and finish the rest of her day.Â
What she wasnât ready for, was Harry coming around the corner instead.Â
Y/Nâs heart drops to her stomach â well, it first speeds up to a thousand beats per minute and then drops to her stomach. Maybe even lower than her stomach? Down to her ass, more like. The threat of sweat building at her nape was true to her fight or flight response because he doesnât necessarily look pleased with her. Plus heâs holding something in his hand â probably a contract promising to never try and work under him again because even the sight of her name after today might disturb him.Â
Upon closer inspection, Y/N realizes instead that heâs holding something wrapped in foil. He comes up to her and surprisingly doesnât immediately start yelling, instead staring down at her for a second. Y/N blinks at him, and he blinks at her, wordlessly.Â
âUm, Sir?â She held the juice box tightly in her hands, âAre you here to scold me?âÂ
Harry rolled his eyes, lowering down until he was squatting in front of her. This position was way less menacing as he held out the foil-wrapped mystery item, âWhy do you talk to me like Iâm your headmaster in school?â Y/N took the foiled object tentatively, âAnd why did you lie?âÂ
âHuh?âÂ
âYou lied about eating,â he nudged his head toward the kitchen, âAnd almost took out the chestnut soup.âÂ
Y/N grimaced, struggling not to shrink in on herself, âIâm sorry,â she frowned, âIâm â I hope that the kitchen doesnât suffer not having someone run Freyaâs station, but the others should be able to take care of it.âÂ
He sighed, annoyed, âI donât give a shit about Freyaâs station,â Y/Nâs mouth fell open, âI care about why you lied.âÂ
She shuffled, nervous, her heart still racing, âI just thought. . .I thought if Iâd told you I hadnât eaten yet it would annoy you,â she explained, swallowing thickly, âYouâve never offered me to run a station before so I wanted to jump on the opportunity and show you that I can do well.âÂ
Harry stares at her hard, unrelenting, and Y/N feels like sheâd rather have passed out into the soup. Anything to get away from this intense gaze he has, piercing right through her, like heâs trying to peek into her very core. She doesnât think heâs ever looked at her for this long if heâs not chastising her for a mistake. Even when heâs teaching her something, heâs mostly staring at the food, at her hands, scrutinizing the deftness of her fingers and the techniques she uses.Â
âYou should never sacrifice your health for the sake of someone else,â he finally replied, pointing his index finger at himself, âNot me,â and then he pointed where the dining area sat behind the walls, âAnd not them. You should always come first, no matter what the circumstances are.â He rested his hand on his knee, still squatting to her level, âI already know you can do well, you donât have to prove that to me.âÂ
Y/N frowns a little, âBut I do,â she answered, and she would blame it on being lightheaded and dizzy later, her talking back to him instead of taking the compliment, âThe only time you speak to me is to scold me, so how am I supposed to know you think Iâm doing well? If I have an opportunity to make you acknowledge me, then Iâll take it.âÂ
âYou wonât survive this career if youâre only working for my acknowledgment.âÂ
She groans because heâs missing the point, âThatâs â not it,â she huffs, âPeople eating my food and finishing it is enough acknowledgment for me, sure, but you â youâre my mentor! And youâre one of the best chefs there is, if you tell me Iâm doing well. . .it just feels good, is all. Sometimes validation is nice and thereâs nothing wrong with that.âÂ
Harry takes some time to stare at her again. The scent of his cologne is slithering around her, something vanilla and warm which is a surprising choice for him but welcomed by her nares. His skin is clear up close, and she thinks the rumors about him getting laser hair removal on his face might be true because thereâs not a speck of hair or even the hint of a shadow along his jaw or upper lip. He somehow doesnât have frown marks for someone who looks pissed all of the time, but she guesses heâs always looked pissed with his lips pulled into a straight line. Their black button-up dress code is the same, but Harry always looks more expensive than everyone else, and he rarely wears the apron anymore, unless he knows he will be completely hands-on with a dish. His trousers were nice too, and she knew the shot of his bum from the back might be glorious, but now wasnât the time to think about that.Â
âYou want verbal praise.â It didnât necessarily sound like a question, but Y/N still nods anyway, âWhy havenât you said that before?âÂ
Y/N is blinking at him again, confused, âBecause youâre kind of scary? And I thought youâd. . .I thought youâd be annoyed with me.âÂ
He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, taking it away with a soft popping sound. Y/N is worried that she accidentally offended him, but he only nods his head, his face twisted up in a way that tells her heâs considering what she said, âAlright,â he finally said, âIâll do my best to give you verbal praise if you do your best not to lie to me. I donât like liars,â he motioned toward the foil, âNow eat, I made that for you.âÂ
Her brows raised, peeling the foil back carefully to reveal a peanut butter and jelly, carefully constructed and sliced into two triangles. Her gaze flickers back to him, then back to the sandwich, âYou made this for me?â He nods, and Y/N canât help the little smile that pulls at her mouth, âOh wow, thank you. It looks yummy.âÂ
âI didnât piss on it, but it should be good.âÂ
Horror writes itself all over her face, the realization that heâd heard Niall say that. Then she wonders how many other things heâs heard when he just appears out of nowhere, and she gets a little nervous. Before she can say anything, he snorts, pats her knee, and then finally stands (sheâs impressed by how long heâd been squatting in front of her), âEat, and then when you feel less dizzy, head home, Iâm giving you the rest of the day.âÂ
âBut ââ Y/N tries but Harry clicks his tongue and interrupts her.Â
âIf you get lightheaded again and actually take out the soup, I will be pissed. But Iâm in a good mood right now, so take advantage of it. Iâll see you tomorrow.âÂ
Y/N lets her shoulders relax, hovering the sandwich over her mouth, âOkay,â she replies, âThank you, Sir.âÂ
He sighs, heavily, âPlease, enough with that. Youâre making me feel like an old man. Just call me Harry for fuck sake.âÂ
                                                            .             .            .
There are several cooking techniques that Y/N has started to get the hang of and several that she has still yet to master. Honestly, there were quite a few that she hadnât tried yet, because her kitchen and supplies at her flat didnât provide the best space for experimentation. Like, practicing flambe on her electric stove would set off her fire alarms and probably the sprinkler system, and since the wiring is so dodgy at her complex then her neighborâs sprinkles would start raining down on them too. So it was just all around safer to keep that for a more open space with a more seasoned chef watching her do it.Â
Y/N is unsure if Harry goes by a schedule or if he just decides to teach her new techniques when he feels like it. It always seems a little random; sometimes the skills sheâs learning arenât even put to use until a month or two after sheâs learned them. It might just be whatever day Harry wakes up and feels a little more patient than usual, he must decide thatâs the best time to do it.
Now, considering that heâs running a business and thereâs very little time during the work day for him to sit and train her on different cooking styles and techniques, he usually calls her in on an off day. If Y/N had a more active social life it would probably matter to her that he expects her to drop everything and come at his command when she gets a message on a Monday. Instead of having brunch with some friends, however, Y/N had gotten out of bed to shower and then went to her sofa to continue lying down.Â
Productivity on off days is something exclusively reserved for nice weather, or at least Y/N thinks so. As soon as itâs cold outside, she is exempt from having to leave home for anything short of getting food, and she doesnât have to feel bad or lazy about it. Who wants to be out in the cold? Especially days like this, when the wind slices bone deep and the sky looks thick and heavy with the threat of snow. Y/N thinks sheâs better off in here, within the confines of her flat that now has a working heater, and her cat Hazelnut snuggled on her lap.Â
When her phone buzzes in her hand, it yanks her attention from the show that sheâd been going in between watching carefully and ignoring to scroll through Twitter. Y/N blinks once, twice â three times to make sure she isnât hallucinating that the Harry Styles sheâs seeing from her notification isnât a hallucination.Â
Are you busy?Â
Y/N presses herself from where sheâd been stretched out on the sofa, disturbing her cat just enough to side-eye her but not enough to get up and move.Â
Is everything okay?Â
She thinks itâs an appropriate question, actually, even though it isnât responding to his question. The last time Harry messaged her was eight months ago and it was a simple Youâre late â when she woke up after snoozing her alarm for 20 minutes then got caught in an intense morning thunderstorm. He doesnât contact her often, since he sees her 5 out of the 7 days a week. So this makes her nervous, sweat dots against her palms while her teeth worry her lip between them.Â
Thereâs no response for three minutes, and Y/N is staring anxiously at her phone the entire time.Â
Come to the kitchen.Â
Y/N can only assume he means the one at his restaurant, and can only assume that heâs about to lay into her about something. She doesnât know what would permit a house call other than him telling her she was useless and would never make it in the culinary world. That he couldnât even find something to pretend to find praiseworthy, and that she would need to find another mentor, out of his sight, and nowhere within 100 kilometers of his kitchen.Â
Thereâs a frantic way in her movements as she throws the blanket off of her lap and stands up, Hazelnut grumbling a meow up at her, annoyed, âSorry,â she murmured but ultimately tripped over herself grabbing for her purse and shoving her feet into her shoes. There was no time to get in different clothes, fear kicking her into gear â itâs not like sheâs eager to get scolded and kicked to the curb, but she knew not knowing would drive her insane. It was better to face her fear head-on, which means facing Harry head-on, and praying that itâs something simple to be yelled at for. Like, maybe she didnât clean a pot well enough? Or did she leave a burner on and burn half the kitchen down? No, no, hopefully, she just left the pantry unlocked and it irritated him. Or she left the freezer open and everything thawed and now they have no meat for the rest of the month.Â
From the time it took her to get into her car and drive to the restaurant, Y/N had conjured a thousand different scenarios as to why Harry would be contacting her. None of them were even remotely soothing to her brain and all of them left her in a state of slight panic, which sheâs sure is showing all over her face when she stumbles inside. Harry is casually leaning against one of the counters, looking down at a piece of paper with a furrowed brow. It looks like the inventory sheet â had she used too much of the garnishes when she took over Freyaâs station last week? She did feel like she was using an insane amount of parsley.Â
âUm, Sir?â Harryâs gaze flickered to her, and Y/N felt like she wanted to crawl underneath the counter, into a pot, and hide, âWhat â why did you â um, did I do something?â She is breathless, and itâs clear no matter how much she tries to control it. Her chest raises dramatically with each inhale and Harry blinks at her, head tilted.Â
âWhat?â His brows relaxed, âDid you run here?âÂ
She cleared her throat, âI mean, I rushed here, yeah,â she explained, then motioned toward him, âI was worried because â you never contact me on off days.âÂ
âSo you automatically assumed you did something wrong?âÂ
âYou were being cryptic!âÂ
Harry sighs, shaking his head, âNo, you havenât done anything,â he replies, âThough your immediate reaction screams guilty conscience to me. I wanted to teach you how to cook en papillote â have you heard of that before?âÂ
Y/Nâs shoulders sink, all the tension zipping from her bones at once and sheâs just as relieved as she is irritated. He couldnât have just told her that? She did all that panicking just to find out he wanted to teach her how to cook in parchment paper. God, if they had a closer relationship, sheâd be tearing into him right now â if he were Adam, sheâd be fussing and grumbling and telling him that he owed her a day off and a drink or maybe a shot of Ativan directly into her bloodstream.Â
Instead, she nods, âIâve heard of it, but Iâve never tried it.âÂ
Harry hums, and finally Y/N looks down at the counter before him. There are vegetables prepped, lemons already sliced, and what looks to be a halibut already descaled and deboned. A medium-sized baking tin sits beside his drumming fingers, along with parchment paper, âItâs a blind cooking method,â Harry continued, saying, âThe parchment paper traps the moisture and flavor that would otherwise evaporate while youâre baking it. Itâs ideal for fish â itâs one of my preferred ways to prepare it.âÂ
âI â yeah,â she swallows, âIâve never tried it but Iâve heard good things about it. I think what makes me nervous is not being able to see it.âÂ
He agrees with another hum, âYou donât cook fish often,â he says it as a statement rather than a question, âItâs a good thing to have in your repertoire; no matter the type of cooking you decide to venture into, from culture to culture, fish are always a big part of it.âÂ
So, Harry shows her. By no means is he warm and fuzzy about it â when Harry teaches it is with a rigid sort of preciseness that leaves very little room for error. Harry shows her, step-by-step, piece by piece how to slice the vegetables, season them, and arrange them delicately around the fish. He shows her where to slice so the meat cooks thoroughly, how to wrap the parchment around it, what she should feel for, what it should smell like, and how she should know it was done cooking without being able to visualize it.Â
The scent is mouthwatering when he pulls it from the oven and as he peels back the folds of parchment, revealed is the cut of fish browned and the vegetables steaming. Harry slides the fork inside and it goes so smoothly that Y/N knows it must be tender, and slices off a small piece with the knife, making sure to soak it momentarily in the juices that had gathered at the bottom of the dish. He pulls it to his mouth and purses his lips to blow over it, the steam disperses from around it.Â
In a move that Y/N did not expect, he doesnât bring the bite between his lips â he holds it out to her.Â
There are barricades between synapses as her neurons try to communicate, forcing them to dance and dip around each other. Something is misfiring as she stares between him and the fork, and it takes him raising an eyebrow at her before Y/Nâs lips finally parted, her mouth opening for him. She doesnât lean in to take the bite between her teeth, instead letting Harry guide the fork inside before she curls her lips around it.Â
Itâs delicious because thereâs never been something Harry has cooked that hasnât been delicious â but sheâs caught up in the process of him having her try it. In the past, Harry barely offered her a fork to try what heâd prepared when he was teaching her, but now heâs feeding her. Watching her with keen eyes as she chews, waiting patiently for her throat to bob with a swallow, âItâs good, yes?â He phrases it like a question but it sounds like he knows because of course he does â itâs always good.Â
Y/N doesnât know why her heart is speeding up behind her ribcage, startling it to a rattle. Her insides felt like gossamer-winged butterflies were licking her insides with each flutter, knocking against each other and bouncing off her organs. For the first time since sheâs shown up here, she realizes that Harry is dressed for his off day as well. With an off-white, linen long-sleeve, and brown linen slacks, he seems soft and well-rested, like he should have woken up in the French countryside during the early summer months. The gaze he held was still unrelenting and intense but somehow more gentle than sheâd ever experienced before.Â
âItâs yummy,â she answered, finally, acting like she hadnât just ogled him before responding.Â
Though no smile graces his mouth, he huffs a soft breath through his nose, and itâs as close to a laugh as she usually gets from him. âYummy,â he repeats, amused, âLetâs see if you can make it yummy as well.âÂ
So she does as he tells her. Harry watches and guides her through the steps heâd just given her, correcting her technique or adding more seasoning where he deemed fit. At some point when sheâs slicing into the fish, heâs plucking at his bottom lip and she almost cuts her finger staring at his mouth before getting a grip. Y/N is a little ashamed of herself â he hasnât even been that nice, but heâs being a whole lot more amicable than heâs ever been. He hadnât scoffed or sighed in the face of her messing up, not even once; instead, he gently redirected her mistake. Y/N wonders what her experience would have been like so far if heâd always been like this with her â if she would be a better chef because of it.Â
When itâs time for them to try hers, Harry cuts two pieces off this time. One for him and one for her, only he offers her the fork first and once she takes her bite, he uses the same fork to place his bite in his mouth. Y/N is fully aware of the rudimentary nature of her thoughts, but like. . .wow, they used the same fork. Thatâs like. . .indirectly kissing, is what the 15-year-old in her brain reminds her.Â
âHow does it taste?â Harry asks like he doesnât have the same piece in his mouth. Y/N had been too focused on the whole fork-sharing thing to pay much attention to the taste, but he clues her in with just enough time for her to have something to say. It was alright â not as good as his, but she had never once thought sheâd be able to imitate the taste of things heâs made. Thereâs a sneaking suspicion she and Niall share that Harry possesses some special cells on his fingers that make everything taste ten times better than the average person. All heâd have to do is peel and slice an orange and eating it would probably have the same effect that snorting cocaine has on the body.Â
Y/N shrugs, âItâs. . okay,â she tells him, maybe selling it a little short so he didnât feel the need to humble her, âI think it could be better.âÂ
Harry hums thoughtfully, she thinks to agree with her, but he slices into the halibut again and this time stabs his fork into a cherry tomato, roasted brown around the edges. Then he takes another bite. . .Y/N could have fallen over from the shock of it. Harry is notorious for one bite then dropping the fork and either grunting his approval or grunting his disgust (two different types of grunts that Y/N has grown expert in differentiating). There were silly rumors (started by Niall) that Harry sustains himself from the single bites he takes to test meals. Itâs what had made him take a second bite of her shepherdâs pie so important when they first met.Â
âI think you sell yourself too short,â he says after swallowing, âDo you know why I chose you last year?â Her head barely moves when she shakes it, staring at him with wide, dumbfounded eyes. Harry had never alluded to a reason â he rips into her day in and day out, enough where Y/N herself couldnât figure out why he would choose her over everyone in her class. Most days she thought it boiled down to him liking shepherdâs pie, âYou are a good cook, thatâs why. I wouldnât have chosen someone bad at cooking to study beneath me,â he explained, âFor your first try, this is good. Your next try will be better, and the time after that, I expect you to take your own spin on it. Do you follow?âÂ
âYes, SiââÂ
âAh.â He cuts her off.Â
âHarry,â she corrects herself, âYes, Harry.âÂ
Y/N almost wanted to wipe her eyes to make sure her vision wasnât blurry when she saw his lips pull into a small smile. She pinched the meat of her palm beneath her thumbnail to make sure she wasnât dreaming though, and idly wondered if sudden onset hallucinations would warm someoneâs permanent state of straight mouth into a smile. But she thinks itâs real â honest to god, a real smile, big enough that she doesnât have to squint and wonder if a muscle in his cheek spasmed.Â
âGood,â he set the fork and knife down on the counter, âAre you busy today? Would you like to try again?âÂ
                                                                .              .               .
Thereâs a shift so subtle in their dynamic that only two highly delusional people would notice it (her and Niall).Â
To the untrained eye, there had been no change at all, but Y/N and Niall, who maybe spent entirely too much time hyper fixating on his every move knew that something had changed. The crease in his brow gets just the slightest bit less crease-y when she does well, and the pitch to his hums and grunts are diminutively higher when he is pleased with what sheâs done. Things that would have made him scold her harshly or fuss at her for being careless, his reaction is much milder. Now instead of a disapproving glare, itâs a disapproving glance that doesnât last very long. He doesnât pull her off to the side to tell her that she overcooked the pasta and how if she wanted to continue on she better learn how to manage her time better so things like this didnât happen â he merely clicks his tongue, dials the flame down or maybe even pops it off the stove if sheâs preoccupied with something else.Â
Thatâs not all though, because heâs always somewhere looming but his presence seems much lighter to her now. Much less oppressive and scary, where knowing that he was hovering behind her watching her like a hawk felt like being a rabbit stalked by a fox. The change is more like an instructor on standby in case their trainee needs them. . .closer to the way Adam hovers around Niall even when they arenât discussing who footie teams are trading or comparing pube grooming techniques. Only instead of talking about sports and pubes, she and Harry donât really speak but still. . .itâs nice not to be so worried around him all of the time.Â
At first, Y/N thought this was purely her brain deluding herself into thinking she and Harry were closer after several Mondays when heâd called her into the kitchen for teaching. But during break one day, when she and Niall had escaped the building to fight past blistering winds for this new hazelnut latte at a cafe down the street, Niall brought it up unprovoked.Â
âHas Harry been like. . .minutely nicer to you lately?â His cheeks, nose, and ears match the same bright red of someone whoâd been trapped in an unforgiving snowstorm for an hour, but heâs hellbent on not seeming dramatic about the weather. Mostly because Y/N and Adam had both chastised him for going out without a scarf and hat but with a coat that barely did anything to shield him from the onslaught of wind (he had a date after work that night, and was convinced that he did not need to lug around all his winter gear because it would damage his âvibesâ or whatever the hell excuse he made).Â
Y/N had whipped her head around so fast that she thinks it might have spun 360 degrees, âOh my fuck, yes! Have you noticed?âÂ
So they discuss at length the changes that both of them noticed, some things that Y/N didnât know because she couldnât have her eyes on Harry all of the time. Apparently, he is staring at her with much less discontent when sheâs not looking and once, Niall had even seen Harry pluck a piece of fuzz off her shoulder. It must have been so delicate that Y/N didn't feel it because she sure as hell didnât know this happened. Then Niall shares that Harry had asked Adam what Y/N and Niall get up to outside of work and her body is overrun by giddiness that heâs even remotely interested in her life.Â
âHe wants to hit it,â Niall said, shoulders sagging with relief when they stepped into the cafe and heat was blaring, âAnd I think he fucks nasty too, like â Iâve heard some things.âÂ
âShut up, no he doesnât â like, not with me,â she shook her head, âI think heâd rather put his hand in a boiling pot of water. What have you heard though? And why the hell havenât you told me about it?â
Niall gasped, scandalized, âI just found out about him fucking nasty! I only started doing some investigating after I decided that he wanted to hit it raw with my bestie in mind,â Y/Nâs face feels hot but sheâll blame the sudden warmth of the cafe on her previously cold face, âAnyway, you know Juni? So her sister married this girl, Laina, and Lainaâs cousin knew a guy who ââÂ
âNiall, this is a lot to follow.âÂ
â--well be patient, dick, Iâm getting there,â he clicked his tongue, âShe knew a guy whose sister dated Harry like a while ago. 5 or 6 years? She showed me the photos and everything.â Niallâs eyes were wide, the gleam in them one he only gets when heâs so stupidly excited about something he can barely contain it, âApparently his dick is huge and heâs a freak. Like dom shit, Iâm pretty sure. They did loads of kinky stuff and played into the dynamics, apparently one time heâd edged her for three whole weeks once.âÂ
Something curled inside her, stirring interest in her gut, âHoly shit.âÂ
âRight? It adds up, he seems like the type.âÂ
âI. . .literally canât deny that at all, he definitely seems like he would fuck someone until they cried,â she canât help that she almost said it wistfully, absently wondering if they were being too loud but the pop song bumping through the speakers and the typical sounds of a cafe drowns them out for the most part, âI donât think with me though. I mean, Iâm delusional, but not enough to think that him finally being relatively kind to me, means he wants to sleep with me.â They paused briefly to order their drinks, and Niall added on a scone for them to split at the last minute, but continued as they walked down toward the pick-up counter, âWhenever I almost passed out in the soup, remember how me and him had that conversation? I think he just feels bad.âÂ
Niall pulled his sleeves down to cover his palms, âDo you have those hand warmers youâre always lugging around?â Y/N shook her head, âAh shit â anyway, you know I canât get over Adam going to make the sandwich for you before Harry demanding that he be the one to make it.âÂ
âI think itâs because he wanted to corner me.âÂ
âGod, you talk about him like heâs hunting you down sometimes,â he retorted, then seemed to consider it for a moment, âWhich. . .maybe he would want to, but in a bedroom instead of a restaurant and with less clothes.âÂ
Face scrunched, Y/N slapped his shoulder, âStop it! Iâm like â donât put that image in my head, Iâll go crazy.âÂ
âI know we were pretending like you didnât think he was hot for the sake of workplace humility, but I for one saw this coming from a mile away,â Niall stepped over to the side, letting an older woman shuffle by them for the straws at the end cap, âYour taste in men seems to be hot bullies.âÂ
âYouâre not wrong, but we canât entertain this for longer than this break and then we have to squash it. Itâs nonsensical and heâs definitely not looking at me in that way,â their drinks are set on the counter, along with the scone, âBesides, I think he sees me as an annoying kid he has to deal with.âÂ
âBabe, heâs not that much older than us,â Niall reminded her, then flinched when the latte burns his tongue, âAh, fuck â he does act like a grumpy old man though. Iâd kill to see him at a club or something.âÂ
Y/N would probably offer herself up as the one to kill if she saw Harry in whatever his version of going-out clothes is. If he wore pants that stretched over his thighs tight or a shirt that stretched across his chest and showed just how built he was underneath all of his clothes. How would he wear his hair? Would he slick it back or wear it unruly? And what kind of jewelry would he wear? In a few interviews she saw him sport rings, and sheâs seen a necklace around his throat a couple of times. He doesnât seem like the flashy type thought â god, she doesnât know. She shouldnât even be entertaining the thought.Â
The thing is â of course Y/N has had a big, fat, stupid crush on Harry. Heâs her mentor, and heâs amazing at something that she loves, he always smells like vanilla and amber, plus heâs nice to look at. Y/N would have had to possess the mental fortitude of a monk to be able to completely deny it. Instead, she shoved the feelings down deep into the recesses of her mind to only be dabbled in every so often when she had a couple of drinks before she locked them back away.Â
Was it sad that all it took was for him to be even a minuscule amount nicer and she was ready to kiss him on the mouth? Yeah, it was, but itâs not like anything was going to come of it. Sheâd squeal about it in her bed later pretending that he was actually obsessed with her and thought about her nonstop and then sheâd go to work the next day and pretend to be normal. This is light work â easy shit because sheâs been living in slight delusion since secondary school and she finds it makes life ten times more bearable.Â
âLetâs make this walk count,â Niall looped his arm around her elbow, and to an onlooker, it might seem like a sweet gesture to be close as friends, but Y/N knew it was because he was so cold his bones were probably shivering, âHow big do you think his dick is?âÂ
âLike six inches soft, and eight when heâs hard.âÂ
                                                          .               .               .
Whenever Niall and Adam go out for Korean barbecue, they always let Y/N tag along, especially if there were drinks to follow. Y/N personally loves going with them because Adam, without fail, always ends up doing all the grilling while Y/N and Niall get to pluck pieces of meat from the tongs and gorge on the sides. Itâs fun because Y/N never gets the princess seat at any food establishments among her other friends and her family. Culinary school and then working in a restaurant have always equated to kitchen lackey at any events where food has to be prepared or served. It turns out that when youâre with other chefs, the older one typically takes responsibility for the cooking for some reason and Y/N is not about to question the dynamic (at least not until the day she is the older chef, then sheâll spout something about respecting your elders).Â
Tonight it was a Friday, and they had a rare weekend off thanks to one of the kitchen's boilers acting up. Harry has never been a âget it repaired and hope it lasts until next winterâ kind of guy, heâs just going to replace the whole boiler, but last minute and over a weekend meant it would take some time. While it put their star chef in a sour mood, everyone else was quite happy about 4-5 days off paid, because it wasnât their fault. So Niall invited her along for a celebratory dinner and drink and Y/N, of course, was going to oblige.Â
It was just them at dinner, but a couple of the other workers from the kitchen would show up for drinks. For now, Y/N is sitting beside Niall in the booth while Adam starts cracking his knuckles, prepared to slave away over the grill for his two subordinates. âThank you boiler,â Niall says into the air, hands clasped together, âProud of you for refusing to stick it out for a second longer, I appreciate you.âÂ
âIs the boiler here with us?â Adam inquires, engaged.Â
âHe's speaking to its spirit,â Niall reaches over for the dish holding the cucumbers, making an annoyed sound when Y/N stabs into one while the plate is midair on its way to him because heâd already eaten like six of them at that point.
He yanks it closer to himself, âShit, relax, theyâll bring more!âÂ
Adam clicked his tongue, âThen you ought to give her the whole plate of those, and make sure sheâs fed.âÂ
Ever since Y/Nâs slight passing-out mishap, Adam has been very concerned about her eating habits. If she even looks like she might have dissociated for even a second too long, heâs at her side with a granola bar or a bowl of sliced fruit. He makes sure sheâs out of the kitchen for lunch and doesnât let her return even a minute before the allotted 30 minutes, no matter what the state of the kitchen is in at the moment. She would suspect that it was something that Harry might get pissed off about, but every time she comes back in, he levels her with a slight, scrutinizing gaze â like heâs trying to see through her when he asks, âWhat did you eat for lunch today?â To make sure she isnât lying.Â
Itâs sweet â Adamâs concern feels like a big brotherâs caring love, while Harryâs concern kind of feels like a witch plumping up her protein for soup, but the sentiment is still kind. Plus, it has Niall rolling his eyes but pressing the braised potatoes over to her in exchange for the cucumbers. Y/N accepts it, âYour hand will remain forkless for another day.âÂ
Adamâs phone buzzes on the table just as heâs laid the first strips of beef down on the grill, sizzling loudly, and he picks it up with the hand not gripping the tongs. A smile breaks out over his lips, âPerfect timing! Harryâs here,â he tells them gleefully, âHeâll take over the cooking, and for once I get to just eat.âÂ
Y/Nâs heart nearly stutters to a stop, âHarryâs here?â She repeated and Adam was still smiling.Â
âYeah! Youâre shocked, right? I didnât think heâd want to come either, but when I mentioned going out with you two he said heâd try to stop by,â Y/N might pass out, âSo fun, Iâm excited for you two to see him outside of his restaurant-boss mode heâs always in.âÂ
Before they could discuss it further, and before Niall could do anything other than pinch his nails into Y/Nâs thigh, the bells hanging on the door chime over the music and the chatter of other patrons. Y/N looks over to see Harry scanning the area, finding them once he locks his eyes with her own. Heâs casual in a very Harry way â heâs in maroon pleated trousers with a white t-shirt tucked in neatly, everything still looking particularly pressed and put together in a way Y/N could only hope to strive for. His hair isnât gelled back like usual, but loose and soft, his curls threatening to sprout in little wisps around his head though the length of his hair doesnât allow it to be too unruly.Â
âHello,â he greets them, scooting in beside Adam, right across from her, âSorry Iâm a bit late, traffic was shit.âÂ
âThatâs fine, man,â Adam claps a hand on his shoulder, and holds out the tongs, âYou can repay us by cooking some of this meat! Get some of the chicken bulgogi on there, thatâs what Y/Nâs most excited for.âÂ
Y/N expected some pushback, a bit of grumbling, maybe a glare that shut the whole place into silence â but none of that happened. Instead, Harry takes the tongs and gets to work, laying the chicken around the edges of the grill and then flipping the strips of beef Adam initially laid down. Y/N is staring; she doesnât mean to be, but it kind of feels like seeing a tiger walk along the side of a highway. Even if itâs still a food-related area, seeing Harry outside of his restaurant, participating in something thatâs not technically the same realm of dishes he prepares â is crazy. Enough that Niall nudges her knee and holds out the cucumbers with raised brows as his nonverbal cue to stop staring before she starts drooling or something stupid.Â
âWhatâs the estimate on the boiler?â Adam asks, and because his hands are unable to stay idle for long, she finds him using the second set of tongs to pick up the beef and start cutting it with the scissors into smaller pieces, âAnd how long?âÂ
Harry flips the chicken with one hand and eats some of the rice with his other â Y/N knew he could multitask, but not this well, âEnough that I wanted to scream over it,â he replied coolly, despite the context, âIt should be here and installed by Wednesday, but we wonât be able to open up until Thursday or Friday.â He looked up between them, âBy no means act disappointed on my account. Itâll be a nice little break.âÂ
Niall sighs, plucking a piece of brisket from the grill and dropping it into the little dish of ssamjang, âOkay, thanks, I was not going to be able to act sad about it â a break will be pretty nice. I might like â read a book or something.âÂ
âYouâll have to learn to read first Ni,â Y/N found her voice just for that remark, hoping to not seem too weird and off-putting by just eyeballing her boss and being awkward. Adam snorts, Niall steals a cucumber from in front of her, and Harryâs gaze shifts to her, smiling a little.Â
âSo Niall will learn to read,â he reiterates, adding vegetables to the grill, âWhat will you do, hm?âÂ
Y/N feels hot because theyâre in front of a steaming grill, in an already warm establishment â for no reason would any of the warmth flooding her body have anything to do with Harry, and how nervous she was to be speaking casually with him, about her plans.Â
With a swallow, she answers, âI â uh â probably hang out with my cat?â Could she sound like more of a loser? âIâll catch up on shows too, maybe â um, clean?âÂ
âYou have a cat?â Harry starts to tong the chicken onto her plate, âI didnât know that.âÂ
I didnât think you even knew my name like seven months into working with you, so of course you didnât know I had a cat.Â
Y/N doesnât say that â she does nod instead, âYeah, her name is Hazelnut. Sheâs really sweet.âÂ
âHer name suits her then.â Harry replied, âTry the chicken.âÂ
She scrambles for her utensils before realizing they are already in her hand and takes the piece into her mouth. Of course itâs cooked perfectly â the marinade she couldnât credit Harry for, but how well it was cooked she could. Then he plucks a lettuce leaf from the plate and places some of the beef, a few of the vegetables, and the pieces of kimchi on top of it. Y/N thinks heâs constructing this for himself, while Adam is adding more to the grill (simultaneously feeding a whining Niall) but then he curls it up and stretches his arm across the table, âNow try this.âÂ
During the duration of their meal, everyone chatters idly. Harry does eat, or at least Y/N thinks he does, but sheâs so distracted by the fact he somehow took over as the one grilling for her. Heâd choose the pieces of meat to give her, always the best-looking ones, and heâd construct little lettuce wraps and flagged down the waiter for more cucumbers saying that he wanted to try them (since she and Niall hoarded them all), but doesnât eat but one of them and pushes the rest of the bowl over to her side of the table.Â
Harry is not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, but he is making sure sheâs well-fed. Up until Y/N is full and feeling entirely too sleepy to go out and get drinks. The rest of the night seemed much more suited for a bath and crawling into her bed, but she knew Niall was not letting her flake on drinks. Especially since, as Niall alleges, âAdam is a horrible wingman, and everyone just thinks weâre dating so they arenât hitting on me.âÂ
âAre you coming for drinks?â Niall asks Harry after theyâve finished and to Y/Nâs absolute shock, he doesnât roll his eyes and say shit like clubs and drinking until late are beneath him (which, if he had said that, he wouldnât have been lying).
Harryâs eyes slide to her, and Y/N always feels so pinned to the spot under his gaze, that she doesnât know what to do, âI suppose I could come for a little while,â he answers, âIf you donât mind drinking with one of your bosses.â
Adam scoffs, âPlease, as if thatâs ever been a problem for these two. They damn near drink me under the table each time.â
                                                                   .             .             .
The drinks help but also make whatever turmoil trapezing through Y/N a little worse too.Â
After the bouncer hit on her while they were coming in â something that usually made her feel giddy and primed her for the night, felt slightly embarrassing with Harry there â she took two shots almost instantly. It helped to soothe her nerves just a bit, enough that when they find a table she doesnât feel rigid and tense. One more shot after that and sheâs loosey-goosey and knows that sheâs in a sweet spot where only one more would get her tipsy, but right then she just had a nice buzz. Floaty and warm, tickling her veins with the promise of something sweet.Â
Another shot and sheâs ready for Niall to take her to the dance floor. He and Adam are in a relatively heated debate over some footie league drama when a song off the BRAT album comes bumping through the speakers. If she and Harry were closer then maybe she would have dragged him out there and been silly, but sheâd rather place both of her hands on a burner than drag Harry to the dance floor. Niall comes easily anyway, telling Adam that it isnât his fault heâs so fucking wrong but his shoulders and hips are already moving to the music. Y/N briefly makes eye contact with Harry as she leads them off, but darts away just as fast.Â
âAdam is such a dumb dick, he knows they shouldnât have traded Alfie,â he all but yells over the thumping bass, âBy the way, Harryâs been looking at you like heâs starving all night. And why does it seem like heâs trying to fatten you up for a soup, Hansel and Gretel style?âÂ
Itâs easy enough to ignore him a little bit by grabbing his hands and making him move with her, especially when the song switches from bumping, cocaine, bass tones to something they can roll their bodies together to. They always do this when theyâre out, usually with Adam nearby standing watch like a bodyguard ready to push any unwanted attention elsewhere. Or to encourage welcome attention â whichever the coin fell. Now Adam is with Harry, so they just vibe with each other â Y/N has no plans to go home with someone tonight, and Niall always says he does but puts forth 10% effort at the beginning and then abandons the idea for the rest of the duration.Â
All things considered, Y/Nâs having fun. She feels loose and happy, she ate enough that she doesnât feel like she needs to stuff her mouth with bread so she isnât just surviving off vodka shots and vibes. Niallâs hands are all over her, smoothing up and down her sides, grabbing her hips, laughing when he accidentally hits her boob trying to fix her hair when it got mussed from an intense headbanging to a Rihanna song that probably didnât warrant headbanging.Â
They did one more shot and Y/N knew she was good for the night. Her bones buzz and her vessels feel warm and they make their way back to Harry and Adam. Y/N can look Harry in the eye now, which is more than she can say for herself earlier, and she smiles at him, âHi again,â it doesnât feel as awkward as it would have been before, and Harry seems to take pity on her tipsy state. He returns the smile, his fingers wrapped around his glass â she doesnât know what heâs drinking but it looks brown and more sophisticated than whatever she was drinking.Â
âHi,â he replied, then nodded toward Niall, âYou two are closer than I suspected.âÂ
âThe liquor drives them to be menaces,â Adam tells him like a warning, âOne time they full-on made out, Iâd never been more shocked.âÂ
Y/N pouted, her face hot, âHey, Niall kissed me to get some guyâs attention, that time wasnât my fault!âÂ
âThe time before that?âÂ
She huffs, rolling her eyes, âI wanted to kiss someone! Sue me,â then she looks at Harry again, and maybe she is a little bit tipsier than she thought, âTheyâll make me sound like a whore, but itâs not me, itâs Niall. Heâs the whore.âÂ
âI mean I wonât deny it.âÂ
At some point she and Niall are dancing again, and so is Adam this time but itâs just at the table and itâs all wild limbs and no coordination, barely any rhythm or beat. Harry has an amused glint in his eye the entire time which is better than an annoyed glare. Even when Adam almost knocked into Y/N, and to avoid getting elbowed in the face and ending up in the ER with a broken nose, she ducks out of the way.Â
Then hits Harryâs drink and sends it all over his nice shirt.Â
For a second, Y/N considers making a run for it. She has no idea where, or why even â it was an accident â but in her head, she imagines the night being ruined. Imagines any traces of amusement or joy leaving his face in one, drastic swoop before he stalks off into the night and vows to never give her a chance again. This was her one chance to make him like her, and maybe expand their relationship and dynamic to something even a centimeter closer to what Adam and Niall have.Â
But now he has brown liquor staining his nice white shirt and some of it drips down to his pants. Y/N wants to cry â honestly, she might, she thinks she could feel the tears burn in her eyes.Â
âOh my god ââ she starts but Harry raises his hand.Â
âItâs okââÂ
âIâm so sorry!â She is so stressed, her face pulled into a deep frown, âOh my god, Iâm so sorry, Iâm the â Iâm the worst, Iâm so clumsy, I can't believe I â was it expensive? Iâll pay for another one. Iâll â whereâd you get it? Iâll buy one, or you can just take it right out of my pay! Or ââÂ
Harry is pinching the fabric away from his torso, âY/N, stop talking,â he finally cuts her off, raising his voice only to be heard over her panicked rambling, âItâs okay. Itâs just a white shirt, I have a dozen others.âÂ
Still, Y/N is frowning, and in a rare moment of courage purely from the mango-flavored shots (that didnât taste like mango at all) and intense, immense guilt, she grabs the shirt too, keeping it peeled away from his skin, âIâll get the stain out? I can get it out for you, Iâm great at getting stains out.âÂ
âDonât worry about ââÂ
âMate, just let her,â Adam sighed, âFor the sake of her psyche and enjoying this little break we have, let her get the stain out.âÂ
Harry seems at a loss, for the first time sheâs met him. Heâs looking between all of them, Adam, Y/N, and Niall who is nodding in agreement that Y/N, even sober, would let this distress her the duration of their time off. And she guesses Harry isnât an evil person, because he doesnât mutter that he doesnât give a fuck about how she feels over break when she screwed up his shirt. Instead, he seems to be debating something but something in Y/Nâs heart that it isnât just whether or not he should let her get the stain out. Theoretically, all heâd have to do is give Y/N his shirt and wear Adamâs jacket out of the club.Â
But a different idea is what struck him.Â
âHow did you get here?â Harry inquired.Â
âNi and I took the subway.â She explained, still holding his shirt from his body, and when she was this close to him she could see how the lights danced off his eyes.Â
âIâll drive you home,â he decided, with a sharp nod of his head, âIâll leave my shirt with you, and you can return it to me on a different day. Will this ease your psyche?âÂ
Y/N agrees adamantly, âYes, yes, yes, at least for now â when I wake up Iâm gâna be a mess.âÂ
âAnd Iâll be hearing about it for sure,â Niall agreed, then gave a wary sigh, âAdam, I guess youâll have to take me home too since nobody is trying to see my shaving routine up close. Iâm not riding the subway alone.âÂ
âYeah, yeah,â Adam patted him in the middle of the back, âI figured that.âÂ
                                                            .             .               .
Y/N is very self-conscious about her flat right now.Â
Normally she isnât. Itâs definitely not the prettiest on the outside, and if not for her superior interior decorating skills, the inside would look just as bad but she does her best to keep it looking cute and whimsical. Thatâs fine for someone normal to see, of course, any of her friends she doesnât mind coming over, and sheâs never felt like they would judge her things.Â
But Harry is not someone normal. Sheâs pretty sure he lives in a high-rise flat with a view of the whole city from his living room, and the kind of windows that you click a button to close. Something modern chic and expensive, while she had to caulk her windows to keep bugs from getting inside and had to rent an industrial carpet cleaner to get the carpet in her bedroom a normal color. Plus her kitchen is small, and for some reason that is the thing she is most worried about him seeing â her itty bitty counters, and her cabinets that can fit maybe two pans each.Â
Though Harry seems to regard her place respectively, or at least he had so far from where he stood by the door. Thereâs no noticeable disgust or judgment when she watches his eyes dance along with what he can see, and he seems pleasantly surprised when Hazelnut greets him at the door. âOoh,â he coos, âSheâs friendly.âÂ
âMaybe a little too friendly for her own good,â Y/N replies, âI think sheâd leave with any stranger that had treats.âÂ
Harry crouches to get closer to her and Y/N is feeling a little overwhelmed by the sight of her big, scary boss puckering his lips and clicking his tongue at a cat, so she heads to her bedroom. That was the plan â to get Harry one of her shirts so that he could switch out with the stained one heâs wearing. Then Y/N could start the process of de-staining it tonight because if thereâs one thing that a heavy, irregular period taught her in her early teens, was that she could get a stain out of anything.Â
It takes her a couple of minutes to dig through her drawers, searching for something that he could wear comfortably but pickings are slim. Tonight was when sheâd been planning on tackling the laundry in her hamper but since she went out instead, she didnât have many options. She settles on a shirt she often sleeps in with a hedgehog on the front of it and decides it will have to do.Â
By the time she comes back out, Harry is fully sitting on the floor with a lap full of Hazelnut. Itâs cute and does something weird to her chest that she decidedly ignores in favor of clearing her throat, grabbing his attention, and holding out the shirt for him to take. âThank you,â he murmured politely, and Y/N was suddenly so happy that she left her telly on so thereâs at least some noise in the background â especially when Harry politely removed Hazelnut from his lap, stood, then pulled his shirt over his head.Â
The gasp that leaves her isnât really covered up by the telly, but it lessens the severity of it a little (she hopes). Y/N had just recently started witnessing Harry in casual-ish clothes, so to suddenly get an eyeful of his bare torso was a lot to swallow. He is covered in tattoos â she knew about the ones on his arms, but she knew nothing of what decorated his chest, his belly, his hips â she might scream. She might have to scream, or squeal, or both â preferably in her pillow after heâs left but the shots have made her lips loose.Â
âHoly fuck,â she marvels at him â his physique is nice too, and his pecs are like. . .mouthwatering. Y/N wonders how much she can fit into her mouth and bite down on â âThatâs â you have loads!âÂ
Harry looked down at himself like he was also surprised that there were so many. He huffed a laugh, opening up the shirt she gave him and finding the neck hole, âYeah, I guess I do,â he stuffed his head inside of it, pulling the shirt over his body and covering all of the milky skin that heâd been hiding. Y/N wishes she could have taken a picture of it to stare at later or something â she doesnât think she had nearly enough time to ogle him, âAfter my 22nd birthday, I think I might have been getting one each month at some point.âÂ
âI â whoa ââ she says lamely, âThey look so cool.âÂ
âThank you,â he still has a glint in his eyes, all too amused, standing in his traineeâs flat, in a hedgehog shirt, watching her flounder for words, âYouâre very easy to fluster, Y/N, did you know that?âÂ
Her throat feels dry, suddenly, like no amount of water would be able to soothe it.Â
âI ââÂ
âItâs cute,â he adds, and Y/N thinks she might explode or something, âThe side of you I saw tonight was cute.âÂ
Y/N is at a loss for words, her voice barely scratches out a, âReally?âÂ
And then she sees something that makes her positive that she actually passed out in the club after the last shot, and Niall was dragging her halfway-conscious body through a subway while she actively hallucinated.Â
Harry Styles. . .her scary boss. . .the chef that has made people older than himself and in the industry for longer than him cry. . .the very man that she nearly chews through her lip waiting for his opinion on something sheâs made out of pure worry and a state of panic. . .
. . .has a dimple.Â
He has fucking dimples!Â
âRest well, Y/N,â he advises her, âDrink lots of water and enjoy your time off.âÂ
With one more pat on Hazelnutâs bum, Harry opens the door and steps out of her flat.Â
Warnings: Angst (Harryâs a bit of a dick đ„Ž), a reveal that proves lies were told among friends, oral (f receiving) and fingering
Plot: You and Harry belong to the same friend group, but at one point, you thought the two of you could be more than just that - friends. After Harry ghosts you on the night you were supposed to have your date, you learn that he had a girl over instead of being with you. Since that night your relationship with him hasnât ever been the same.
Quick A/N: I just wanted to make note that Iâm very much aware of the anonymous messages that have been sent out about me over the last few months. Iâve made the posts I feel are necessary to address the context of said messages, and theyâre all still up on my blog if you wish to look into it. The reason Iâm bringing this up is because if you have your anon feature on, and you interact with this post, youâll more than likely end up receiving one (or many) because it seems like whoever is sending these is just going through the list of people who like/reblog my most recent posts. Iâm so sorry to anyone who may receive, or has been receiving these messages, just because they interact with a post. As always, my messages are open if anyone wishes to discuss further đ«¶đ» I love you all, and I hope you enjoy âEnigmaâ!
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It was Saturday night and you were meeting up with your friend group at the local pub. These meet-ups were bitter sweet for you. Sure, you absolutely adored your friends, and you loved spending time with them. But spending time with them also meant spending time with him.
Harry.
You had known Harry for a little over a year now, having been introduced to him through your friend, Misha. Harry fit right into your friend group, and about eight months into your friendship, the both of you had let it be known to each other that your feelings were teetering on more than just friends. The two of you agreed that you wanted to see where things could lead. Harry asked you on a date after that, and you were thrilled to finally get to know the sweet man youâve become such good friends with on a deeper level.
On the night of your date, you arrived at the restaurant ten minutes prior to the reservation time that Harry had given you because you were just so excited. Harry was hands down one of the nicest people you had ever met, and the thought of delving into a new type of relationship with him sparked something inside of you. It was something you had never felt before.
The host had led you to the table, and you remained there - waiting for him.Â
You waited for him there for almost an hour, and after a few text messages to him that went unanswered, you determined he wasnât coming. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he got hung up at work and didnât have time to let you know. Harry was a big time contractor. You knew that sometimes he ended up getting caught in contract conversations with clients from time to time. From what he had told you in the past, it seemed like those could set him hours behind in his day.
As you walked out the restaurant and towards your car, you dialed Harryâs number. It rang out and went to voicemail, but you didnât bother leaving a message. What would you have said?
Instead, you decided to call his roommate, who was also a friend of yours, Reagan.Â
Your heart sank to your stomach when Reagan told you that Harry had brought a girl home just half an hour ago, and that they were currently hooking up in his room. Reagan then asked why you wanted to know Harryâs whereabouts, and you decided to lie. You told him that the two of you had talked about going to a new bookstore that had opened up. You didnât dare tell him you had just waited by yourself in a restaurant alone for Harry.
Ever since then, Harry treated you differently, and you werenât sure why.Â
He was no longer friendly towards you, and for the most part, he ignored your existence when you were out with your friends. There was a part of you that wanted to ask him what happened so badly, but you were too embarrassed to do so, and quite frankly, you werenât sure if you could hear the rejection actually fall from his mouth.
So going forward, you tried your best to keep your distance, as it seemed like just the mere presence of you pained him. You didnât want to cause a riff amongst the lot of you. You all had already had your fair share of shock when it turned out Reagan was stealing from Harry right underneath his nose. Thankfully Harry was able to break his lease, and since he had finally found his footing with contracting, he was able to get a place of his own.
As you stepped into the pub, you were immediately met with the laugh that belonged only to your friend, Elizabeth, and you glanced over to see your group. You smiled as you walked over to them, and Yvetteâs face lit up once her eyes landed on you.
âY/N!â She squeaked as she stood up from the large booth everyone was occupying.
You wrapped your arms around each other, Elizabeth following suit afterwards, and then you made your rounds to both Misha and George as well. There was a bit of relief that settled in your chest when you noticed Harry wasnât there. You secretly hoped that he wouldnât be joining you tonight. It would be nice to have a one evening where you didnât feel so on edge by being around him.
Once you went up to the bar to order yourself a beer, you came back over and sat down at the outside end of the booth with Yvette in the middle and Misha on the other side of her. George and Elizabeth sat across from you as you all carried on about your weeks.Â
After finishing your first drink, you and Yvette decided to go use the restroom before grabbing another round. You both freshened up in the bathroom, and when you walked back out, you could see that everyone by the booth was now standing. Your eyes landed on Harry, and it caused your pulse to quicken just a bit.
You really hoped you had been right in thinking he wasnât going to be coming.
You grabbed a fresh pint before heading over to the booth, and you and Yvette took your previous seats - now causing Harry to be across from you since he had joined everyone.
For a brief moment, your eyes met one another, but you quickly looked away and cleared your throat.
âSo, Harry, youâre hosting our monthly movie night next Friday, right?â Elizabeth asked, and he nodded in response while taking a sip of his beer.
âThatâs the plan,â he licked over his bottom lip. âWhatâs everyone in the mood to watch? Horror, drama, romantic comedy?â
âWell, we are deep into spooky season,â Misha piped up. âHow about horror?â
âI can make a little poll to send to the group chat at the beginning of the week with a couple of options. Keep it fair like we usually do,â Yvette offered as she grabbed a handful of the trail mix in a bowl on the table.
âIâll uhmâŠâ you swallowed harshly as you kind of regretted what you were about to say before you had even said it. âIâll see if I can make it. I might be going on a date.â
It wasnât a lie. There was a guy, William, you had run into a couple of times at your local coffee shop in the morning, and after joining him at his table a few times so that you could eat your morning croissant when all the other tables were full, he asked if you wanted to go out with him sometime. You had agreed and exchanged numbers, and it just so happened that he was free next Friday.
His job required him to go out of town on the weekends a lot, so next weekend would be the last one he had off for a while.
âAnd you let this mystery man steal you away on movie night?â Elizabeth pouted as she slumped against the bench. âNo one has ever missed one.â
âI know,â you shake your head. âHis work situation is a little complicated. If we donât do it next Friday, itâll be a few more weeks before weâre able to. Heâs a really nice guy.â
âHope that means youâll stop sleeping around then.â
Quiet immediately fell over the table, and everyone turned their attention to Harry once the words left his mouth.
âExcuse me?â You asked with a harsh laugh. âWhere the hell did that come from?â
âWell you know, usually when you agree to go on a date with someone, you either stop sleeping around, or you at least tell said person that youâve still been seeing other people,â Harry continued, and you could feel your cheeks flush as everyone at the table looked at you.
You and Harry hadnât told your friends about the date you once had planned. The two of you wanted to decide what it all was for yourselves first before letting anyone else in on it.
The date with William would actually be your first one planned since the one you were supposed to have with Harry.
âIâm sorry. Iâm not sure Iâm following.â
âOf course youâre not,â Harryâs tone was sarcastic as he responded to you, and you soon felt extremely uncomfortable being around him.
You werenât sure what he was playing at here.Â
Is that what he thought you had been doing around the time of your date? Is that why he ghosted you?
âWell, I think something a bit worse than that would be sleeping with someone the same night youâre supposed to be going on a date with someone else.â
If he was going to come at you with some wild claim, then youâd come back with something that you knew to be true.
Harryâs eyes widened as you stood up, and you chugged down the rest of your pint before grabbing your purse - slinging it over your shoulder.
âIâll see you guys later,â you told the table as you started to make your way towards the entrance of the pub, and you could hear Yvetteâs sharp voice ripping into Harry just before you walked outside.
Once on the street, you closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath to soothe the ache in your chest. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, eyelids snapping open to see Elizabeth and Misha standing next to you.
âY/N, are you alright?â Elizabethâs face had concern written all over it as Misha rubbed his hand up and down your back. âI donât even know what happened in there. Yvette is currently giving Harry the third degree.â
âItâs nothing,â you whispered while shaking your head. âI donâtâŠI donât really know either.â
âIâve never seen him act like such a dick before. I mean, I can tell that you two donât really get along, not like you used to at least,â Mishaâs eyes scanned over you before continuing. âDid something happen between the two of you?â
âAre you trying to say itâs her fault for him acting like that?â Elizabeth snapped, and Mishaâs lips parted. âWhy is it automatically her fault?â
âNo, thatâs not what Iâm saying. Iâm just trying-â
âSounds an awful lot like youâre trying to get Y/N to admit something to justify Harryâs behavior.â
âIâm right here, you know?â you huffed out as you crossed your arms over your chest.Â
You figured now was as good of a time as ever to come clean about what you had been keeping from everyone. You were sure Harry was probably telling Yvette and George already anyway.Â
âHarry and I were supposed to go on a date a few months back, but he ghosted me. He didnât answer my texts or my calls, so to make sure he was okay I called Reagan. Reagan told me Harry was busy hooking up with some girl in his bedroom.â
Elizabethâs mouth gaped at your confession, and then you watched as her brows narrowed. âOh, heâs in for it.â
âLizzy,â you rolled your eyes at her as she turned to Misha again.
âSee! If anyone should be a dick, it should be Y/N! Who does Harry think he is treating her like that after what he did to her?â
âOkay, but whatâs the whole thing about sleeping around? Were you doing that when you had agreed to go on a date with Harry?â Misha asked, and you shook your head.
You knew he was asking from a place of wanting to understand, and not a place of judgment, so you werenât angry with him for it.
âI wasnât,â you told them honestly. âI didnâtâŠI didnât want anyone but him, and I hadnât even had him yet.â
âCan I ask why you havenât told him that then?â Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, pulling her coat tighter around herself as a chill breeze came through.Â
âI didnât know thatâs what he thought until tonight. I didnât say anything to him about the ghosting because I was so embarrassed. I couldnât imagine just walking up to him and asking what happened to end up being rejected even more than I already had been.â
Misha sighed as he walked forward and pulled you into his chest for a tight hug. âI think the two of you desperately need to have a conversation to clear some things up.â
âDoesnât matter. Regardless of if he thought that, he still ghosted me to sleep with someone else without speaking to me first. I donât want to be with someone who would do something like that as some weird sort of revenge.â
The three of you didnât speak anymore as Misha continued to hold you, and finally you pulled away.
âPlease justâŠdonât say anything to him,â you tucked your hands into the pocket of your coat. âLet me think over how I want to approach the whole thing - if I even choose to.â
The two of them nodded as you gestured down the sidewalk with your elbow. âIâm going to head home now. Iâll let you guys know about next Friday.â
âOkay, please text me or call me if you need anything,â Elizabeth said, and you could tell she was upset about what she just found out.
âSame here,â Misha chimed in, and you sent them both a soft smile before heading off down the street where you had parked your car.
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âY/N, you made it!â You heard Vyette exclaim once Harry had opened the door to his loft.
You watched as Harryâs eyes ran over you, and he didnât make any movement to step aside and out of the doorway.
âThought you had a date,â his voice was rough as his jaw twitched, and you shook your head.
âHe couldnât do this weekend. Switched to another day.â
It was then you saw Elizabeth appear over Harryâs shoulder, and she immediately nudged her way forward to have him stepping to the side. âLet her in, Harry,â she said before grabbing your hand - pulling you inside.
This wasnât the first time you had been over to Harryâs loft since everything happened, but this was the first time you were seeing him again after your little tiff last Saturday. Elizabeth took your coat from you so that she could hang it in the closet with the others as Misha popped up from the couch to greet you.
âHey, Y/N, how are you feeling?â He asked, giving you a strong hug.
âIâm good. How about you?â
âGood, good,â he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. âWe were just about to get the movie started. Do you need me to get you something to drink?â
âNo, thatâs alright. Iâve got it,â you gave Misha a soft smile before heading towards the kitchen, and your eyes wandered over the options that were laid out before you.
Just as you went to grab the bottle of bourbon, a large hand grabbed it from in front of you. Looking over, you saw Harry standing there - his eyes drilling into yours as he set his glass down on the counter. You didnât look away from him while he pulled the cork out of the bottle to pour more of the dark liquor into his glass, and when he put it back in, you expected him to hand it over to you. Instead, he placed it back down on the counter where it originally was, and moved around you to reach the fridge to grab a mixer.
âIf you donât want me here, I can leave,â you told him.
Harry stopped moving for a moment, his back to you as he closed the fridge, and you could tell he had let out a deep breath. âLike any of them would let that happen. Youâre already here - letâs just get tonight over with.â
âI wasnât sleeping around with anyone, Harry. I only wanted you.â
Your mouth was open, the words almost slipping off your tongue before George spoke up in the living room. âHey, you two,â you looked over to him to see his arm around Mishaâs shoulder, the two of them cuddling up on Harryâs large couch with Yvette and Elizabeth on both sides of them. âAre you coming or what? Elizabeth is chomping at the bit here to start Barbarian.â
âYeah, sorry,â you tried not to stammer as you quickly grabbed a glass from the counter top, and you walked over to the fridge to get ice. âJust making a drink. You guys can go ahead and start once Harry sits if you want.â
Harry rolled his eyes at you as he left the kitchen area of his loft, and you watched as he sat down in an armchair that was on one end of the couch. That left the other armchair open for you, furthest away from Harry on the opposite side, and that granted you some relief when it came to your anxiousness.
Once you finished your drink, you joined everyone and curled up in the open chair - keeping your glass between your hands as George finally started up the movie. You hadnât seen this movie before, but you knew that Bill SkarsgĂ„rd was in it, and that was enough to sell you on it.
The movie had managed to give you a couple of jumpscares, and you refilled your drink twice to deal with the nerves that were still nestled into your stomach - ones that were showing no indication of leaving. As the credits began to roll, a loud crack of thunder clapped outside, and that caused you to jump harder than the movie had.
âOh shit, we better get going before it gets really bad,â Misha announced as he stood up, extending his hand out for George to take. âSorry to cut this short you guys, I didnât realize the storm was going to be this bad, and weâve got a bit of a drive.â
Misha and George always took turns drinking on movie night so that someone was always the DD. Tonight, it was Misha who would be taking home a fairly drunk George. George wasnât the biggest fan of scary movies, and neither was Yvette, so in order for the two of them to cope, they had been indulging in several shots throughout the night.
âCan I come with you guys?â Yvette pushed herself off the couch and stumbled into Mishaâs side as he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist. âGeorge and I have been having so much fun being drunk buddies tonight, and I wanna keep partying.â
Misha rolled his eyes playfully, but you knew that he loved it as George was only introduced to all of you a couple of years ago when they started dating. You could see in his eyes just how happy it made him to see his best friends getting along with his boyfriend.
âSure, sure,â Misha nodded as George finally stood up as well. âYou can sleep in the guestroom too, if you want.â
âSleepover!â Yvette giggled as they began to collect their things.
After saying their goodbyes, you and Elizabeth moved around Harryâs loft to help tidy things up. This was something you did for whoever held movie night, and even though you still werenât on the best terms with Harry, you were going to stick to your tradition - especially if Elizabeth was here to also help.
âDo you need a ride?â Elizabeth asked as she dried her hands off after washing them.Â
Elizabeth lived at least twenty minutes away from Harry, just like you, however, you lived in the opposite directions. If Elizabeth took you home, that would end up being a forty minute commute, and you werenât going to have her do that in this kind of weather. You peeked out the window to see that the storm had gotten even worse, and you shook your head.
âNo, itâs okay. Iâll grab another Lyft,â you sent her a smile as the two of you wrapped your arms around each other by Harryâs front door. âPlease text me when you get home, alright?â
âWill do,â Elizabeth said, giving you one more squeeze before looking over at Harry as she grabbed her keys. âDonât be an asshole while she waits for her ride or else youâre in for it the next time I see you. Got it?â
Harry scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest - leaning against the island in the middle of his kitchen. âIâll try to be on my best behavior just for you, Lizzy.â
Elizabeth quickly held her middle finger up at him before looking over to you - blowing one more kiss as she walked out the door. You stared at it for a moment, keeping your back to Harry as you sucked in a deep breath. The two of you hadnât been alone together in quite a long time, and uneasiness was spreading over your body even more.
You patted your back pocket for your phone, and you brows narrowed when you didnât feel it. Looking over to the chair you were sitting in, you could see it had fallen into one of the cracks on the side. You walked over to it and pulled the Lyft app up with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. The closest ride was almost twenty-five minutes away, but you kept your expression neutral as you requested it.
âIâll just grab my things and wait in the lobby,â you told him as you retrieved your coat from the closet - shrugging it onto your shoulders. âThank you for allowing us to have movie night here tonight.â
You couldnât bring yourself to look at him as you grabbed your purse from the small table by his door, but before you could grab the doorknob, another clap of thunder ricocheted outside. A gasp left your lips as the lights in Harryâs place went out, and you quickly placed a hand against your chest as the two of you were now consumed in almost total darkness.
âJust fucking great,â you heard Harry mutter, but you were frozen in place as you could barely make out the silhouette of the door that you stood in front of.
Your fingers brushed against the knob that you were looking for, and when you turned it, the lights in the hallway of the complex were also out. It looked like the abyss out there, and you quickly slammed the door before backing away.
âHere,â Harryâs voice was closer to you now, and you turned around to see him holding not only his phone with the flashlight on in one hand, but a small LED lantern as well that was lighting up the living room area of his place quite nicely. âI have a couple of other lanterns and some candles as well.â
You couldnât find it in yourself to speak as you took the lantern, so you just nodded in response as you walked back over to the chair you had been occupying all night - fishing your phone out to turn on your flashlight as well after placing the lantern in the middle of the coffee table. When your phone buzzed in your hand, you looked down to see that your Lyft ride had canceled, and you were sure it had to do with not only the storm, but how far theyâd have to drive in the storm to get you home.
Your hands began to shake as you pulled the map on the app up again, and you could see there were no current drivers available.
âThis should help a bit more,â Harry commented mindlessly, and you looked over to see him lighting candles around his kitchen, and sure enough, the space began to brighten up. âI know you donât like the dark.â
Hearing those words leave his mouth surprised you. All of your friends knew how much you didnât like the dark, but they had known you forever. You werenât sure if Harry wouldâve retained that information.Â
âThanks,â you cleared your throat as you stood up - turning the flashlight off on your phone before tucking it in your pocket. âUhm, my driver canceled, and thereâs no other drivers available right now. Iâll keep checking, and as soon as one pops up, I promise Iâll be out of your hair.â
Harryâs eyes trailed over you in the lightly illuminated room before he turned away and back towards the liquor that was still on the counter. âYou can just stay here. I checked the weather app and it doesnât look like itâs going to calm down until the early morning. Even if you did get a driver, Iâm sure youâd be without power at home too. Iâll give you my bed, and I can sleep on the couch.â
âHarry, thatâs not really-â
âY/N,â the glass that he had retrieved from the cabinet above him clinked loudly against the counter as he did his best not to slam it down on the hard surface. âJust take the fucking offer.â
You swallowed harshly at his tone. You didnât want to be here, but you knew he was right. Your apartment was more than likely without power, and staying there in the dark by yourself seemed even worse than this.
âOkay,â you whispered as you fiddled with your fingers behind your back. âThank you.â
It was a minute before Harry started to move again, and you heard him let out a heavy sigh. âDrink?â
âSure.â
Walking back into the living room, you decided to sit down on the couch instead of the chair again, and you curled your legs up into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your shins - resting your chin on your knees as you watched the aggressive storm from outside the window.
âHere,â Harry extended a rocks glass of bourbon on ice out to you, and you took it from him with both hands.
âThanks.â
It was silent as he went and sat down in the chair he had been sitting in as you all watched the movie. The clinking of the ice in your glasses was the only thing that could be heard for a few minutes before you looked over to Harry. He was staring down into his glass as he rested it on the top of his knee with one hand - his other hand tucked inside his short curls as he leaned against his elbow on the arm of the chair.
âWhy did you do it?â You asked, the question escaping you before you could stop it. You knew it was probably the buzz from the liquor in your head having it slip out, but deep down it was clear to you that the conversation needed to happen. âWhy did you bring that girl to your place the night of our date?â
Harry lifted his head and looked at you with an expression you couldnât read, and when he didnât speak, you continued.
âI waited at the restaurant for you for almost an hour. I was so excited and thenâŠyou never showed up.â
âI didnât have another girl over that night,â Harry stated, his tone calm. âBut I had no intention of showing up to our date.â
âAnd you couldnât have just told me that? If you had changed your mind, thatâs fine, Harry, but ghosting me? I thought we were closer than that.â
âThe second I found out that you were still continuing to sleep with other people while leading me to believe you wanted something more between us - thatâs when I made the decision to not go on the date. As harsh as it sounds, I didnât feel like you deserved an explanation from me as to why I wasnât going to show up.â
âWhat are you talking about?â You gulped down the rest of your drink before dropping the glass onto the coffee table. âI wasnât sleeping with anyone, Harry! I havenât slept with anyone in almost a year.â
âCome on, Y/N, donât continue to lie to me. Reagan told me-â
âReagan told you? But he told me thatâŠâ
Silence came over the two of you again, and you raised your hand to your mouth as you realized what had happened. Reagan had lied to the both of you. You knew that Reagan had a thing for you. Even before Harry came into the picture he had told you he had a little crush, but you didnât feel the same way. You were more than gentle in letting him down and assuring him that it wouldnât change anything on your end in regards to your friendship. He had never acted differently towards you after that, so you didnât think anything was wrong.
Now it had become apparent that he was secretly angry with you over it, and although you and Harry had decided to keep the date between just the two of you in case things went bad, you couldnât blame him for confiding in Reagan about it. He was his roommate, and you were sure that if you had one, you wouldâve done the same.
âHe lied to us,â you whispered, shaking your head.
âBut why?â Harry asked, and you looked over at him again to see another unreadable expression.
Youâre sure he was feeling what you were feeling right now. Anger, regret and probably a good sense of guilt washed over him for how differently he had treated you. You had never been nasty to him. Even though it had broken your heart when Reagan spewed his lies, it just wasnât you to be mean.Â
âHe liked me,â you sighed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. âI never told anybody about it because I didnât want to embarrass him, but he told me once that he wanted to take me on a date. I had to let him know that I didnât feel the same way. He seemed fine afterwards, but now itâs pretty obvious it was still eating away at him.
âHe probably stole from you for the same reason. He could see that I wasnât over you. I talked to him about not being over you, and how hurt I was about everything. He was probably pissed that I still couldnât move on even though he made me believe that you hurt me. He was jealous that some part of you still had me even though he tried to tear us apart.â
Harry remained silent as he reached forward and placed his empty glass on the coffee table just like you had a few seconds prior. He now rested both of his elbows on his knees while running his hands over his face.Â
For a little over four months now, the two of you hadnât been the same. Seeing this reaction from Harry, it was clear now that the whole situation had the same effect on him as it did you - even if he didnât show it. The two of you were trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. He was wondering how you couldâve hurt him all while you were wondering how he couldâve hurt you.
âThis is so fucked up,â Harry whispered, shaking his head. âSo fucked up.â
âIt is,â you swallowed the lump that started to form in your throat due to the array of emotions you were feeling. More than anything you just felt angry. Angry at Reagan for taking away something that you knew probably could have been so good for you if it hadnât been ruined before it was even started. âHe made you hate me.â
You choked on the last word before dropping your forehead against your knees - hands tightening around your shins as you tried to keep yourself from crying.
âY/N,â Harry said your name but you didnât look up.
Although Reagan lied to you both, you still had to blame each other for the lack of communication. If Harry had just asked you if what Reagan had told him was true, you couldâve shot the lie down immediately - before it found a way to burrow itself right in between the two of you. You were also angry at yourself in that aspect. If you had just asked Harry why he ghosted you, maybe you wouldâve gotten this answer sooner, and again, all of this couldâve been shot down before it grew into what it is now.
âY/N,â Harry repeated himself, and you could tell that he was closer.
Lifting your head, you looked down to see him on his knees on the couch next to you. He hesitantly stretched his hand out to rest on top of one of yours, and you let him ghost his fingertips over the top of it.
âI should probably go, Harry,â you told him as you shuffled around on the couch - turning to face him which caused his touch to abandon you. âI think itâs best we just sort through this alone.â
âPlease donât go,â he reached out and placed both of his palms over your knees. âI need to apologize to you. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and IâŠoh my god.â
Harry shook his head as he tilted his head down - chin meeting his chest.Â
âI wish I had just talked to you,â he said softly as his thumbs stroked over the insides of your lower thighs. There was nothing sexual about it. You could tell he was looking for a sense of comfort among the emotions firing throughout his body. âI shouldâve just talked to you. I shouldâve been better than that. I think I just felt really betrayed because I thought you really liked me. So to hear Reagan say you had still been seeing other peopleâŠmultiple people. It hurt me.â
It was clear you were both too afraid to speak up to get hurt even further. You didnât want to ask him about being ghosted because hearing him verbally reject you wouldâve been too painful, and he didnât want you to ask you about the other people for the same reason. If it had been true, hearing you admit it wouldâve made it worse.
âIâm sorry that I didnât speak up either. I just couldnât imagine hearing you tell me that you werenât interested anymore, and that you had found someone else to occupy your time that night,â you reached a hand out, pausing for just a moment before you lowered it to run through the top of his cropped curls. âI didnât want anyone else, Harry. You had me even before we had admitted our feelings to each other.â
Harry slowly lifted his head to look at you, and your hand dropped to rest against the side of his neck now. âI wish I still had you, Y/N. This whole thing is so fucked up. I shouldâveâŠafter I knew Reagan was stealing from me, I shouldâve realized he had probably lied to me about many other things, but especially you.â
Bringing your other hand down, you cradled Harryâs jaw in your palms - pulling him up a bit more so that he sat higher on his knees. âMake it up to me.â
You watched as Harryâs eyes darted over your face in the soft candlelight mixed with the glow of the LED lantern behind him. His large hands rubbed over the tops of your thighs as he moved a bit closer so he was now properly slotted between your legs. Tilting your head to the side, you dragged the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.
âMake it up to me,â you said the same phrase again, but lowered your tone as you let your lips ghost along his.
Harry didnât hesitate this time, and he quickly angled his head up to meet your mouth. You couldnât help but to immediately moan as his hands journeyed further up to grip to your hips - the tips of his fingertips indenting against the skin of your lower back underneath your t-shirt. Your hands journeyed down to fist the front of the jumper he had on so you could pull him closer to you, and you arched your back to have your pelvis flush against his. Although you had alcohol in your system that was causing your head to feel a bit floaty - you knew this was what you wanted. You needed him.
His tongue slipped out to run across the seam of your mouth before you parted your lips. You rolled your tongue over his own as he rocked his growing erection that was straining against the zipper of his jeans along the inside of your thigh. It didnât take long for you to feel the damp spot starting to form in your underwear while his tongue began to explore every bit of your mouth.
âY/N,â the rasp of Harryâs voice sent a shiver down your spine. âI want to taste you.â
That earned him another moan from you as you nodded, and he pulled back a bit to reach for the waistband of your jeans. You allowed him to take the reins as you leaned back and lifted your hips while he unbuttoned and unzipped the denim clinging to your body. Once he had those properly undone, he yanked them down your legs - fingers wrapping around your underwear along the way to pull them all down in one go.
Although you were pretty confident in yourself when it came to the bedroom, it had been so long since you had even been partially naked like this in front of someone. You watched as Harry raked his eyes over your exposed lower half before shaking his head.
âSo fucking beautiful,â his lips grazed along the inside of your thigh before planting a kiss right against your pubic bone. âYou promise youâre comfortable?â
His eyes peered up into yours and you nodded while cupping your hand against the back of his head. âI promise,â you assured him. âNow have a taste.â
Harry ducked his head down to run his tongue through your drenched slit and you threw your head back at the sensation. You didnât bother trying to conceal the noises that left you as he trailed his tongue up to your clit - lapping over it a few times before sucking it between his lips.
âThatâs it, Harry,â you whined as your tossed your legs over his shoulders, and he pressed his palms against the inside of your thighs to spread you just a bit further.
âYouâre so fucking sweet, Y/N,â he pressed kisses against your throbbing bud - your hips jumping right in time each one. âIâll make it up to you every single day if it means I get to have you like this.â
âThatâs to be determined,â you puffed out a small laugh as your fingers gripped to his hair. âDepends on how hard you make me come.â
Harry couldnât help the chuckle that escaped him at your words, and he took a minute to look up at you again. âIf I could stay here all day, suffocating between these beautiful thighs of yours while licking at this sweet pussy - making you come again and again? I would fucking do it.â
His words caused your cunt to clench around nothing, and you mewled out at just how hot and bothered that got you. âWell, show me just how good it can be, and Iâll let you know if youâve got the job.â
The crooked grin that stretched over Harryâs lips, causing that sweet dimple to indent into his cheek, had your heart fluttering in the midst of you being turned on beyond belief.
âIâll show you, baby, and then youâre going to be begging for more.â
Getting right back to work, Harry began to properly take his time with you. He licked at your folds, sucked on your clit, and when he knew he had you so perfectly worked up, he plunged his tongue inside. You gasped as you stared up at the ceiling - feeling the thick muscle pulse in and out as you rutted your clit along the bridge of his nose.
âYes,â you sighed happily, shutting your eyes as the corners of your lips twitched up into a smile. âSo good.â
He kissed his way back up to your clit, beginning to suck again before slowly inserting his middle and ring fingers into you. Your back arched even further, and given that you hadnât had any contact like this in so long, you knew that youâd be coming sooner rather than later.
âYou like that, Y/N?â Harryâs sultry voice started to ring in your ears. âYou look so amazing like this. Got me fucking addicted and Iâve only had a little taste.â
âIt feelsâŠshit,â you could feel your thighs starting to tremble once Harry curled his fingers - the tips of them rubbing across your sweetest spot. âOh my god, Harry. Youâre going to make me come.â
âCome on,â he coaxed you, putting his head back down. âCome on my fingers. Come on my tongue. Let me taste you completely.â
Once his tongue found your clit once again, you knew you were done for. He sucked it between his heart shaped lips as he thrusted his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt - your heels digging into his shoulder blades.
âHarry,â you moaned deliriously. âIâmâŠoh my fuck - Iâm coming.â
Your walls closed in completely around Harryâs fingers as he continued to pulse your clit into his mouth. It was euphoric. It was everything. Your body tingled from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, and even when he pulled away from you entirely to massage your thighs - you still werenât coming down.
âY/N,â his muffled voice filled your senses. âOpen your eyes, baby. Look at me.â
Following his directions and blinking your eyes open, you focused on the ceiling before looking down at Harry. You smiled wide at the sight of him. Your orgasm was still glistening on his lips, and his touch was so soft.
âCome here,â you pulled him back up like you had before - having him be level with you again once you sat up straight.
Your lips found his once more and you indulged in a short makeout session before pulling away.
âDid that make up for it?â Harry asked with a small laugh as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck.
âIt didâŠfor now,â you said while knocking the tip of your nose against his with a smirk. âI want a proper date. Next Friday. Then weâll go from there.â
Harryâs eyes met yours, and he smiled wide - bunny teeth on full display for you to see before he responded with a nod.
âItâs a date.â
âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą
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Summary: Y/n moves into a small house in the woods and she soon realizes the house is haunted. But it really turns out to be not so bad at all to have a ghost when he's as kind as the one living with her.
A/n: Harry's a sweet ghost - so nothing scary here. But it is a little sad (with a happy ending). Also, I took some artistic liberties on what ghosts can do with this one shot so you may need to suspend your disbelief a bit. xoxo
Word Count: 11.5k
Warning: smut, talk of depression & suicide, loneliness (Harry's a sad ghost but Y/n makes him happy)
Y/n had been living in the small house in the woods for only a couple of weeks when she started noticing strange things. She'd be typing on her laptop, cozy and focused when suddenly the tea kettle would whistle, breaking her out of the moment and scaring the life out of her. Somehow, not only would her tea kettle be on the burner but it was magically filled with water -both of which she had not done.
Or like the other evening when she was getting ready to settle into bed and she remembered she needed to turn off the lights in her kitchen so she grumpily got up and padded into the living room to see with her own eyes as her kitchen lights shut themselves off. It was nice to not have to walk all that way (which really wasn't all that far) but the creep factor of that happening was quite substantial.
But there were a lot of little things she'd been side-eyeing that made her wonder what was going on. However, she couldn't ignore it that morning. The way the blankets next to her were raised up as if someone were lying underneath them with her.
She had just woken up and her eyes were bleary and tired but the drizzle of morning light shining in her room made it clear that something was in the bed right next to her. Reaching toward the human-sized lump she blinked her eyes slowly and the moment her hand came into contact with the wool it suddenly deflated and dropped to the bed. She sat up and looked around the quiet space of her small room with her heart pounding in her chest.
"Is someone here?"
She was answered with silence. Pulling the blanket back she found exactly what she imagined. Nothing.
But then the kettle was going off and she jumped from the bed, quickly putting her slippers on her feet before dashing into the kitchen to shut off the burner.
"What is going on? Is someone here? JustâŠ" She put her hands over her face in frustration as she groaned and when she pulled her hands away, there was her favorite mug sitting out for her already.
She remembered emptying the kettle and cleaning her mug and putting it away the night before. This was all impossible.
But she was in the mood for a hot cup of tea so she reluctantly grabbed the mug and that's when she saw her tea ball inside already filled with her favorite English breakfast tea leaves.
Pouring the hot water into her mug she peered around the kitchen, "Thank you. If there is someone there. This was nice. But⊠kind of creepy."
So, Y/n's day was off to an interesting start, and even though she'd been experiencing strange things and there was a small part of her that wondered if perhaps she had some kind of friendly ghost in her house, that day she was especially present and keeping her eyes open for anything odd.
Which led her to do some research on the old house she'd bought. She wondered who'd lived there before her. She only knew what was public. The property tax amount, and how many times the house had been bought and sold over the years (that number was surprisingly high). And that made her wonder if there was a connection. Had others been experiencing strange things in the home too? Had they been so spooked that they left, selling it to the next person to start the process all over again?
Of course, nothing that was happening was scary. Not really. It was strange, yes. It got her heart rate up a few times⊠but in the end, everything had been friendly or harmless gestures. Helpful even.
She didn't get much writing done that day, but rather she did find some interesting things online. It took her some time to get down to any names of people who'd lived in the house before (she didn't find many), but there was an old article from 1999 about a young professor who lived in town who died after going mushroom picking and eating the wrong kind. The article was more of an informative warning kind of story but there were some details that caught her interest.
The man would often forage for mushrooms being somewhat of an expert, but even with all of his knowledge he still mistook a bad one for a good one. Supposedly he died in his home all alone. And he was called by the name Harry. It didn't say where Harry lived exactly just that he was a professor from the area and he'd lived in the woods.
And that story led her to other smaller accounts of Harry the teacher and mushroomer who lived in the woods. She was so fascinated by the little bits of information she found that she hadn't realized the sun was already setting. She'd been at her desk reading what little she could find about this mysterious man who died in 1985, likely in the very house she was sitting in. He was 30 when he died.
"MushroomsâŠ" she spoke to herself as she recalled the mushrooms carved into the top of the banisters on the porch.
Closing her laptop she flicked on a lamp and then turned on her front porch light to double-check the wooden banisters and sure enough, mushrooms.
She placed her hand over the tops of them and bent to look at the work. It was crude, not carved by a wood maker but maybe an amateur. Perhaps Harry himself had carved them. Over the years, of course, the wood was aged and worn from the elements but it was clearly meant to be the shape of a mushroom.
She made a mental note to buy some varnish to cover them and make sure they didn't erode further. To keep the artist's work intact.
"I like these," she smiled and looked around herself, not sure if the ghost, or whatever it was, might be watching. She knew she might be losing her mind, entertaining such thoughts, but what else could it be? Surely something was afoot. Luckily, whatever it was, seemed to be kind and liked to get her tea started for her.
Y/n turned on her radio as she made cucumber and cheese sandwiches and hummed along. She'd peek behind herself every now and then in hopes of seeing something but that night nothing more came. Just when she was beginning to find the whole idea of having a ghost exciting, he suddenly wanted to be quiet.
âšđ',âą* đ *âą,'đâš
She wanted to sit outside to write that day. Took her hot tea with a little honey that morning and an English muffin with a jammy egg and extra butter. Then she piled the wooden bench with blankets and a couple of pillows and spread herself along the space and began to write.
Y/n loved her solitude. Loved the quiet and the freedom to live her life as she wanted day to day. She might call herself lucky that she didn't have to work a traditional 9-5 job but being a writer and trying to keep on schedule with her publisher was quite difficult at times. But she wouldn't trade the stress of getting her work done on deadline for anything. Especially not when she got to enjoy such peace in her life.
She wasn't rich. Not even close, but she did alright for herself. She'd been able to buy the adorable little house in the woods all on her own after all. So she was grateful for her life.
Content.
When she heard rustling leaves coming from the side of the house she stopped typing and kept her ears perked to listen. It sounded like a large animal moving through from the woods.
Getting up slowly and as quietly as she could she carefully stepped toward the edge of the porch and looked down at the side of the house to see nothing but dried brown leaves.
She was still hoping to see her ghost. Hoping he'd show himself âif there was a ghost (though she was almost certain by then). But everything had been quiet since before she ate dinner the night before.
Pursing her lips, she was a little disappointed that she still had not seen anything substantial yet. But as she turned to walk back to her bench, there, atop her closed laptop was a mushroom. A freshly picked mushroom. She wasn't sure what kind it was but it was clearly wild with a bit of dirt still at its base.
Plucking it up between her pointer finger and thumb she laughed as she moved her eyes all around her, "Is this from you, Harry? Harry the Mushroomer? That's what they call you, you know."
She walked down the steps of her porch to the front yard with the mushroom in her hand and peered around, "Thank you for this, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable eating it. Didn't you die because you ate the wrong kind? Accidentally poisoned yourself?"
Y/n knew that if anyone could see her they'd think she was a crazy woman talking to herself like that. Luckily she had no visible neighbors.
"Well? Are you gonna show yourself or just keep doing little things like this? It's okay if this is it. I don't mind, but it's hard to talk to you when I can't hear or see you."
In almost an instant there was a figure at the limn of her eye and she turned to see a tall man looking at her. She waited for a moment before speaking as his appearance seemed to slowly fill in⊠like he was being painted to life before her eyes.
He pointed at her hand, "It's safe. I promise."
She looked down at the mushroom in her palm and then back at the man, "Are you⊠Harry?"
He stepped back, the lines around him seemed to fade and Y/n reached toward him, "Don't leave! Please. I'd like to talk if you can."
"I can't leave."
"You can't⊠Because you're stuck here? Attached to this house?"
He nodded, the vibrant color of his skin filling in again and she noticed his eyes were a soft green like the moss in the small pond up the path.
"I'm sorry. It must be hard to be stuck like that."
"It is."
"Did you carve those mushrooms there," she pointed toward the banister.
He nodded again. She didn't know if that's just how he was, quiet and shy. Or maybe it was because he was not used to interacting with people anymore.
"Um⊠thank you for the mushroom. And for the tea. You seem to like to help."
He looked like a real man standing in her front yard with his brown shoes in the dead leaves that were scattered about. He wore a cream-colored sweater and khaki pants.
"I do like to help. You can eat that. They were wrong."
"Who was wrong? About what?"
She watched him blink and look toward the porch before he motioned to the house, "May I?"
Y/n grinned, not quite believing what was happening but fascinated all at the same time, "Of course. It's your house, Harry."
He looked at her for a second, the smallest bit of a smile spread across his face before he nodded and began to move up toward the porch, Y/n following behind him.
She stopped and watched him walk toward the wooden bench and sit down, as if he were too weary to stand, though she never imagined ghosts feeling tired like that. He stared out toward the trees before he spoke, "I did it on purpose. It wasn't an accident."
She stitched her brows together and wrapped an arm around the wooden post at the top of the steps, "You poisoned yourself?"
He nodded, still staring toward the yard and trees with their changing leaves, "I wish I hadn't but I was sad and I wanted to stop feeling sad. And then everyone thought it was just an accident. A mistake. But it wasn't."
Y/n stepped toward him cautiously, not wanting to scare him off, "Can I sit next to you?"
He looked up at her before moving his mournful eyes back toward the woods. She took that as a yes, so she carefully sat on the bench next to her sad ghost.
"Why were you sad?"
He shook his head slowly, "Lonely. But it's much worse like this. No one wants to talk to a spirit. Everyone gets spooked."
"You can talk to me. I'm not spooked," she spoke quietly and he looked at her again, brows softening as she continued, "If you want we can be friends."
"Why?"
"Why what? Why am I not spooked? Why do I want to be your friend?" She raised her brows.
Harry didn't answer, though. He only kept his gaze on hers. She figured his why was to all of the above. He wasn't used to people anymore.
"Well⊠you've been very welcoming toward me since I moved in. Kind even. Getting my tea ready, that was clever," she laughed and watched as his shoulders seemed to relax, "That's not spooky. It was helpful. And I like that you wanted to be nice so I'd like to be your friend."
"Okay. Just know⊠I can't leave. So if you feel bothered the best I can do is step outside or into another room. People have tried having the house blessed. A priest came in once and tried to get me to leave. I wish I wasn't stuck here. I hoped that somehow that would work, with the priest, but it didn't. I'd rather be gone but instead, I'm trapped, halfway here and halfway there."
"So, you're the kind of ghost that can pick things up and âwell you also look like a real man too. To me you do."
He shrugged, "I don't know. I guess. I've never met another ghost."
The pair sat on the porch together for nearly two hours. Y/n was intrigued and had quite a few questions but she also told him about herself. At one point Harry could see she was chilled so he handed her blanket from underneath him and helped her drape it over her shoulders.
She couldn't imagine how a man like him had found such a fate. Every now and then when he spoke she noted that he had a natural charisma, a charm that certainly had caught the eye of a few ladies at one time. He was smart and kind. And she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was too. But mostly he was sad. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him if he'd let her. Tell him he wouldn't be alone anymore and that it was going to be okay.
When she made dinner for herself she used the mushroom he'd picked and he told her where she could find more of them. That they could forage together if she were up for it. He made her tea and told her that she liked her tea the same way his mother did.
It felt like she was talking to someone she knew a long time ago and that they were just reconnecting after years of being apart. It took a bit to warm up but once they got going Harry was a regular conversationalist. She could picture him as a professor in front of students relating his biology teachings to a story about being chased down the street by a pack of wild dogs.
He was funny. Y/n liked Harry a lot. She hadn't really gotten any work done that day but there wasn't a part of her that regretted that.
When the sun had gone down she turned on all the lamps and let Harry sit in her comfy chair near the wood-burning stove (that he installed all by himself in 1981) and take his pick of book to read from her bookshelf.
She finally wound up getting a decent amount of writing done with Harry just there reading. It was nice to have a companion with her. She loved her peace and quiet but it was easy for her to adjust to Harry being there. Maybe because he had been there all along.
When she was getting tired and couldn't write anymore she looked over at Harry and noticed that he was still fully immersed in the book, "I think I'm gonna go to bed. Um⊠you can do whatever you want. And no need to hide or anything. Okay? I like you around."
"Oh. Yeah. Of course. I'll just be here. Won't bother you."
Y/n smiled at him as she stood up, "You're not a bother. I'll see you in the morning?"
He smiled and nodded at her, "Thank you."
âšđ',âą* đ *âą,'đâš
"So you do sleep at all, Harry?" Y/n asked him as she poured hot water over her tea.
"Yes. That's mostly all I do. I like to be unconscious. Pretend I'm not here."
Y/n felt so sad hearing the way he spoke. Even in death, he seemed to be depressed, sad.
"And where do you normally sleep?"
He shrugged, the book he had been reading from the night before was in his hand, "Wherever. In the bed sometimes."
Y/n looked at him, squinting her eyes, "Next to me? Like you did the other morning?"
He looked down and nodded, "Sorry. I won't do it again. Just like to feel like I'm not alone and when you're sleeping I know I won't scare you because you won't even know I'm there. But," he looked up at her quickly, "I've never done anything weird. I would never. It was just to be closer is all. Not in a weird way-" he shook his head and grumbled something under his breath, "But that still sounds weird to you I'm sure. I meant no harm."
She reached her hand toward him, almost not expecting to feel anything but when her finger grazed the fabric of his sweater she was startled and stepped back. But the moment Harry realized she'd gotten spooked he was gone in an instant. The book he'd been holding lying on her tile countertop.
"No. Harry don't leave, please. I⊠just didn't expect to be able to touch your sweater. It's⊠I promise it wasn't because I was scared of you. Please come back. I'm sorry. This is all new for me and I was surprised is all."
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see him, but he was hazy, not quite there, "I don't want to scare you. I'm used to just staying in the shadows, Y/n. I don't think I could bear having you be frightened of me."
Moving toward him slowly she put her palms facing out to him in conciliation, "I'm not frightened. I promise. I just didn't realize I'd feel it when I reached for you. I want you to stay. I like you here. I like your company. I like seeing you. And now I'll know better than to be surprised when I can feel the wool on your sweater next time."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, putting her hands down to her side, "I'm sure. And I don't want you to be skittish around me either. You don't need to disappear like that. Let's just get used to one another okay? But I'm not frightened. I think I already prefer you to most people I've met, in fact."
That got him smiling and it almost appeared like he was blushing as he looked down at the floor, a dimple scored into his cheek.
Quite the handsome ghost when he was smiling. He blinked his eyes as his form became tangible again, corporeal.
She took a deep breath and reached for him again, slowly that time, placing her palm up for him to reach out toward. She watched as he lifted his hand and gradually pushed it forward until she could feel the whispy brush of his skin on her fingertips before he pressed his palm over hers. Like a real person, with skin and everything.
"I can feel you. Can you feel me too?" She asked.
He nodded as his grin spread, "Yes. That's nice."
"It is nice. See? Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about," he repeated, his eyes on hers.
"Can we rewind? Go back to what we were just talking about before I got all jumpy? About you sleeping in the bed?"
"Okay."
She moved her fingers around his hand and squeezed it gently, "If you ever need to be close, it's okay if you come to sleep in my bed with me. This is your house too, Harry. It was your house first. I don't want you to feel lonely in your home. Just because you're⊠well, a spirit, that doesn't mean you deserve a life of isolation. I'm your friend now. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you."
Y/n found that having Harry around somehow inspired her and kept her focused. She'd gotten more work done than she had in a very long time. Perhaps it was just that there was another presence there with her, watching and paying attention. Somehow it seemed to keep her on task. He was quiet most of the day. He'd read or take walks outside and bring mushrooms back when he found them. In the evenings they'd chat and she often caught herself wishing he was a real live man because if she were being very honest he had all the qualities she'd want in a partner. But on top of that, he was tortuously handsome. And it seemed the more she knew of him the more attractive he was.
He was quite humorous at times, a natural storyteller. And it seemed he enjoyed making her smile. He listened to her talk as well and remembered every detail of every word she spoke. Like she was worth listening to. It's something she didn't often find with other people.
Sleeping next to him at night was also increasingly difficult as now there was a sentient and conscious being lying next to her when she was feeling a bit lustful (as did happen on occasion inevitably). But there was little she could do to satiate herself in her bed when Harry was there too.
So she wound up changing her schedule slightly, to have her showers at night and find relief under the warm stream of water before she climbed into bed with him, who took up a lot more space than one would assume a ghost would.
He was always perfectly polite. Too polite maybe. But then again she had no idea how that would work with him anyway. Yes, she could feel his skin and touch his clothes and once had the pleasure of running her fingers into his hair⊠but certainly they couldn't⊠get intimate?
Though, she'd imagined how his lips might feel or those big hands on her hips or her waist. She'd imagine his eyes peering at her as he undressed (she'd never seen him remove any clothing but she often wondered what was under his clothes). She knew it was wrong. Felt guilty for thinking about him like that.
But she was a warm-blooded woman with certain needs that every other woman had just the same. And Harry, ghost or not, was easy to look and he was even easier to trust.
He was sweet.
And she was ovulating.
So even taking care of herself in her shower didn't quite scratch the itch by the time she got into the bedroom to find Harry already sitting with the blankets over his lap and his back against the headboard and his nose in a book. It was like having a really hot friend who lived with you who you knew you could never do anything like that with.
"Feel better?" He asked her as he closed the book and watched her take off her sweater.
She didn't remember telling him she hadn't felt good before her shower. In fact, he hadn't ever asked her before if she felt better after her shower so it made her wonder if he was paying closer attention than she realized. Could he tell that she had a change in mood? That her hormones were fluctuating? Surely not.
"Um, I think a little better," she smiled and slid into the bed, wishing she could climb into his lap and lift up his sweater to feel his skin. She was curious about him and wondered if there was more to explore with him. Was there anything under the clothes? Did he ever have those natural human urges he likely had when he was living?
"You seem a little tense. Would you like a tea? I think camomile is good for helping you calm."
She sighed, "I'm just⊠yeah. A tea sounds good. Maybe that'll help."
Harry left her alone in her room and she watched as the light in the kitchen gently spread out and illuminated the hallway off the bedroom. With a few minutes to herself, she reached into her soft night pants and rubbed over her panties. It was risky and she knew he might return any minute but she was hidden by the covers over her lap.
And it felt good. Obviously, the shower had been nice but there was something about doing it in her own bed on a dry surface that was her favorite. And she was already wetting the material of her underwear as she pushed the fabric aside and pressed her fingers directly over her clit. She could be quick.
A quiet gasp fell from her lips when she began hitting the right spot, fingers quickly swiping back and forth, body heating, heart pounding.
But then he was there at the door with a steaming mug in his hands, standing still like he'd been the one to see a ghost. She was covered up but by the way he was looking at herâŠ
She slowly moved her hand away and smiled, "Uh, that was fast. Thank you."
He placed the mug on the table next to her bed quietly and looked away from her, "I can give you some privacy. I'm sorry."
Oh. He knew what she was up to. She'd been so stupid to think she could rub one out fast enough without him realizing.
"No, I'm sorry. I⊠since you've been around, or since I knew you were here I have to kind of⊠God, I'm embarrassed," she put her face in her hands and groaned.
"Don't feel embarrassed. It's normal. Nothing shameful about any of that. I was a biology professor after all."
Y/n looked up at him, "You're always too nice, Harry. I feel so awful. You probably don't even⊠well⊠you know. Things are different for you now than when you were alive?"
He cocked his head to the side, "Things are different yes. But if you mean in terms of feeling stirred, aroused⊠I can -still. But it's been a very long time."
She swallowed, unable to quite comprehend how that was possible, "So⊠you, as a ghost, can like feel that way? Does your body react as well?"
He puffed out a laugh and looked down at the wood floors below his feet, "Yes. Mostly. I still have all the feelings and emotions within my consciousness as when I was alive. And yes, I feel it and it can be visible if I let it."
Visible. That did nothing to quell her growing curiosity.
"That's⊠I guess I don't really know much about spirits, but I'm surprised."
"To be honest, I don't know much about myself like this either. I just know I still feel emotions and physically can feelâŠ. excited. And that I can only go as far as the perimeter of the land this house is on. If I step past the boundary I wind up back inside the house. You're the first person I've really interacted with. Everyone else was terrified. I don't blame them."
"You can come back if you want," she patted the spot on the bed next to her. "If I didn't make you uncomfortable. I'm good now I think. Sorry to make this weird."
"Are you sure? I can leave for a bitâ"
"No. No, I'm over it now," she took a sip of the tea he'd made her. He always seemed to know exactly how to make her tea.
Harry pulled the blankets back and settled into bed next to her before she flicked off the light on her lamp.
"I'm sorry I interrupted."
"Don't be sorry. You did nothing wrong."
She wished she could ask him to hold her. Just to be in his arms, to know what that would feel like. And she was sure that if she asked he would because he was so kind. But he'd just caught her playing with herself and she felt like a pervert and she was sure he'd wonder what her intentions were. Hell, she wasn't even sure of her own intentions at that point.
So, she closed her eyes and tried to push down how embarrassed she felt and the subtle ache between her thighs. Perhaps she'd get on birth control so she wouldn't ovulate anymore. She felt out of control, led by her id, her hormones calling the shots.
Eventually, she found sleep, and for a while, she forgot all about her misdeed and her aroused state in exchange for much-needed rest.
But upon waking she found that she'd snuggled into Harry tightly. Her cheek smushed against the sweater over his chest and his arms were placed around her back. It felt like waking up in the arms of a real man. It was soft and cozy. She felt warm and safe.
She knew he could sleep. He told her as much so she wasn't sure if he was awake or not which was her reason to keep still and bask in the moment. As much as she loved her solitude, it hadn't dawned on her until then how much she missed human contact. It was lovely to feel him so close like that. He felt solid as if he had a real live body.
Slowly the light from the sun began to brighten her room as the morning grew later. She probably should get up but it was so hard to peel herself away from Harry. Not only did she not want to wake him, she wanted to enjoy him holding her for as long as she could.
"If you need to get up you can."
She startled, tilting her head back to look up at him, "I didn't know you were awake. I didn't want to -wake you."
He was cute. His face half-covered with her pillow as he looked down at her, "I know. But I am awake. You can stay here like this for as long as you like, though. I don't mind."
Harry adjusted his face into the pillow, pink lips set in a soft smile as he kept his eyes on hers. He was beautiful and she could think of nothing better to do in that moment than to reach her hand up to his neck and stretch up toward him so she could give him a quick peck on his mouth.
Maybe it was her sleepy brain or just the soft moment they were enveloped in together. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her that did it. But whatever made her do it felt like something she needed to do. To feel.
And then he kissed her back. It was like kissing a man. A real live man. His palms slid over her back softly, upward to her shoulder blades as he continued moving his lips with hers. Gentle and slow. Sleepy.
It did nothing to make her hormones calm. Which just led to her sliding her hand down his sturdy chest and to his hip. She wouldn't take it too far, she was just curious what the skin under his sweater would feel like as she edged the tips of her fingers upward and he was still real underneath too. Taut skin and sinew over muscle and bone. Moving her palm higher up his stomach she found herself quite pleasantly surprised by the way he felt under her hand.
But he stopped abruptly, sitting up and clambering out of bed, "Sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that. You⊠I'm really sorry."
She looked up at him from her spot on the bed and blinked her tired eyes, "Why are you sorry? I kissed you first."
"You did?" He shook his head, "I thought I started it. I'm not used to this. I don't know what I'm doing." He ran his hands into his hair and stepped around the bed toward the door, "I'm sorry. I think I need to⊠just some time to think."
She watched him walk away out of sight, blindsided by what had just happened. Of course, the whole thing was wild. It was insane even. He was a ghost. It wasn't like they could be together. She wished things were different, she really did. She needed to pull herself together. Harry had real feelings, he'd told her as much.
Taking a warm shower she tried to reason with herself about what had happened. But the more she considered it all, the more she wondered what a future would look like if she were to fall in love with a ghost. She didn't want to indulge in those thoughts but she couldn't help it. She didn't like being around people and rarely needed to leave her little house. Would it be so bad to just be with Harry? He was lonely and needed companionship just like she did and she really enjoyed his company. He seemed to be the perfect companion, the only issue being that he was technically dead. And she had no idea how a physical relationship would work but she was beginning to think, after that kiss, that was in fact possible.
She could stay "single" forever and if anyone asked why she never married or dated she'd just say she preferred to be alone. No one would need to know about Harry.
Y/n shook her head as she dried her hair. She was losing it. Why was her mind going there? Yes, maybe she was a little lonely at times, and he was kind and nice to talk to, and he was clearly a very attractive⊠specter. But he wasn't a living man.
Opening up her laptop after having made herself a tea, she tried to ignore the pit in her stomach. Harry hadn't come back. Or if he had he wasn't showing himself to her. Had it really been all that bad for them to kiss? Probably. She shouldn't have done it. And now he was the one who was spooked. She couldn't blame him. It'd been a long time since he'd had a person to even talk to who knew of his existence and the one that he finally does show himself to winds up developing silly feelings for him and wants to kiss.
Y/n hardly got any writing done that day. Harry stayed away. The house was quiet. She didn't want to push him to show himself or to talk to her. If he needed space, she'd give it to him.
âšđ',âą* đ *âą,'đâš
She figured that the worst part about having a ghost was knowing he was there but not knowing where he was or what he was seeing her do. If he was even watching. Harry didn't return that first night nor the following day. He didn't sleep next to her in bed and he didn't prepare her tea.
She started to wonder if he was going to come back at all.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I hope you can forgive me and come back. I promise I'll never be so reckless again. I just had a lapse in judgment."
Her phone rang, startling her from her speech to her ghost. She had an inkling he was there and listening.
"Hello?"
It was her cousin Sil. She had promised to bring over a small kitchen table, something Y/n didn't have when she first moved into the house.
"Oh, tonight? Sure. Um⊠yeah. I'll be here."
She would be happy to have a kitchen table and chairs finally but she wasn't really up for company. Hopefully, Sil would be in and out quickly, though getting to her house in the woods was quite the drive.
"Harry, my cousin is coming to drop off some furniture. I'm just letting you know," she looked around the space and the room was empty and quiet still. Her heart dropped as she sighed.
But she had to stop moping and pull herself together before Sil arrived. She put on something a little nicer and swiped a little mascara onto her lashes before spritzing herself with her favorite perfume. Then she filled her kettle with fresh water and pulled down a couple of mugs and plates and then sliced up strawberries and cantaloupe.
She kept herself busy until she heard a knock at her door and put on a smile before opening it to see not only Sil, but a man wearing a thick flannel just behind her.
"This is Memo. He offered to help with the table. It's kind of heavy."
"Oh, of course! Thank you! And it's nice to meet you, Memo."
Y/n propped open the door and then she and Sil got to work carrying in the chairs as Memo shimmied the table inside on his own. When everything was set up in her little kitchen she was quite pleased with the way it looked.
"I love it. Thank you so much, Sil," she pulled her cousin in for a hug and then reached for Memo's arm and squeezed, "And I appreciate your help. Thank you."
"Your house is amazing. Ever get lonely living out here by yourself?"
Y/n looked up at the man and shrugged, "Um⊠not really. I like the peace out here. It's great for inspiration."
"She's a writer," Sil interjected, "Already has two published books and one on the way. She's the famous one I was talking about."
Y/n laughed and put her hand up, "I'm not famous. That's an exaggerationâŠ"
"Well, she's a published author and her first book sold almost, what⊠like 50,000 copies?"
"That's average at best. I'm not⊠I'm lucky but I'm not anywhere near famous," Y/n looked at Memo and then at her cousin. "It pays the bills. And I love it, soâŠ" She turned toward her kitchen counter, wanting to change the subject, "Would you guys care for some tea or coffee? I've got fruit sliced up as well?"
"I could go for some tea. Thank you, Y/n."
Memo smiled at her softly and her cousin raised her brows with a nod, "Sure. We'll stay a little longer."
Y/n prepared tea and placed the fruit and plates on her new kitchen table before joining Sil and Memo to sit. She learned that Memo was Sil's neighbor and when Y/n commented that she thought they were cute together Sil quickly corrected her cousin, "Oh, we're not⊠No," she laughed. "He's just a friend."
"I'm as single as they come," he winked at Y/n before taking another sip of his tea.
She found that to be a strange thing to say. Was he suggesting something? Y/n didn't know but she definitely wasn't interested. Her mind was still on Harry and wondering where he was, if he was watching everything.
When the fruit was all eaten and their mugs were dry Y/n got up to place everything in her sink and Memo followed, "I can help. Let me wash the dishes."
She looked back at Sil who was grinning, a raised brow in her direction. Y/n shook her head and rolled her eyes. Maybe it was a setup. She'd be nice but there was no way in hellâ
"What the⊠shit!" Memo stepped back from the sink quickly and turned, his arms out exasperatedly.
He had water all over the front of his flannel and Y/n covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
"Something just⊠I turned on the water and it was like the stream just sprayed out right at me. Got all over my shirt!"
Sil stepped passed Memo and turned off the water then turned it back on to check, "Seems okay now. Maybe it was just air in the pipe or something?"
"Sorry. That has never happened. Would you like a towel?" Y/n offered.
"Yeah. If it's no bother."
When Y/n walked into the hallway to grab a towel she felt someone behind her. She brightened up as she turned, hoping to see Harry but found the other male standing there with her, plucking at his shirt.
"Here," she handed him a white towel, "I'm really sorry about your shirt."
Memo nodded as he dabbed at himself, "Yeah it's just water. My shirt'll be fine. Just a little embarrassed."
Y/n laughed, "Embarrassed? Why?"
"Got my shirt all well and startled everyone. Especially in front of a pretty girl. Little bit of a hit to my ego."
"Would you⊠Well, we're about to leave and I thought maybe I could give you my number or something?"
There was no way she was going to call Memo or entertain anything more with him. But she decided to play dumb and just go along with it. She'd take his number and then lose it. Not that he wasn't a good-looking guy. And he was probably perfectly nice (he seemed nice). In a different world, one where she was more outgoing and liked to meet new people, maybe she'd actually be interested.
"UhâŠ"
Suddenly the hallway light flicked on and her TV came on in the living room, volume all the way up. The lamp in the corner flashing on and off and then on again.
Y/n quickly slid past Memo to turn her television off, one hand cupping her ear as she aimed the remote at her TV.
Sil looked spooked as she stepped out of the kitchen and then Memo suddenly rushed in, tripping as he cursed, "What the fuck?"
Everyone stood in shock staring at one another when all the lights in the house went off and Memo gasped, "Shit! What is that?!" The sound of someone running into her coffee table and something slamming into the wall had Y/n rushing to flick her lights back on.
Memo was swinging into the air on his ass next to the wall, "Something just pushed me against the wall!"
Sil put her hand out to help Memo stand up and then looked back at Y/n in worry, "Is this place like⊠haunted? What was that?"
She shook her head, "I don't know. You guys should probably leave, though. I'll clean up. I'm really sorry about this."
Memo stepped toward Y/n, "You need to come with us. It's not safe. It felt like someone grabbed my shirt and pushed me⊠slammed me! Whatever it is, is very strong and very angry."
Shaking her head she looked from her cousin to Memo, "No. I'll be fine. I promise."
It took a little convincing for Sil and Memo to accept that Y/n wasn't going to be leaving with them with Sil pouting and giving her a long hug outside, "Are you sure? I'm going to call you when we get back. I'm really worried about what just happened in there."
"I'll be fine. Okay? You don't need to worry about anything."
When they were down the street Y/n let out a breath and closed her eyes. She knew exactly what had happened in there.
It was Harry. Her gentle, easily spooked ghost, who had somehow flipped a switch and scared the shit out of Memo and her cousin.
When she stepped inside she straightened out her coffee table and looked around the living room, "Harry? Please come out and talk to me. I need to see you, okay? I'm not mad about what you just did but I think we need to talk about it. About why you did that."
She was startled when she turned and there he was. She had expected to need to plead with him for a little longer.
"I'm sorry."
Looking up at him Y/n shook her head, "Why did you do that? Was it because you didn't like him? Memo?"
He nodded, "I didn't like how he was looking at you when you'd turn away. Like you were a piece of meat or something. He was flirting with you."
She smiled, "You didn't like him flirting with me?"
"It's just that⊠I don't know," Harry turned and ran his fingers into his hair, "I'm stuck. I don't get to have anything good but people like⊠Memo," he spat the name like it was bitter in his mouth, "Get to enjoy whatever they want." He turned to look at her again, "He could have you if he wanted. It's so easy for him."
"Well, you're wrong. He can't have me if I'm not interested, which I'm not. Not my type."
"He's not?"
She shook her head, "No."
Harry groaned and looked down at the floor, "Doesn't matter anyway, does it? No matter how I feel about anything, about you⊠I don't get to have you. I don't get to fall in love and live happily ever after. I've made it so that I'll suffer in sadness forever. This is what I deserve for what I did to myself. Might as well watch you fall in love with another man while I'm at it."
Stepping toward him, she slowly reached her hand out toward his, "Hey, look at me."
She swore it was like looking at a real man. His eyes were so green and so sad as he placed his gaze on hers. "Is that what you want? That we could be âtogether?"
"Doesn't matter what I want."
She took his hand in hers, "Yes it does. It matters. You matter to me. And to be honest," she shrugged, keeping her eyes on his, "As long as I'm here and you're here, I don't think I need anyone else."
Frown lines carved in between his eyes as he looked down at her hand, "You can't say that. You don't know. I can't give you what you need."
"And what is it you think I need that you can't give me?"
"A real relationship. I couldn't meet your family or⊠anyone. I couldn't âtouch you. Not really. I know this doesn't feel the same," he squeezed at her fingers. "It's not warm. It's not real. And if you wanted to have a family⊠well obviously I can't give you that either."
"Your hand feels pretty real to me, Harry. It's not quite as warm as if you were flesh and blood but you're firm against my skin. I feel you. And that kiss⊠I can't stop thinking about how nice it was. I liked that. I like how you did it."
"Really?"
A wider grin spread over her face as she watched the edge of his lip quirk upward, "And I've never wanted kids anyway so I don't care about that."
"You don't?"
Shaking her head she smiled, "Never. But we haven't known each other all that long so you wouldn't have known that about me. You also wouldn't have known that I don't really like going out unless I have to. It's why I bought this house. To be away from people. But I do get lonely so when I met you it felt like a special gift."
"When you moved in it did feel different for me too. I wanted to be your friend right off."
"See? We can be friends. We can maybe even be more. I know it's weird probably⊠I'm not particularly normal, though. But⊠I was already imagining what it might be like. You and me. It's not perfect but life isn't perfect and maybe we can find some happiness together."
Harry had been jealous of Memo, Y/n had figured that much. He hadn't really hurt him, just scared him. And in a way, she was glad that he was spooked and left relatively quickly so she didn't have to take his number and then sit in that awkward moment where she didn't give him hers back or have to explain later to her cousin why she never called him.
What would she use as her reason? Well, she'd probably simply just say she wasn't interested. But knowing Sil, there would be some pushback â You don't even really know him. He's the sweetest! Give him one dateâŠ
The real explanation, which she'd be unable to express, would be that she had already met someone and she wanted to find out what would happen with it. That the ghost that lived in her house with her, the one who'd pushed Memo, was warmer, sweeter, smarter, and more handsome than Memo by leaps and bounds.
Not that Memo wasn't a catch. But Y/n liked Harry much more. Even if he was a ghost. And maybe him being a ghost was better for her in a way. Of course, she was insane. Perhaps if she were a more well-adjusted person with healthy relationships she'd be interested in living men. But most men made her uncomfortable.
"What if âwe just see?" Y/n placed her hand on his arm over his sweater as she kept his hand in hers, "Would that be okay with you?"
"I just don't think I can satisfy you how you need."
"So far you've done a great job of making me happy. I haven't felt this way about someone before. It's unconventional, yes, I know. But so what?"
He turned to face her, "So whatâŠ" he mimicked her words before he moved his hand to place at her hip. She could feel the weight of it on her side, "I can kiss you again?"
"Yes, Harry. Please do."
He leaned down slowly before she felt his nose bump into hers and then his lips press over her mouth. And it was sweet and emotional. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close as if he realized suddenly he couldn't let her get away.
It was different than kissing someone with skin and warm blood and saliva on their tongue. But she could feel it. Feel him pressed into her, his body his mouth, his hands on her back. She could feel his neck on her palm and it might have just been better than any other kiss ever. Because it was Harry she was kissing.
She felt him open his mouth and close his lips around her bottom lip, felt him poke his tongue against hers⊠so different but still it was real and so nice. He was conscious and he was kissing her and holding her.
Y/n pushed her hand up his neck and let her fingers card through his hair, whispy silk between her fingers. Every bit of him had mass even if it didn't feel quite the same, it was so close and that only excited her, made her insides light up and liquify.
She could tell he really seemed to enjoy it too, small moans fell from his throat as he brought a hand up to her jaw and kissed downward to her neck. Like he knew what he was doing. But he did know, didn't he? He was once a man, living on earth, meeting women and no doubt had at least some experience.
Y/n couldn't imagine that someone who looked like Harry would have trouble in that department. So he knew what he was doing.
And when he moved against her hips she felt a solid lump under his pants poking against her. Even though he said that it could be visible and that he could feel aroused, it still surprised her. Especially that she could feel it. A decent-sized lump. And she wouldn't classify that as just a lump either⊠more like the bulge of a man who was nicely endowed.
Her body was hot. She needed more. Gripping onto his back she pasted herself against him, letting him curve around her as he kissed her neck and her jaw. He was better than any man she'd met already. Sensual and full of emotion.
When he placed his mouth back against hers she realized that her back was pressed into the wall. She hadn't even realized they'd moved at all. With a moan, she raised her leg and hitched her thigh over his hip. Part of her thought that might deter him or make him stop. Maybe he'd be too shy or he'd tell her they didn't need to do that, but what happened instead was that he went in harder, hips glued to hers as he reached down to grasp her thigh to keep it in place.
And now the swollen bulge was pressed over her dress right where her pelvis was and he rocked against her.
"Oh god⊠HarryâŠ." her words were mushed into his mouth as he kept kissing her.
"Y/nâŠ"
"Let's go to bed."
Again, she thought perhaps it might be too much for him. That he'd try and slow down or maybe he'd back away⊠But she gasped when he picked her up and held her under her thighs and brought her to the bedroom. Like he'd just been waiting for permission and the shy and conflicted man from earlier was all but gone.
Her head was placed on her pillow, with his palm under her neck as he smothered her mouth with his. Y/n moved her legs apart for him and he settled against her, using his free hand to clasp over her hip.
It felt so good to be with him that way. It was exciting and soft and it made her insides ache. Reaching down for the button on his trousers he parted from the kiss and looked down at her hands as she pulled his pants open.
"I don't know if⊠it's gonna be different. I haven't done this before. Like this."
"It's okay. Will it feel good for you?"
He nodded, "Yes. I can still feel like that. Just don't know what'll be like for you."
Y/n bit her lip and pushed herself up, "I'm gonna take off my dress. Okay?"
"Okay. Should I⊠I don't know what to do."
It was funny that only moments before he was carrying her to the bed but now he was unsure of himself once again. She figured it would take some getting used to, "Can your clothes come off? Is it possible?"
"Yes. Should I take them off?"
Y/n smiled and cupped his cheek, "If you want to. If you want to find out what it'll feel like with me. It's up to you."
He nodded and pulled at his sweater, bringing it up over his head and Y/n reached for his torso, smoothing her hand up to his pecs and shoulders. He was fit and looked strong. Tattoos on his chest and his arms. It wasn't what she expected exactly. She had seen the peek of tattoos on his hand but hadn't imagined he had many more. She'd been wrong.
Lifting herself she slid her dress off and unplucked her bra to get rid of the uncomfortable thing, tossing them to the floor as she watched him bring his pants down. He had on blue boxer shorts. She didn't want to let her mind go there, but she wondered if those were the last clothes he wore as a living person. Most likely.
He looked at her, searching her face and then his gaze dropped over her body. Her breasts, her tummy, her panties. She reached for his hand to place on her breast, "What does it feel like?"
Harry blinked his eyes closed, "It feels real." He reached up with his other hand to cup her opposite side and softly massaged, opening his eyes to watch as his palms smushed and slid over her skin.
Y/n inhaled as she let him group and knead. The gentle fondling was perfect.
Harry adjusted his position, bending his knees as he leaned in and looked at her, mouth nearing her nipple, "Can I?"
Nodding she placed her hand in his hair when she felt his mouth on her tit. She could hardly tell the difference. It wasn't wet and warm but his mouth was on her. He switched sides and focused on her nipple.
"Fuck⊠Harry that feels good."
Looking up at her he pulled away, "Does it?"
"Yes. You're really good. I like this. How do you feel?"
"I like it too. A lot. I feelâŠ" he shook his head, lips parted, "Like a man. Like I'm alive again."
Y/n reached down for his thigh and ran her hand upward, "Can I touch you too?"
He looked down at his lap, blue boxer shorts tented from his erection as he nodded and shifted to his knees so he could bring them down and off.
And fuck if he just didn't look completely real. Like a live man with a big cock and soft green eyes looking at her for approval.
Y/n got to her knees and dragged her hands down his chest and over the silky bits of hair, "You're very handsome. I've never seen a more attractive man, Harry. Everything about youâŠ"
When her palm found the underside of him there was weight to it. Bulk. She was having a difficult time understanding it all. That he wasn't flesh, nor alive, but that he was conscious and he was solid. The moment her palm dragged upward on his length, fingers curling around his shaft he sputtered a deep moan.
"Feels good?"
He nodded, "Just like when I⊠from a long time ago."
"When you were still alive? When you had a woman in your bed with you?"
He nodded again, "Yes."
"Good. I want to make you feel good."
He moaned again as she worked her fist over him. He was long and he had girth. A very nice cock for a ghost, she laughed to herself about how her inner dialogue was working itself out.
"I want to make you feel good too," he placed a hand at her hip over her cotton panties and she smiled at him. Of course, he did. Harry seemed like a giver. That much she did know.
Releasing him from her hand, she peeled her panties off and Harry quickly pushed her down to the bed and tucked in between her legs, hands sliding up her inner thighs, "You're so pretty."
Y/n giggled and turned her eyes to her ceiling. No one would ever believe she was doing something like this. Hell, she hardly believed it herself. When she looked back at Harry she pulled his hand to bring up to her center, "You can touch if you want. In fact, you can do whatever you like. I trust you."
His lips parted as he grazed his fingertips through her labia and kept his eyes on her pussy. Soft strokes up and down like he was inspecting until he slid his pointer finger up to her clit and looked into her eyes as he started to circle, "You're getting wet. That feels good?"
A laugh puffed from her lips as she nodded, "It feels so good. You make me wet, Harry."
His brows pinched together as he leaned over her body to kiss her, fingers still gently circling her bud. She reached down to stroke him in her hand, making him moan into her mouth.
He thrust into her hand softly as he pressed a finger inside of her. She inhaled sharply, "YesâŠ"
"Yeah?" He panted against her mouth, finger tucked inside of her thrusting as she pumped him the best she could with the angle.
And he might have been a ghost but when he added another finger the gushy sound her pussy made couldn't be mistaken. As if something solid was plunging into her. Which made her certain his dick would be the same. Better.
Pushing at his chest he backed away from the kiss as she pulled his shaft, angling his tip at her mons, just above where he was pumping his fingers into her, "You can if you want. I think it'll feel good."
He didn't say anything but when he pulled his fingers out and grasped around his cock, hand over hers he kept his pupils pinned to her eyes as he dragged his tip through her pussylips and down to her opening.
The moment he began to penetrate they both dropped their mouths open. It felt just like it should. Two people connecting with their bodies and their emotions. The friction felt different inside of her but she could feel the weight and the circumference of him slowly sliding into her walls.
As he blew out a harsh breath, she could feel it on her neck. It wasn't humid nor warm, but she felt the draft against her skin as he buried in.
"Can you feel me?"
Y/n reached her hands around his back, "I can feel all of you. Keep going."
He dropped his hips down against hers, pushing himself in and then easing back, dragging through her insides deliciously.
"I can feel how wet it is around me. So warm⊠SqueezingâŠ"
She panted as she placed her feet flat on the mattress and rolled up against him, her clit pressing into his pelvis as he rocked into her so gently. So easy and so soft, but the swollen length inside of her was anything but soft. She felt every inch of it as he worked in and pulled back.
"It's so hard. Harry, you feel so good," she mewled before he pushed his lips against hers again.
Her old bed creaked in time with his languid pace. He held her tight, one hand at the back of her head and the other wrapped under her back as he fucked himself into her warm, gummy channel.
As fantastic as Y/n felt she imagined for him it was even better. He could feel her temperature and the moisture of her arousal, he could feel the tightness of her around him as he drove into her and surely he could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
She was in heaven. Y/n would swear off men forever if she could have this with Harry. They could have soft, lazy days together in silence, go mushroom hunting together in the afternoons, and have deep conversations about the world and biology and books they'd read⊠then go to bed together every night with full hearts. She'd be satisfied with him. It didn't matter what people thought of her. The strange woman who moved into the woods to live alone, never married or had kids, never had an interest in datingâŠ
He grunted as he began to plunge in harder. He was feeling it. Just like any man would. His release, whatever that might look like for a ghost, was coming. She lifted her hips against his thrusts as he wound his lips around her slowly. The faster he moved his hips and worked into her the louder her mattress squeaked under her.
She gasped as he ground into her, swiveling his hips and groaning into her mouth, "Right thereâŠ" She panted.
If he kept his pelvis against her clit she'd come, "Don't stop. Just like thatâŠ"
So he rocked against her like she wanted, pelvis pasted to her clit as he tucked in deeper and filled her insides with his sturdy mass. She felt his hand move down, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck as she ran her tongue against his.
With their bodies glued together, Harry's big cock stuffing her and his hips down against hers she began to shake. He flexed his glutes and thighs as he continued sliding into her, raking against her walls, patting against her softly when her metal headboard started to hit her wall with every other plunge.
Harry stopped abruptly but Y/n draped a leg over his low back and pressed her hands into his bum, "Keep going. I'm gonna comeâŠ"
Shifting against her he prodded into her guts that time, making her hiss as he dragged his lips down to her neck.
"Oh fuckâŠ" she moaned into the dark room as he plowed into her tummy, sucking on her delicate skin between panted breaths.
She loved how it felt to have him curled around her like that, arm holding her close, hips pressed against hers as his thighs pushed against the underside of her own. She loved how he did it so tenderly but so needy.
Because it'd been a long long time since he'd had sex. The poor guy had been moping in the shadows for so long, he deserved a warm pussy to enjoy. He deserved her.
When she started to come her lips parted and she sobbed his name. She also hadn't had sex in a long time. Not with another person anyway. And Harry was just as much a man (more so even) than what she'd had in the past. He grunted against her neck as she arched into him, her pussy clenching and sucking him in as she released around him.
He whimpered and then moaned loudly and suddenly he pulled his arm from under her back and took both hands to hold her hips down as he pounded into her, the frame of her bed slapping into the wall and creaking loudly as he came. His big cock was pushing into her depth, bulbous head dragging into her guts as he orgasmed. He gasped and panted as he rutted in and then stilled his hips as he bottomed out inside of her.
She rather enjoyed the way he manhandled her at the end. Holding her down so he could fuck into her to finish himself off like that. The gruff noises he was making and the pinch of pain she felt from having something so hard and so big drill into her tummy was actually quite pleasant. Satisfying.
And just as if he were alive and needed oxygen in his lungs, his chest was heaving as he looked down at he, letting go of her hips, pulling her up into his arms, and dragging her into his lap.
"Are you okay?" He asked her as he kissed her cheek and placed his palm on the back of her head.
She wrapped her arms around his torso, "I'm so good. That was so good, Harry."
He looked at her, holding her face in his hands, "It was?"
Nodding she ran her fingers up his back, "The best."
âšđ',âą* đ *âą,'đâš
Y/n would have loved to tell everyone about her boyfriend. About how happy she was and how amazingly well they got along. But she couldn't. Because if she did some of the more nosy ones (her mom for example) would want to meet him. Would want to invite him over for a family dinner so everyone could meet him.
And when she'd have to tell her mom that he wouldn't be joining them for dinner she'd be convinced that he was a lowlife. A deadbeat. Which was the furthest thing from the truth.
No. He's not a flake. He's a ghost.
So, she just told everyone she was happiest single. That men were garbage anyway (that was true).
She was happy. And so was Harry.
"I feel like this is what I was supposed to do. Meet you in the afterlife. Well, my afterlife. So our timelines would fit together."
Y/n grinned and dropped a mushroom into her basket, "I think so too. We were meant to meet, weren't we?"
Harry smiled and looked up at the sun poking through the canopy of the trees above, "It's all I ever wanted."
Y/n took his hand and looked up at the trees with him. Most of them had lost their leaves as the weather was turning chillier. This was the time of year, Harry said, that his favorite mushrooms were out. Chicken of the woods and oyster. She was going to saute them with butter and eat with the pot of lentil soup she had started before they went out to forage.
Squeezing his hand and leaning into his arm she turned her gaze from the trees to her handsome ghost, "It's all I ever wanted too."
Summary:Â The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.
Word Count: 7.2k
Content Warning:Â 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!
âOh, absolutely not.â
âCome on. Just one time.â
âNo. Are you out of your fucking mind?â
âProbably. I havenât slept in 32 hours.â
You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You donât even want to see him. Because you donât want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know youâll regret it.Â
âPoppy, please,â he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. âIâve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I justâŠI wanted to try. See if it still does.â
You frown. âYou realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?â
âYeah, but thatâs all I want to do. Sleep,â he insists again. âReally. Iâll keep my hands to myself and I wonât even talk to you.â
You consider this. Truthfully, you havenât slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, youâve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine.Â
But he broke your heart. And now youâre both paying the price.
âJust one night,â he pleads again. âAnd if it doesnât work, I swear I wonât bother you ever again.â
Thereâs a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.
You take a deep breath. Perhaps youâre curious, too. Even if you donât want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe youâll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.
Or maybe it wonât.
But at least if it doesnât, maybe you can find some closure.
So, with that thoughtâŠyou open the door.Â
He looks worse than youâve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if youâre being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.
And youâre surprised. Heâs been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if thereâs something else keeping him awake.
It wouldnât be the first time.
But you donât fight with him. Heâs not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.
He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesnât recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.
âWhat?â you huff.
He shakes his head. âI donât know, you lookâŠdifferent.â
âOkayâŠ?â
âYou changed your hair.â
âYeah.â
âHm. Itâs nice.â
You cross your arms. âThanks.â
âSure.â
Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.
âWellâŠdo you wannaâŠ?â you eventually say, and he nods.
âRight, yeah.â
âOkay.â
You turn to lead him to your room and itâsâŠunsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.
When you get there, his surprise returns. âYou changed your room, too.â
âYeah.â
âOh. Why?â
Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. âThis is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadnât touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.â
He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. âI like it.â
âI donât care.â
He smiles. âI know.â
âGreat. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?â
Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. âNever thought Iâd hear you say that again.â
âNever thought Iâd have to say it.â
âMm. You changed your mattress.â
âObviously.â
âAnd the sheets and blankets, too.â
âUh-huh.â
âIs there anything in here you didnât change?â
âThe carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldnât.â
âRight.â Heâs smiling again. âBut you did get a rug.â
âYeah.â
âItâs nice.â
âBite me.â
He laughs now and you want to smack him. âI see you still get grumpy when youâre tired.â
âNo, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,â you argue. And you know youâre being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything heâs put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions.Â
You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. Youâre both stiff, unable to relax when youâre this close. You donât want to touchânot the way you used to. And you donât want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose youâll have to in order to sleep.
And then he says, âI really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.â
You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. âOkay.â
âMelatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank thoseâŠsleep mocktail things everyone talks about.â He shifts. âI donât know, I guess my brain just wouldnât turn off.â
âYeah. I know.â
More quiet.
âI havenât done any since we broke up,â he finally says. Gentle, like heâs afraid to break the silence.Â
Your lashes flutter. He doesnât have to say it for you to know what he means. âGreat.â
âYeah.â Another beat. âI thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. Iâve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeksâŠâ
âRight.â
âAnd I just figuredââ
âNo, I got it. Itâs fine, letâs justâŠletâs just try to sleep,â you say and he nods.
The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you canât when heâs breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like heâs in pain.
âWhat?â you eventually hiss.
âAre you dating someone?â he asks.
âWhat?â
âAre you dating someone?â he repeats. âJosie said you were.â
You hesitate. âI donât know. Kind of. I guess.â
âYou guess?â
âWeâreâŠweâve been on a few dates. Itâs not official.â
âHe hasnât asked you to be his girlfriend?â
âWhy does it matter?â
âI donât know. It doesnât. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.â
âOh, do I?â You roll your head to look at him. âFunny, you didnât seem to think so when you were dating me.â
Surprised, you twist your fingers together. âUhâŠyeah. Right. Thank you.â
His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. âIâm sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guyâŠIâll be happy for you.â
You swallow before sighing to yourself. âI mean, I donât know if I did. HeâsâŠheâs really nice. But heâs soâŠheâs justâŠâ
âVanilla?â
Your eyes widen. âYeah. How did youââ
âHe was wearing Crocs with tube socks.â
You laughâloud. âOh my god, how did you know?â
âI might have looked him up,â he admits through a grin. âWanted to make sure he was worth your time.â
âYeah? And?â
âAnd he wears Crocs with tube socks. He canât make you cum.â
Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. âEw, Harry. Itâs not about thatââ
âItâs always about that. Come on, am I wrong?â
âYouâyes. What he wears has nothing to do with what heâs like in bedââ
âSo heâs not vanilla?â
âHeâsâŠâ You pause. âHeâŠlook, he really triesââ
âSo, he is,â Harry finishes for you. âWell, at least you got some.â
âIâŠyeah. Uh-huh.â
Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. âHe couldnât get it up, could he?â
âHarry,â you groan, and reach out to swat him. âStop, it wasnât that. We justâŠwe were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just notâŠall of it.â
âSo what heâd do?â
âHarryââ
âCome on, weâre adults, just tell me.â
âEw, noââ
âListen, you used to get fucked good. Iâm just trying to help you get back to that.â
You frown but do oblige. âI donât know. He ate me out and I blew him. Thatâs it.â
âAndâŠ?â
âAndâŠI donât know. He was fine. He was good.â
âSure.â
Your eyes roll. âOkay, heâŠhe wasnât really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.â
Now, Harryâs features scrunch, too. âShit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.â
âI guess. It could have been worse.â
âReally? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesnât have to?â
You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. âI guess they canât all be you.â
âDamn fucking right,â he scoffs. âSeriously, you still wanted to see him after that?â
âHeâs cute,â you argue. âAnd nice. And yeah, maybe heâs not that adventurous but thatâs okay. I donât need wild sex all the time.â
Heâs quiet. âHow about just one time?â
You turn back. âWhat?â
âIâokay, I was just thinkingâŠyou know, one of the things we would do when we couldnât sleep wasâŠfuck, soââ
âOh, absolutely not.â You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. âNo. Forget itââ
âPoppyââ
âDonât call me that,â you huff. âYou donât get to call me that ever again. Okay, Iâm not gonna fuck you just so we can sleepââ
âIt wouldnât be just for that,â he argues, sitting up as well. âIt would also help your mood, tooââ
âOh, my mood?â You glare at him. âMy mood is just fine, actually. In fact, Iâd say itâs pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first placeââ
âYou didnât have to. Iâm just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boringââ
âOh, my god. Itâs not a lifetime and youâre a fucking assholeââ
âYeah. Weâve established that. Doesnât change the fact that you need it.â
You stare at him. âIs that why youâre really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?â
He leans back. âWhat? No. I donât trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestionââ
âYeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think Iâd say yes?â
âYeah,â he admits haughtily. âYeah, because we didnât break up over the sex. We broke up because youâre an uptightââ
âWhat? Say it,â you sneer. âSay it. Iâm an uptight bitch because I wouldnât let you do cocaine.â
He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. âI could never do anything right.â
âThat wasnât the problem and you know it.â You pull your legs to your chest. âI wanted to move forward and you kept going back. Youâre almost 30 and you still act like youâre 19.â
âMaybe I didnât want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,â he says. âMaybe I liked things the way they wereââ
âNo. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the billsââ
âYou didnât pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to helpââ
âYeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.â You study him closely. âYou were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.â
âSo, thatâs it, huh? Iâm just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?â
âNo, obviously not. I wasnât perfect. I know that.â
âDo you?â His eyes flick between yours. âYou didnât want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didnât remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.â
âSo? Iâm not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?â
âNo. But you didnât want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.â
âRight. Because you were shit-faced all the time.â
He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and thenâŠhe surges forward.
Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, youâre not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.
But you donât fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And itâs far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.
Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. Youâre desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, youâre stripping each other of the few clothes you have.
He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.
The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, youâre nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.
He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you donât exactly know how to say.Â
His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.
âAre you all right?â he finally whispers, and he doesnât sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. âIs this okay?â
You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, youâll ruin it. âYeah. Go.â
He doesnât. âWe donât have to,â he says. âYou were right, itâs probably a dumb ideaââ
âYeah, butâŠit always works.â You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. âAnd Iâm tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleepâŠtired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So letâs do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.â
Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.
He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You donât have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.
Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You arenât exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you donât expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and youâre more than all right with that.
However, heâs not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.
âShit,â he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. âFucking missed this.â
You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. âYeah?â
âYeah.â He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. âI know you missed it, too.â
âHm. Donât push it.â
âWhy not?â He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. âAre you really gonna tell me you didnât?âÂ
âMaybe.â
âSo Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?â
ââŠnot exactly.â
âRight.â He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. âDonât worry, Poppy, Iâll fix it.â
âDonâtâŠcall me that,â you pant again, and he chuckles.
âDonât know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.â
âBut now Iâm not,â you say. âNow you call me nothing. Because Iâm not yours to call.â
He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, âJust put it in already.â
He smirks. âHow romantic.â
âItâs not supposed to be. Just come on.â
So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.
Truthfully, youâve missed the sounds he makes when heâs turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over.Â
Heâs stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.
And itâs closer than you expected. Thereâs something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out.Â
Because heâs not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.
He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, âKeep going,â that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.
Youâre sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then youâll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.
But how can you move on when youâre still under him? How can you insist that youâre fine and doing great if youâre so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?
There are other remedies to insomnia that donât involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment.Â
Either way, youâre coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh.Â
And just like thatâŠ
Itâs over.
You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadnât left. But he wasnât with you.
Heâs staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. Youâre not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesnât acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.
Curious, you call, âWhatâs wrong?â
He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. âI used to love this window,â he eventually says. Soft, like heâs reminiscing. âThe way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and youâd get so excited. How youâd make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.â
You blink. âUmâŠokay.â
He turns and his eyes find yours. âI fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.â
The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. âI know,â you finally whisper. âThatâs why I changed it.â
âI know,â he whispers back. His expression falls. âYou changed everything. This apartment, your lifeâŠus.â
âBecause I had to,â you argue, glancing back up. âI had to, Harry. I couldnât keep going in circles. I couldnât drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.âÂ
âBecause the future you always painted didnât seem to have room for me,â he huffs. âOkay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. Youâd planned out the next 30 years and I didnât see myself anywhere in your picture.â
âI didnât fucking care about the parties or the school districts,â you nearly yell. âGod, IâI didnât want the white picket fence life. I didnât want the 1950âs American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasnât gonna trade what we had just for thatââ
âBut you did. You didnât tell your parents weâd moved in together. You didnât even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talkedââ
âBecause you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because youâd had a âhard day.â So, no. I didnât want to talk to you when I knew you werenât even listening in the first place.â
 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. âYou resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasnât perfect like your precious new friendsââ
âOh, thatâsââ You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. âNo. I didnât want you to be like them. I didnât want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resentedâŠwas the fact that you wouldnât take care of yourself.â
âI was taking care of myselfââ
âBullshit. You were doing drugsâyou were doing cocaineâand you werenât eating, you werenât sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to deathââ
âRight, but I wasnât doing it all the time. It was justâŠit was occasionally, and it wasnât a lotââ
âI donât care. You shouldnât have been doing it at all, Harry,â you finally shout. âYouâŠyou scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thoughtâŠI thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?â
He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. âPoppy, I wasnât trying to scare you, IâŠI didnât knowââ
âYes, you did,â you scoff. âI told you, over and over that I didnât want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.â
He nods once. âI know, Iâm sorry.â
âYouâre sorry?â
âYeah. I am.â He looks at you. âSâwhy I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.â
You nod, too. âGood. Iâm glad.â
His gaze dances around the kitchen. âI hate that you changed everything,â he says again, and your heart wrenches. âI hate that it doesnât look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.â
You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. âYeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesnât look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.â
His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, heâs reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.
âNo,â you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. âNo, you canâtâŠyou canâtââ
âYes, I can,â he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. âYou donât get to cry over me anymore. Youâre better than that now. You did what I couldnât. You moved on. And I donât get to ruin that for you.â
You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. âIt wasnât about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.â
âPoppy,â he breathes and holds you tighter. âYou shouldnât have to be.â
And deep downâŠyou know heâs right.
âShit, just like thatâŠa little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.â
Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.
Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counterânearly insisted on it, in factâbut you knew you didnât want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you werenât about to just for him.
So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like youâre sinking when you sit.Â
You told him you didnât care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.
Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.
And you decided that maybe you donât mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.
âMissed this, too,â he says now as he nips at your clit. âGod, youâve always tasted so fucking good. Sâfucking crazy, baby. Canât ever get enough.â
âSure,â you snort, head dropping back. âIâm sure you say that to all the girlsââ
âNo.â He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. âNo, thereâs no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?â
âWith a mouth like that? Yeah,â you admit. He laughs. âThatâs how we met. You were suchâfuckâsuch a player.â
âMaybe,â he concedes before mouthing at you again. âBut nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.â
You snort. âWhereâd you learn that line?â
âItâs not a line. Itâs the truth.â
âHarry. Come on. I know you.â
âThen you should know I donât say shit I donât mean.â He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. âOh, pretty girl. Sâjust drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last oneâŠneed Daddy to make it better?â
You scrunch your nose. âYou donât get to call yourself that anymore.â
âNo?â He grins. âWhy not?â
âBecause I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.â
He tsks. âI donât know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.â
You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. âNever.â
He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. âCome on, baby. Donât be mean to Daddy.â
You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But heâs rightâyou have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you donât imagine youâll survive this one.Â
He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. Itâs practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.
Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy.Â
âStop squirming,â he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. âDonât be a brat.â
âMânot,â you whimper. âNot a bratâŠjust wanna cum.â
âDo you, hm?â He licks you again then adds two fingers. âShould I let you?â
âObviously.â
âObviously?â Heâs smirking now as he starts to go faster. âMaybe youâre right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.â
You pout. âMhm.â
Heâs so happy. Heâs always his happiest when heâs suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle.Â
And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment.Â
âHarry,â you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.
âI know, Poppy,â he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. âI know.â
You like the way Harryâs chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.
Heâs gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quietâyou havenât spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know youâll desperately need it soon.Â
But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisceâpretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.
You werenât sure youâd ever feel this kind of peace again.
âI missed you, too, you know,â he whispers after a moment.
You glance up.Â
âI didnât just miss your apartment. I missed you.â He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. âI miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when weâd watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.â
You swallow a lump in your throat. âHarâŠâ
âAnd I donât know what happened,â he says. âI felt likeâŠI felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldnât keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didnât.â
âI didnât know,â you argue gently. âNot really. I hate my job. I hate that I donât enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldnât be enough.â
He presses his cheek to the top of your head. âYou should do what makes you happy.â
âYou used to make me happy.â
The soft strokes against your spine slow.Â
âYou did, Har,â you tell him. âSo happy. Thatâs why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.â
âMaybe we needed to lose each other,â he says and you feel sick. âMaybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.â
You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.
But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.
âThereâs a reason we broke up,â you finally murmur. âWe didnâtâŠwe didnât like each other anymore. We were holding each other backââ
âI liked you,â he says softly. âI loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didnât just stop loving you.âÂ
âMaybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldnât beâŠhere.â
More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.
And then, âI canât sleep because of you.â
You suck in a quiet breath. âWhat?â
âWhen Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldnâtâŠI couldnât stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I justâŠI didnât know what to do.â
Another pause. You donât know what to say.
âI put my fist through a wall,â he tells you. âAnd somehow, that still didnât hurt as much as knowing youâd moved on.â
You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. âHarry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.â
âDid we?â
âHarryâŠâ
âBut so soon? Itâs only been five months.â
âYeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.â You close your eyes. Tight. âWeâre better people now.â
âNo, weâre tired people now,â he teases, and you smile. âAnd I think Iâll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.â
âDonât say that.â
âI mean it. Iâm always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.â
âI fucked up, too,â you argue. âI should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. Youâre right, I was ashamed of you. Of thisâŠroutine weâd fallen into. And Iâm sorry.â
He says nothing. After all, thereâs nothing more to say.
But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.
âFuckâŠfuck, Poppy, pleaseââ
You grin as you lick your lips. Heâs always sounded the most beautiful when heâs begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat.Â
âWhat, Daddy?â you ask innocently. âWhat do you need me to do?â
His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. âPleaseâŠâ
You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until heâs making another strained noise that sounds like sex.
You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.
âGood boy,â you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further.Â
He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. âEasyâŠeasy, baby. Sâbeen a while. Donât hurt yourselfââ
You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.
His head drops into the pillows. âShitâPoppy, I mean it. Mânot gonna fuck your throat. Itâs gonna hurt and I donât wanna hurt you anymore.â
Itâs an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. âIâm fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.â
âYeah?â He pushes up onto his elbows. âIs Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?â
You grin. âNo. But that dildo you got me last year is.â
He blinks. âYouâŠfucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?â
âMhm.â You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. âAnd then I fuck myself. And I pretend itâs you.â
He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. âAre you serious?â
You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. âYeahâŠI know thatâsâŠprobably weird, butâŠI mean, you got it for me, so I thought Iâd be weirder to think about someone elseââ
âNo, itâsâŠâ He stops. Struggles. âShit, I really needed to hear that.â
âOh, you did, huh?âÂ
âYeah. I wouldnât want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. Itâs got my fucking initials on it.â
You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. âYeah, it does, doesnât it? It was a pretty good gift, Iâll admit.â
âSâa fucking perfect gift,â he retorts. âWe had a lot of fun with that dildo.â
âWe did indeed.â
âBut apparently not as much fun as youâre having with it.â
âFucking myself helps me sleep,â you remind him. âSo sometimes itâs necessity.â
âIs that right?âÂ
âMhm.â You squeeze the base and he twitches. âYou used to watch me. Remember?â
âI do.â His eyes get darker. âDo you fuck yourself a lot?â
ââŠthese days, yeah. Apparently, I canât sleep all that well, either.â
âAnd does it work?â
âMost of the time, yeah.â You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, âSometimes I pretend youâre here. Sleeping next to me. AndâŠthat helps, too.â
He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. âPoppyââ
âNo, donât look at me like that, itâs dumbââ
âI imagine you, too.â
You blink. âYou do?â
âEvery night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I canât fucking sleep.â
You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. âShit. Weâre a mess.â
He smiles. âYeah.â
The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop.Â
Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.
Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent.Â
Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.
Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.
The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.
He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.
You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.
You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot.Â
You know youâre both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave.Â
And thereâs a chance you wonât see him again.
You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that thatâs not enough. That what you want and what you should want donât align.
Instead, heâll move on with his life and youâll move on with yours.
But you donât want to learn how to fall asleep without him.
âMake me a deal,â you whisper.
He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. âWhat?â
âIf I wake up, and youâre still hereâŠwe do this again. NotâŠas a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.â
His eyes open.
âBut if youâre gone,â you continue, âthen we donât. We donât do it again, we donât see each other again, we donât reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.â
He seems saddened by this, and you hate that youâve made him sad. But you both know itâs for the best. This wonât be sustainable in the long run. And maybe itâs a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.
Even if itâs just as friends.
Exes.
Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.
His lips press together and he nods once. âDeal,â he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, heâs already made a decision.
You arenât sure which way, but you suppose youâll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.
Youâre not sure how long youâre out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open.Â
You donât see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you donât feel him, either. But youâre too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that heâs gone. For good.
And then, just when you think youâve lost himâŠyou hear the most beautiful sound in the world.
Your first few weeks on set go by in a blur of learning the ropes. You follow Briony around a lot and listen to her use words youâve never heard, like striking and dolly grip. You learn the difference between a first assistant camera and second, though it doesnât seem to make much sense when Maggie points around nonchalantly and gets interrupted by a joke coming from the walkie-talkie on her hip.Â
It was going well! Aside from whatever whirring now thumps in your chest when Brett comes up beside you. Youâre still in good impression mode for another, like, 3 weeks.
âHi,â he says, a smile and nod when you look up to see him. âHopefully youâre liking this lot so far?â
âSo far,â you nod, appreciative of his inquiry. âBut I also heard it takes a few weeks for you all to turn into divas.â
He pulls a hand to his chest in mock offense. The jacket heâs wearing belongs to his character, but the color suits him well. âI usually wait until at least halfway through!â
âHellooo,â Maggie sidles up and smiles at both of you. Jasonâs right behind her and when the four of you stand in a make-shift circle, youâre acutely aware of the way Jason angles himself toward you.Â
âWeâve got a lot to get through today--wanted to have you hear all of this as well,â Jason says this to you in particular before Maggie launches into some sort of schedule. Sheâs listing numbers and tasks and referencing scenes by shorthand lingo that only makes half sense.Â
Itâs weird, you realize, that while youâre here on set and working alongside them, your job is different in almost every way: itâs focused entirely on him. Which is maybe a bad thing, seeing as your stomach still does this little flip when you notice the dimple on his cheek that you remember from Day 1.Â
Lucky for you, though, most of your time on set is spent in Jasonâs office. Scheduling his travel and handling his emails and pulling the strings behind the scenes so his actual job here was easier. Youâre in constant contact with his manager, his nanny, even sometimes seeing messages from his ex or his friends come through before you pass them right up the ladder.
Briony pops in and out, often passing messages from Jason to you and then in return. She was the coffee kid, still young enough to be excited by that type of task and good enough to never mess up an order.
Poppy hurries by and after you commit the entire shooting schedule of the day to memory, you return to Jasonâs office to actually get your work done. Today, primarily, was to be spent going through emails and calendars, plugging in meetings and finalizing his schedule for the next two weeks before filming really picked up.
But thereâs a knock on the door that grabs your attention before your inbox is even open. Brendanâs there, a binder in hand and a hesitant smile when you both realize youâve never been alone in a room together.Â
âHi,â he says a bit awkwardly. âYâknow where Jason is?â
âHe was with Paul and Jenna near Rebeccaâs office,â you hoped you were getting the names right, blending real people with characters in the same way that didnât trip up the rest of them. âAnything I can help with?â
He holds your gaze for a second, almost skeptical, but then decides heâll at least give it a shot.Â
âIâm looking for a list of scenes weâre shooting today. Not the actual schedule that got sent out but the list of ones Jason wants to do if we can move more quickly than everyone thinks we can.âÂ
You stand from your spot on the couch and nod thoughtfully, walking towards his desk as your eyes start to scan the piles of paper. Youâve learned his system bit by bit: the pile on the left is Lasso-related but not urgent. The pile on the right is more personal, with a higher level of urgency. Work-related urgent things get put on top of his laptop, or, if he seems to think itâs really important, sometimes he takes a picture of it and emails it to himself.Â
As of now you find it mostly adorable that a guy in his mid-forties is sending himself emails with picture attachments so he doesnât forget stuff. Youâll have to give him a crash course in the reminders app at some point.
You locate the piece of paper you saw him scribbling on yesterday, the red ink of the pen he clips into his pocket smudged in the corner. Todayâs scenes are listed out in the same shorthand code youâve heard Maggie use, Jasonâs chicken scratch is in the margins in red ink.
You hold it up before you look back towards Brendan. His brows are arched when you take a step over and deliver, what you assume, is exactly what he was looking for.Â
He scans it. Nods.Â
âThree extra scenes sounds ambitious to me,â you try to crack a joke, feeling weird about the fact that youâve yet to bond with Brendan.Â
âYou can read his handwriting?â He looks up at you again, more quickly this time, surprise on his face when you nod.Â
âYes--yeah,â you stammer like this is an embarrassing admission. âShould I not be able to?â
âJessie always complained,â he shrugs, eyes back down to the piece of paper youâd handed over.Â
âItâs messy as shit but I figured if I canât read his handwriting then weâre all fucked.â
The corner of Brendanâs mouth flicks into a smile, a tiny laugh before he salutes you in farewell and his footsteps fade down the hallway.
**
April 2022
The end of March sputtered more rain onto the London streets than youâd ever seen in Los Angeles. Maggie promised it wouldnât be like this the whole time, but now, on the third rainy Friday in a row, you were beginning to think your friend was a liar.Â
âItâs bad luck,â Jason comments as he looks out the window into his backyard, ânot bad weather.â
Thunder booms overhead and the British Airways website logo keeps flickering on the page, please be patient while we locate your booking!
âYouâre beginning to sound like a London apologist,â you look up at him from your laptop screen, eyebrows arched to challenge his statement. The backyard gets lit up again, the line of trees overhead is visible in the flash of lightning that cracks open the sky.
He smirks at your retort, âforgive me for not wanting you to hate the place you agreed to move.â
His hands are in his pockets but he moves to sit on the couch across from you. You showed up 20-minutes ago, laptop in tow after he heard you mention something on set about your travel plans to Amsterdam.Â
âLondon could have been on fire and I would still have come,â you think aloud as the page blinks back to life. âOkay, here,â you sit up. âBooking 1430-3925-098, business class to Schiphol.â
âCancel it.â
âYouâre sure?â You look up at him now, finger hovering over the trackpad.Â
âPositive,â he stands and nods. âRed or white?â
âHmm?â
You click the button, Yes, Iâm Sure!, but then notice heâs waiting for you to reply.Â
âWine,â he laughs. âRed or white?â
You pause, is this a test? Is having a glass of wine with him on a Friday night in his living room crossing a line? No, you decide when he holds your gaze for a moment. If it wasnât crossing a line with Kyle or Reese or any other boss youâve had, itâs not crossing a line with him.Â
And besides, heâs not your boss, technically.Â
âRed.â
He smiles at your answer and makes his way towards the kitchen. âSo why would a fiery London not be a deterrent?âÂ
You set your laptop on the coffee table, a few steps over to stand in the doorway as he pursues his wine rack.
âSorry?â Youâre confused now, still watching when he scans the label of a bottle before he sets it on the Island.Â
It was a long week. Youâd been on set every morning at 6:30am. Most days you left work around 4 or 5, and Jason was good about making sure you took lunch breaks and had enough coffee and knew all the good places to hide for five minutes of quiet when the set got too crowded.Â
âYou said London could have been on fire and you would have moved here still,â he reminds you, his eyes watching for your reaction as you lean against the door frame.Â
You nod slowly and let your eyes flutter shut in embarrassment. Whatâs the most professional way to say: I got dumped and fired in the span of two weeks and my life felt like a living hell, so surely London ablaze would be manageable?
You decide there isnât one, so you bend the truth as he searches for a wine opener. âI was in desperate need of a change of scenery.â
âChristmas in LA does suck,â he nods.Â
âLuckily I didnât have to withstand that torture,â you walk over to the drawer on his right, the one that Jessieâs binder said had miscellaneous kitchen tools and utensils. You open it and pull out an opener and hand it over. âI was in New York for the holidays, left LA right after Thanksgiving.â
He opens the bottle and nods sympathetically. âSomething about December in LA always feelsâŠdepressing.â
âYeah,â you let out a breath at that word, one that circled and swirled in your brain for days and weeks before you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. Your parents were worried and your sister was three-seconds and a text message away from booking a flight out there to beat the shit of your ex, as she so kindly offered.
He pours the first glass, stealing a peek in your direction when he thinks you arenât looking. You are.Â
âSo--yeah, Los Angeles, change of scenery, back to New York. Now London.â He pours his own and then brings them both over, clinks his wine glass against yours before you both take a quiet sip in the kitchen. âWhat on earth made you take this job?â
You smirk, sure you canât say what pops into your mind: a new city, a penchant for spontaneity after a crisis, the chance to work for your friendâs hot bossâŠ
âOh god,â he laughs, taking in your expression when your cheeks flush. âDid someone make you come here? Have you been kidnapped? Forced against your will?â
âNo,â you roll your eyes at his playfulness and laugh. âI just--I really needed a job and a fresh start, I guess.â
He nods in understanding, takes another sip in the quiet. âYeah, I get that.â
Youâre not sure why it suddenly comes out, honest, blunt, a thud on the fancy tile of his kitchen.Â
âMy boyfriend and I broke up--we lived together--then my job kind of exploded, well, Kyleâs life did too, so, Maggie took pity, I guess, when she realized my life was a shit show.â
Heâs a little caught off guard by your confession, his eyebrows are slightly lifted and you canât read: is it curiosity or concern? Like, did I hire a psychopath concern.Â
But that must not be it, because when you take a loud slurp of wine to drown out the awkward silence, he swallows and nods.Â
Your lips pull into a smile at his show of humanity, but then he gestures for you to follow him back to the living room. Youâd known about his failed relationship, saw headlines and heard murmurs but didnât pay much mind. You didnât think in a few years time youâd be drinking wine on his couch on a rainy Friday.
âAnd now youâre single?â He asks over his shoulder, more of a follow up on your recent disclosure than the flirtation you wish it was. He sits down and you watch the way his knees knock together in khakis.Â
âFirst time in 6 years,â you say over the rim of your glass, returning to your spot on the sofa.Â
Heâs watching you, like youâre throwing him off somehow or heâs intrigued. You realize you like it.
And then you remember why youâre here, tonight, in the first place: Amsterdam. The location shoot for the temp gig. Your temp gig job. Your job, him sitting across the room from you as not the man who writes your checks but still the one who generates them. Your laptop on the coffee table pulls you back to reality. You should probably not flirt with him.
âItâs canceled,â you nod towards the computer and then lift your Apple Watch as proof. âConfirmation email came through a few minutes ago.â
He shakes his head but smiles. âI canât believe you thought Iâd make you fly business class if Iâm on a jet!â
You remember Maggieâs words from January, facetime a thousand miles away. Something along the lines of heâs amazing, Y/N, heâs so chill!
âYouâd be really disappointed to hear what itâs like to work for Tom Cruise, then.â
He laughs, shifts on the couch and takes another sip. âI think itâs really shitty when people treat their EAs like regular assistants,â he shrugs. âHereâs this person who manages your whole lifeâŠarguably that means youâre more competent than I am,â he thinks aloud, a playful glance in your direction. A compliment? Maybe. Flirting? You hope.
Is that shitty? Is that weird and inappropriate orâworst of allâare you fully delusional?Â
âIâm going to pocket that for future reference,â you admit with a smirk.Â
He sips his wine and smiles, eyes you seriously from behind the glasses he puts on at the end of the day. âJustâŠknow from here on out that you can book yourself as nice of a hotel room as you want, you know, within reason.â
You let your eyes bug out of your head. âReason, like, the Presidential Suite at a Ritz Carlton, or?â
âJesus,â a short laugh escapes, a comedic hint of suspicion is his eyes after he checks a text on his phone. âMaggie wasnât kidding when she said youâve been primarily A-list.â
âI would never,â you call back, a quick confession to make sure he knows youâre not that type ofâŠemployee? Temp? Whatever.
âGreat, but still--weâre there for work, but you deserve to enjoy Amsterdam,â he gestures toward your laptop, like the British Airways website itself was a symbol of the upcoming business trip.Â
Maggieâs been excited for weeks. She babbled about it in the car on the way from Heathrow and Poppyâs been shouting out nightclubs and restaurants and places she wants to go most mornings in the makeup trailer.Â
Youâve never been to Amsterdam, but youâre excited nonetheless for a chance to see a new city in a new country. The last time you and Maggie were in Europe together was on your study abroad trip when you were both 21. Now itâs ten years later.
She bounces in one April morning to Poppyâs trailer while youâre sipping a hot coffee. One from the catering table because the one you sipped on your way here wasnât enough.Â
âYouâre exactly who I wanted to see,â her face lights up when she spots you in a chair beside Juno.Â
âGood morning,â you coo, grateful that Poppyâs trailer has become a bit of reprieve for you. You were right, a few weeks ago when you went out for your first Friday in London: Maggie and Poppy are tight, Juno and Briony and Hannah and the rest of the make up crew seem to be their own little friend group within the larger cast and crew. Ladies who stuck together.
Luckily, you were beginning to feel like a part of it.Â
âIâm thinking pubs and clubs,â she dumps a tote bag on the counter, contents spill out but Poppy doesnât seem to mind.Â
âWhat?â
âWe need to start planning for Amsterdam, babe.â
âItâs a work trip, babe,â you remind her with narrowed eyes, a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else was aware of Maggieâs scheming.Â
âWork trip, hah!â Juno pipes up from her chair. Sheâs got curlers in, eyes still sleepy since the sunâs just made it above the horizon. âSomeone tell Y/N about Lasso work trips.â
âWork trips,â Poppy turns to see you--sheâs getting a palette ready for Juno, all of her brushes and tubes of lip gloss are organized sociopathically by color, size, and brand. âAre only half work.â
A woman after your own heart, though the results of your organizing episodes usually only last a few weeks.Â
âHalf work? How does thatâŠwork?â You ask, thankful that you donât have to get mascara swiped on your lashes before your eyes are fully open.Â
âWe shoot long days and weâre busy,â Maggie nods honestly, sheâs strapping her walkie-talkie onto her waist, snaking the wire of her headset up and behind her ear. âBut when work is over, itâs playtime.â
You watch your oldest friend closely. âSounds oddly sexual,â you comment around another slurp of coffee.Â
âIt can be sexual if you want it to be,â Maggie wiggles her eyebrows now. âIf youâre feeling up for getting down and dirty!â
Oh boy. You blink at her a few times, memories of your last trip to Europe come flooding back. Maggie writing your number on the bathroom stall of a club in Rome, encouragement at every hour of the day to get loose and get laid. Unfortunately for you, this trip might be oddly reminiscent.Â
âYeah?â This piqueâs Junoâs interest. âSomeone in need of a little hanky-panky?â
They all giggle, you choke down more coffee but wipe your mouth when thereâs a knock on the door. It opens, the whole trailer goes quiet when Jasonâs on the other side.
âMorning,â he nods, a few steps in before he slinks down to the chair next to Poppy with an amused smile. âYou know the gossipâs good when it goes completely silent.â
âNot gossip,â Maggie locks eyes with you in the mirror and smirks. âJust some chatter about Y/Nâs lack of a love life,â she smiles, an apologetic but excited one.
âI work more than I sleep,â you defend loud enough for the whole trailer to hearâ-all six of you in there.
True. Until, about, six months ago.
âLack?â Jasonâs eyebrows are arched in the mirror.
You hope Maggie doesnât see the way your cheeks flush, a moment where his eyes find yours in the reflection above Poppyâs drawers and drawers of makeup. You wish you could vanish into thin air.
Howâin only a few weeksâdoes it feel like you and Jason are in on your own little secret?Â
âThis is only my second cup of coffee so why donât we talk about Maggieâs childhood obsession with webkinz?â You propose, a loud slurp and a ghoulish look in her direction to show her you mean business.
You had just as many years of ammunition as she did. If embarrassing each other was the goal, you could at least play the game.Â
âWerenât you a bit old for that, babe?â Poppy asks with a teasing smile, fingers focused on the curlers in Junoâs hair.Â
âI didnât give a shit that I was 16 and still into it,â Maggie defends, a dismissive eye roll when she picks up her phone from the counter. âThe heart wants what it wants.â
A dodged bullet, for sure. Youâre able to excuse yourself shortly thereafter to make sure Jasonâs got what he needs for the day. Briony did the check of his office, grabbed breakfast and delivered a bagel to the makeup trailer. Which means youâre free to move about in search of the people you need today.
Joan from the location department, Tom from Post-ProductionâMaggie said heâd be easy to find because he always wears hats but is impeccably bald.Â
You get the write-up you need from Joan and thatâs when Briony falls into step beside you. She shows you the way down the maze of halls and through the lot to an office where Tom sits at a desk. Once youâve got what you need from him (a firm answer to a question of Jasonâs heâs been dodging all week), Briony sits with you on the sidelines of a scene in the locker room.Â
Jason, Phil, Brendan, and Brett are shooting, the setâs loud before someone calls for quiet.Â
Briony silently breaks her granola bar in half and offers you some, Greg--who works in sound--offers you both a warning glare: I better not hear rubbish.Â
So you munch quietly side by side, feeling somewhat mesmerized by the way that when the cameraâs rolling, Jason and his scene partners feel like the only people in the room. The scripted jokes theyâre cracking are so good, it makes you regret never finishing season 1.Â
You donât remember finding him nearly as attractive back then as you do now, sitting behind the cameras and the boom, a walkie-talkie on your own hip and a pit in your stomach when you realize this isnât even a thought you should be having.
But you canât help that warmth pools in your belly when he rolls up his sleeves or laughs from across the room. Okay, so, maybe this isnât just jet lag.Â
CUT!--the room buzzes back into motion, Maggieâs zipping around the set and shouts to Greg, can we start again at line 47? Poppy goes to powder Brendanâs forehead, Brionyâs on her feet and then the whole thing starts again.Â
That happens another three times before thereâs actually a break. Props werenât delivered on time and so a different scene is getting staged but it doesnât mean much to you. Youâve checked your own inbox eight times today and Jasonâs twelve.Â
But today was quiet. Showing up and making a stellar impression in the first few weeks was definitely a good thing, but had you beenâŠtoo productive? Had you accidentally fucked yourself over because now youâre sitting here looking like a moron because you didnât have something to do?
You booked a zoo tour for him and his kids next month, finalized the rest of his schedule for this week, arranged his travel to see friends in Spain later this summer. Youâd organized his home office last week, updated his business accounts spreadsheet and even managed to book him an appointment with an eye doctor after he told you itâd been three years (ridiculous).Â
Jason walks up and says something to Greg, whoâs pretending to give Briony shit about the granola bar. Brionyâs smiling up at him like heâs just told her Christmas is coming early.
âHey,â you greet Jason with a smile, hand him his cell phone thatâs been tucked into the bum bag around your shoulders.Â
âI saw the tickets to the zoo at Battersea Park--thanks for putting that together.â
You nod, glad you were able to come up with something he could do with his kids next weekend when theyâd be in town. An advertisement on the tube is what led you to buying three tickets on a whim, just in case.
You smile and look to your left, for some reason nervous that someone will see how awkward youâre being and misread it. It doesnât matter, though, because he reaches forward and his handâs on your elbow in a way that makes your face feel warm.Â
âI mean it,â he says, a nod to himself and to you, one that lets you know heâs touched by the gesture.Â
âYes, yeah, sure,â you nod like an idiot, immediately embarrassed by the way his touch leaves your mouth unable to form consonants or vowels.
âJason, go talk to Mark about camera angles,â Maggie appears and slaps him on the shoulder, a smile on her face when she playfully barks the order.Â
Philâs hand is outstretched suddenly, a reminder that time on set moved faster than anywhere else. âY/N, could you take a picture of me in this for my mum?âÂ
You accept the phone and snap a photo, Maggieâs answering a text and then gets tugged away by a PA.
You turn to face Jason when Phil walks away, youâre ready for a request or a task or anything. But he just holds your gaze for a second, a pleased smirk spreads across his face.Â
âAnything I can get you?â
He shrugs, âIâm good.â
It dawns on you, right then, that he walked over here to talk to you. Well, maybe not you. Maybe you were just in his way. Maybe he was looking for someone else but he saw you and it reminded him to say thanks.Â
But either way, right now itâs just you and Jason standing here and it feels good to think that maybe he just likes being around you. Maybe the smirk on his face is because he sees the way your brain is short-circuiting. Luckily, he pulls you out of your crisis.Â
âCan you come to my trailer later, around 3? Before I have to help them shoot at Keeleyâs office later? I can text you.â
Youâre nodding and agreeing to it as you visualize your own calendar in your head. Youâre supposed to get off at 4pm today, an evening to yourself and the idea of a glass of wine on the couch sounds especially nice now that youâve realized your social skills are such shit.Â
âPerfect, great,â he says. âApparently I have to go talk to Mark.â
You nod, he nods, and then he turns to leave you by the huddle of sound guys handling wires and knobs. You meet him in his trailer and handle the emails and errands he needs, grab a tea on the way home and youâre in the door at 4:49pm--and thatâs with afternoon traffic.Â
Londonâs been sunny this week, you had wine with Maggie and Brett and Phil one night and you didnât feel new. You felt normal.
Winter was fading into spring over the last ten days, it was starting to feel like you were your own little piece in the big puzzle you got thrown into. Brendan knew he could always count on you to laugh at his jokes--especially and specifically when they were aimed at Jason. Brett knows your childhood nickname and threatens to tell Phil every time you get dangerously close to calling him out for flirting with Maggie.Â
You donât always feel like a transplant anymore, you feel like someone whoâs starting to have a place. A tiny one, maybe off in the corner, but still, a place.
And when you left Jasonâs trailer that afternoon, you thought itâd be the last time you saw him.Â
So, naturally, your eyes go wide when you find him beneath the light of your front door this evening. Youâre in a sweatshirt and bike shorts, completely unprepared for company.Â
âHi!â he says quickly, almost like heâs startled by the opening of the door, like he didnât know if youâd be home or expected someone else on the other side of the knob. Thereâs a smile on his face that mirrors yours almost immediately. âHey, sorryâto just show up here, like this.â
âHow do you know where I live?â You narrow your eyes, a teasing but confident tone. All that does is give him a cheerful smugness that you regret immediately, one that makes his eyes scan your face before he shrugs.
âI know Iâm not your boss, but Iâm, like, not not your boss at the same time.â
You hold back a laugh and watch him, âwhat a blurred and confusing boundaryâŠâ
He smiles, âWhich, all I mean by that is that Maggie sent the listing to me when she found it, Iâve actually known where you live since before you lived here,â he admits casually.
âGot it,â you step aside and he comes in, shuts the door behind himself before he meets your eyes again.Â
âHow are you?â You ask, intrigued by his surprise visit but also not wanting to scare him off. You like the way heâs looking at you, your heart does a flip at the thought that he wants to be around you. Just like earlier today. Fuck.
âIâm good,â he says, you walk towards the kitchen and wave a bottle of wine in the air and he nods. âI got stuck late at work, I was walking and it started to rain.â
âYou live like, two minutes from hereâŠâ youâre smiling despite the challenging statement, you grab a glass from an overhead cabinet.
He shrugs when he slinks into a barstool at your counter, apparently unfazed by your accusation when he comes off it easily: âyeah, I just wanted to say hi.â
You reach for a glass in the cupboard overhead and tease him over your shoulder. âCurious to see how Maggie allocated the living stipend?â
He sits up straighter now and plays into the bit, pushing his lips out in thought when he looks around your open concept kitchen and living room. âThat andâŠâ
He looks around the room again, his words hang in the air as he buys time. But his hairâs a mess and his watch isnât on--so you know somethingâs up.
It clicks. Heâs got something on his mind or something and heâsâŠtrying to talk about it? To you?Â
Men! Sheesh. You try to relax your forehead as you pour him a glass so your confusion and shock isnât misread as displeasure. Realistically, youâre touched he feels comfortable enough and the thumping in your chest is a dead giveaway if he can hear it when you deliver the wine.
âShit day?â You ask, watching as his fingers wrap around the step. He takes a sip and shrugs.Â
âYeah, shit dayâŠshit month, shit year.â
You giggle into your own glass, take your first sip before nodding. âI know the feeling.â
âNo, I shouldnât--â he pauses and stumbles for a second, âI donât mean to complain or sound like a dick.â
You shrug and offer a smirk. âYouâre not a dick if you have a human emotion.â
He nods, watches the wine in his glass as a smirk crawls onto his face. He looks up at you. âMy ex could argue that statement for two hours.â
âCould she?â You smile, nodding when you tell him: âIâm a pretty patient person.â
âAre you?âÂ
âI am,â you laugh, âI like to think so.â
He lets out a tiny laugh at your comment, quiet for a second before he lets out an exhale. âIâm just stressed, really. Being showrunner this season is harder than I thought and itâs not even hard, itâs just more than Iâm used to.â
You nod immediately. That makes sense and you see the fatigue on his face. Youâd heard Maggie talk about it before: long hours, late nights, location shoots, freezing days, rewrites and props changes. TV wasnât easy and you were already aware of that, only a few weeks in.
âI get thatâbut I think itâs normal to notice the learning curve when youâre doing something new.âÂ
He nods, accepts it and holds his breath for a second. âYeah, thatâsâŠa good way to say it.â
He smiles at you softly, eyes coming up to meet yours quickly before he shrugs. âI know Iâll survive, itâs justâbeen a rough go of it, lately.âÂ
âSo whatâs your release?â You ask.
His brows furrow together and the crease in his forehead lights something up inside you.
He says it like this hasnât occurred to him at all. âMy release?â
âHow are you dealing with your stress?âÂ
The confusion on his face turns into amusement when the corner of his mouth twitches toward your ceiling.Â
âSo, nothing?â
He laughs. âI hadnât thought aboutâdoing anything, really.â
âMen,â you roll your eyes, moving towards the couch with your wine in hand. âThe wineâs a nice place to start, but certainly not enough.â
He makes a face for a second, like heâs judging himself or imagining the terrible things you must think about him now that youâve heard his feelings, but he stands to follow and listens intently when you almost open up.
âWhen my boyfriend dumped me and Kyle let me go, I stayed in bed for a goodâŠtwo weeks,â you admit, a grimace on your face because you know it makes you sound like a loser. âBut then my sister suggested I go to a rage room and it was amazing.â
âA rage room?â He laughs. âOne of those places where you just break shit?â
âSmashing a TV to pieces is surprisingly therapeutic,â you tell him seriously.
He thinks on it for a second, nodding like heâs giving it real thought when he plucks at his lower lip. You can see the smirk heâs fighting, a sip of wine when your eyes dare him to say whatever heâs thinking.
âYou donât have to tell me--â
âBut,â you say at the same time as he says it. A flash of embarrassment on his face when you raise your brows, reading him like a book, just spit it out.Â
âWhyâd you get fired?â
Right. You knew it would come up at some point and even if Jason wasnât really your boss, he definitely had the right to be curious.Â
âI only ask because I read her reference letter--she loves you.â
âShe does love me,â you nod. âBut she was having family issues and I wanted a raise and then I found out that her daughter was sleeping with my boyfriend.â
His lips form an âoâ involuntarily, the response you got from most people when they hear how the dominoes all fell at the same time.
âYeah,â you shrug. âFired might be a strong word, but, certainly how it felt.â
âWell, her loss,â he nods confidently. âIâve seen the way you organized my desk drawers and itâs either witchcraft or psychoticism and Iâm okay with either if itâs always this easy to find shit.â
âIâll keep it up then,â you smile and take another sip.Â
âSorry to justâŠshow up, by the way,â he looks down at his own glass in hand, âand drink your wine.â
You had been looking forward to a shower and a night of watching trashy reality TV (though now youâd sworn off all of the Real Housewives). Other than that, your night was likely to consist of facetiming your mom and plucking your eyebrows.Â
Jason sitting at your counter with a smirk on his face didnât bother you at all, but you certainly couldnât tell him you were flattered that he came here.
You nodded to let him know it was no nuisance. âIâm always up for a glass of wine and talking you off the ledge.â
âThat shouldnât be part of your job description, though.â
âDo you know how many times I listened to Kyle complain about her friends or had to send gift baskets to them after fights?â
âIâm guessing a lot?â
âYou venting about work stress is a walk in the park,â you reassure.
âWell, Iâm glad,â he says solemnly, a moment when he holds your eyes and you feel your cheeks get warm.Â
You clear your throat, donât be stupid, and force out a joke to act like whatever moment this was wasnât problematic or weird or worse, enticing.
âSo unless you have a daughter that will sleep with my boyfriend, weâre probably good.â
âMy daughterâs seven,â a beat when he shrugs a single shoulder. âAnd you donât have a boyfriend.â
You take a loud slurp from your wine--partly for comedic effect and party out of your own awkwardness--and smirk over the rim to match his. âRight.â
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AN: WOW! HI! It's been a hot minute. I'm so glad to be posting this chappie and so appreciative of everyone's patience as my life evolves and writing has taken up a smaller portion of my time. I would love love love to hear what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I've been writing a lot the last few days as feb turns into march and I'm excited to share more!!!!