SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.
PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry
a/n: holy fuck. part 6 is here. she’s done. she’s long. enjoy her and pls be nice to me.
what it is: you and harry hate one another but that doesn’t stop you from fucking
warning: choking, cursing–i always feel like warnings can ruin the like, surprise or spoil the smut so im telling u now, if choking is too much for you, the other shit in this will not be for u either so read at ur own risk :)
word count: 28k --i am so sorry
pls pls pls reblog if you liked it!
i’d love to hear your feedback :)
SERIES MASTERLIST
here we go:
November 1, 2020
As you brushed your teeth, you tried your best not to get toothpaste on the little lamb’s face. You were leaning over your sink, almost bent at a ninety degree angle with the sleeves pushed all the way up to your elbows.
You had barely remembered putting on Harry’s sweatshirt to wear to bed the night before, but when you woke up that morning—fully sober—you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It was warm and still faintly smelled of him. You figured that your lapse in judgement the night before came from the fact that he rejected you, a fact that you tried extremely hard not to read into. Then again, how could you not? He had never rejected you before, not once. In fact, his need for you, his want for you, was the one constant thing about him. Desire was the one place you felt as though you had the upper hand and now…you had nothing.
It didn’t make sense at all. After all of it the night before: the talking, the flirting, him calling you baby, wanting to be friends, you admitting that you no longer hated him, him taking you home, he let you go upstairs alone. You couldn’t figure it out and each time you tried, you felt slightly worse about yourself.
You contemplated taking the sweatshirt off for the fifth time that morning as you dropped your toothbrush in its holder. You decided to keep it on, figuring that if you took it off, it would surely be lost in the pile of clothes covering your floor and then he would never get it back. You needed to keep it close so that you remembered to wash it later that day.
After exiting your bathroom, you pulled the sleeves back down and then rolled them up so you had access to your hands before turning on your speaker where it sat on your nightstand. Before opening up your Spotify, you checked your messages with Harry again, even though you knew there would be no message. You hadn’t gotten a single notification since he sent the smiley face in response to you telling him you were safely in your apartment the night before. As you closed the messaging app, you sighed and then hit shuffle on the new LANY album.
You sat down at the tiny dining table that also functioned as your desk (which also served as a divider between your kitchen and the rest of the small studio) and opened your laptop. You knew you could’ve texted Abby about Harry agreeing to do the interview, or even called her, but considering how angry she seemed the last time you saw her, you decided it was best to give her the news in the most professional way possible. After putting in her email address and cc-ing the appropriate people, you wrote: Harry Styles has agreed to be interviewed by me. Some bits from the interview have been attached. His team will be in contact sometime this week. After attaching the word doc you had spent the morning preparing, you quickly hit send and sat back in the old chair.
It took Abby less than five minutes to respond in the form of a text. She wanted to know when to expect contact from Harry’s management and whether or not you spoke to him about a possible cover. The second text informed you that they wanted him featured in, or on the cover of, the January issue, meaning that everything would have to get done rather quickly. Apparently, they had already figured out who would be styling him and taking the photos—if he agreed to do it.
You deflated a little in your chair and rubbed at your eyes before picking up your phone to answer. You loved your job, you really did, but it was Sunday and you were tired of thinking about Harry. You needed a break.
He had been on your mind all day yesterday, and most of the day before that, and when you woke up that morning—you just needed a few hours, maybe even a day, where he didn’t exist to you. You wanted it to be like it was when you hated him because then you never had to think about him at all. There were no confusing and conflicting feelings, there was no curiosity about what he was doing, there was no checking your phone like a pathetic idiot who hoped she had missed a text. It was ridiculous behavior—especially since you barely liked him. Maybe this was the friend thing that Harry was talking about. Maybe you did want to be friends.
If that was the case, then what was stopping you from reaching out to him? Friends could text friends—in fact, Harry had explicitly told you last night that he wished you texted him. He wanted to talk more and so if you texted him, you really would only be doing it for his benefit. It had nothing to do with you. You needed to talk to him about the interview anyway. It was for him and for business.
Before you could stop yourself, you had tapped the ‘call’ button and brought the phone up to your ear. It was a mistake. Not only did you not know what to say, but you had never called him before and so you felt awkward about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hang up.
“Hello?”
“Hey!”
“(Y/N)?” He sounded both confused and surprised, despite the fact that he must have seen your name pop up on his phone.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Hi, love. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing?” Your brow furrowed. “Should something be wrong?”
“No, no. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to call me—ever.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s a little weird.” There was a dull kind of panic stuck in your chest.
“S’not weird at all.”
Neither of you spoke for a moment. There was an obvious tension, an obvious awkwardness, and you knew it was on you to try and break it since you were the one who called.
You cleared your throat and leaned forward in order to rest both of your elbows on the table, your right hand still holding your phone to your ear while you played with your earring with your left, attempting to distract yourself from your nervousness. “So, the interview.”
“Mhmm.” It sounded as though he was moving stuff around. For a second you thought about apologizing for bothering him, but decided against it. He would’ve told you if it wasn’t a good time, right?
“So I told my boss that you agreed and I sent her some of what we had and she liked it.”
“That’s great.”
“Uh, yeah. She wanted me to double check when you were going to contact the magazine to get everything finalized or whatever because she wants the interview in the January issue…and maybe a cover.”
“The cover, yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Yeah—but I told her that we hadn’t really talked about that and, like, that would be something to work out between you and her or whatever.”
“I’d love to be on the cover.” You felt a small bit of relief wash over you. “But only if you’ve got a part in planning it and all that. We’ve already talked about this, remember?”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yes, we did.”
“Sound a bit disappointed.”
“I’m just not sure if they’ll go for that. I’m not exactly a photographer, or a creative director, or a stylist, or—“
“But you’re my friend. And I trust you.” You didn’t say anything. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry. Forgot we weren’t friends—or at least I’m not yours.”
“No, no, that’s not it. I-I could see us being friends. I would like to be friends.”
“When do you want to continue the interview?”
You were beyond thankful that he was changing the subject. “Well, if you do end up doing the cover, the timeline will be pretty tight so, soon.”
“Yeah, okay, just let me know what day works for you and then—“
“Wednesday!” You closed your eyes and held in a frustrated sigh when you heard how eager you sounded.
“This Wednesday?”
“Uh, yeah, maybe after you’re out of rehearsals or something?” You pulled at a loose thread in Harry’s sweatshirt. “Maybe you could come over and I could, I don’t know, make dinner or something?”
“You’re going to make me dinner?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I’ll be getting home from work and you’ve got rehearsals so we’ll probably both be hungry. Anyway, I think it would be weird if you just came over for the interview. Like, awkward or something.”
Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were inviting him over to your apartment and offering to cook for him. He could hear how unsure you were, how nervous you seemed. He felt a lot more hopeful than he should’ve and fought the urge to think of it as a date. But it was, wasn’t it? You wanted to see him and you were making it happen under the guise of continuing the interview, but you could’ve easily agreed to let him know and ended the call. This was more than the interview—it was because you wanted to see him.
“Yeah, I’m free Wednesday night.” He actually wasn’t sure if he was, or how late rehearsals would go, but he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He had never seen your space before—his “living in a box” comment from weeks ago came from Sarah who described your place as extremely tiny. He wondered what it looked like, what your style was, and had a feeling that if he he didn’t agree to see you then, he wouldn’t get the opportunity again.
“Good, okay, yeah.”
Harry placed his empty mug in the kitchen sink before turning around and leaning against the counter. He smiled at how cute you sounded, slightly flustered and obviously nervous. “Anything else, love?”
“Uhm, no. I don’t think so. I’m not sure when you’re done with rehearsals so I guess just let me know whatever time works for you.”
“I will.” Harry pulled his bottom lip between his fingers, unsure whether or not to ask the question. He wanted to tease you, to say “it’s a date,” but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t go down well. He wanted to ask if this meant you had a crush on him, jokingly ask whether or not you ask all the guys you interview to have dinner with you, but he knew that any one of those options would absolutely ruin whatever was going on between the two of you.
“Does this mean I’ll be hearing from you more often?”
“What?”
“This call.” Harry explained. “Does this mean we’ll be talking more often?”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“It is, it is. Just wanted to make sure this wasn’t just a one time thing.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not a one time thing, right? Like, this isn’t just about the interview?” He cringed right after he asked it. He sounded insecure, which he hated.
“No, it’s not. I mean, probably not—I mean—“ You sighed. “I do kind of like spending time with you and so I guess I kind of could maybe want to be friends.” Your words were rushed, but he caught every single one.
“Good.” Harry’s phone started buzzing in his hand, and when he pulled it away from his ear, he saw that he had an incoming call from Jeff. “I’ve, uh, got to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, yea? Before Wednesday.” He didn’t like the idea of hanging up, but Harry needed to take Jeff’s call since it was to discuss the exact thing you had called about.
“Okay. Text me whenever. Bye.”
Harry said goodbye before hanging up and answering Jeff. They spent the next forty-five minutes to an hour discussing what Harry’s terms would be—there was really only one and it was the condition of your involvement. When Jeff asked why it was so important to him that you be involved (besides the “obvious reasons”), he admitted, without even thinking, that it was because you knew him.
Harry knew that this mostly wasn’t true. It had only been the past two months that the two of you had even started talking. You had only hung out together on your own once or twice (if the morning after a hookup could even be considered hanging out). Neither of you really knew much about each other yet—he knew where you came from, but only to the extent that you grew up in New York. He knew close to nothing about your family—or what kind of music you listened to, what you did in your spare time (besides going out), who your other friends were, if you were a sweet or salty person, what kind of movies you were into, what kind of guys you were into—if it was just guys you were into. You knew just as little about him.
That being said, he had a feeling that you understood him in some weird way. You would know what he was comfortable with and what he wasn’t. Also, you never had a problem telling people what you really thought, whereas Harry never wanted to come off as controlling or ungrateful in situations such as photoshoots. If he told you he didn’t like something, he knew you would absolutely make it known. One of the things he did like about you was that you always seemed to be looking out for the people you cared about—and he was kind of looking forward to being in that position, even if it was only for a few hours.
You spent the rest of the day going over that call in your mind. As you worked on the article and answered emails that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, your own words played back in your mind. Your invitation was too quick and too eager. Making him dinner? Telling him you wanted to be friends? Telling him you enjoyed spending time with him? What was wrong with you?
You couldn’t figure out why you were so eager, why you would even want him in your space, why you would want to make him dinner--but you did want those things. That was the scariest part. It took the entire day for you to convince yourself that it was because you did want to be friends and so you were simply being friendly. You had cooked for Sarah and Charlotte before—even Adam. The only difference was that Harry was the only one you had had sex with, which maybe changed things a little. No, you decided, it changed nothing. Harry could be a friend in the same way—and this was you trying.
November 4, 2020
You spent the entire day nervous at your desk. It was ridiculous and frustrating because what you were nervous for should’ve been the last thing to make you feel that way. It was Harry—Harry—the person you hated, then heavily disliked, then kind of tolerated, and then—well, now—someone you actually kind of enjoyed being around.
It was going to be a professional night—at least that’s what you kept promising yourself. He would come over, you would make him dinner and ask him some questions, and then he would leave. That’s it. There would be no kissing, no touching, no giving into him—if he even tried anything. You still hadn’t forgotten the fact that he rejected you a few nights ago.
It was also something you had kept to yourself. You knew you could’ve talked to Charlotte about it, but you were kind of embarrassed. You also didn’t want to sound pathetic, which was how you felt, because it shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. So what if he didn’t want to go up with you? Maybe he was way too drunk, too tired, or had an early morning. It shouldn’t have mattered regardless because you weren’t supposed to care. Whatever was happening with Harry was happening casually, randomly, without any kind of feeling involved. That’s how it started and that’s how it would continue.
But why did you need so much convincing? Why did you spend the entire day distracted by the idea of him in your apartment, in your kitchen, in your bed (again, this was not going to happen, but it was an intruding thought)?
Harry was the reason you had fallen behind schedule that day and why, at 5:30, you were just starting to get ready to go home. Usually, you were out of the office by five the latest, and that day, you had even planned on finishing a bit early so that you would have ample time to go to the store and change before Harry arrived at yours around 7:30. You were sure that you could still get it all done (especially the quick tidy you planned on doing) as long as you left right then and took a cab to the store because the tube during rush hour was impossible.
As you were pushing your desk chair in, you heard Abby’s voice call your name from behind you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before turning around.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here for a second?” She had turned around and walked back into her office before you could say anything. You put on your coat and took your bag with you, hoping it would signal that you were attempting to go home, fully knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference.
When you entered her office, your eyebrows raised in surprise when you saw that she wasn’t alone. Occupying the two chairs in front of her desk were Tyler and Camilla, a photographer and stylist for the magazine. Suddenly it dawned on you. This was meant to be Harry’s team for the shoot.
In a meeting with Abby the day before, she explained the terms of Harry’s agreement (which you already knew) and told you to expect another meeting with the people she had in mind for the shoot—apparently this was the meeting.
“Hey, (Y/N).” Tyler greeted before getting up to drag the extra chair that sat in the corner of the office in between him and Camilla. You greeted both of them before taking a seat.
“So what do you think?” Abby asked as she clasped her hands together in her lap.
“What do I think? Of what?”
“Tyler shooting and Camilla styling. For Harry’s cover.”
“Oh.” You looked between the both of them. It felt incredibly awkward and intimidating to be in that position. You were just a writer. Tyler had done some amazing shoots and Camilla never missed when it came to her styling. They both had impeccable taste. You weren’t supposed to be giving them your approval. It felt wrong. “I think they’re great.”
“You didn’t even look at their ideas.” Abby said incredulously.
You fought the urge to bite back. Ever since the whole Harry thing, she hadn’t been as nice as she once was to you—and part of you understood it. At the moment, you had too much power for your rank and keeping her bosses happy meant allowing you the power you didn’t even ask for. Abby definitely wasn’t threatened by you, but she didn’t exactly seem to like the position you were in. You probably wouldn’t either if you were her.
Tyler pulled a mood board from next to him and leaned it against the desk. He talked about Sussex, trampolines, a fake sky against the real one; there were fabric samples and color schemes pinned down next to inspo photos. Then, Camilla pulled out a small binder and showed you some of her styling ideas. The dresses and skirts were what caught your eye.
“I think he would love that.” You said as you pointed to a long kilt.
“I was thinking of maybe asking Harris Reed to participate? Harry Lambert as well, obviously. I know he’s a Gucci rep too, so I think we should include something from them.”
You nodded and smiled at her.
“Satisfied?” Abby asked.
“Do you think Harry would like it?” Tyler asked as he moved the mood board back to the floor.
“Yeah, I do. I think he would like it a lot, actually.”
“Well, you know him best.” Abby leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, a too nice smile adorning her face.
You sent her a sheepish smile and then glanced quickly at the clock on her wall. It was already six.
“Is there anything else?” You tried not to sound impatient.
“I’ve already talked to Harry’s people. There’s going to be a fitting next week. You need to be there.”
Your brow furrowed. “I do?”
“You do. Apparently, you being involved means involved.” You didn’t particularly like the way she looked at you when she said it.
Your cheeks heated when you felt both Camilla and Tyler’s eyes on you. You could only imagine what they were probably thinking and in that moment, you wanted to suffocate Harry. The idea of being involved seemed fine in theory, but it was turning out that it was going to suck. Apparently sexism was alive and well—you were sure that’s what it was, that they were thinking exactly what you thought they were. It was the easy answer. You were sleeping with him and that’s why he wanted you to be involved, it was why you got the interview, why you would be getting one of the biggest bylines of the year.
Sure, it was true that you were sleeping with him, but it wasn’t why you got the interview. You got the interview because you were the only one Harry trusted to do it—a direct result of the magazine messing things up with him twice before. Turns out, during one meeting they tried leaning into the “ladies man/sex god” angle, which was a huge mistake. Apparently whoever the writer was meant to be hadn’t done a single bit of research on the media coverage Harry had gotten over the years. As a One Direction fan (a secret you would take to your grave), you knew all about the womanizer bullshit.
The second meeting had apparently gone fine in terms of visuals for the photoshoot, but the stylist was intent on dressing him only in suits—extremely masculine and boring suits. Again, apparently no one had done their research. They even attempted to use the same writer.
Harry wanted you involved because apparently whoever had been making those choices at the magazine couldn’t do their job right. Sleeping with him was its own thing, completely separate from all of this. It was something you did when you were drunk, and once sober. It wasn’t anything, but you had a feeling that they all thought it was. It made your stomach turn.
“I can be there.” You tried to smile again.
“I know you will.” Abby stared at your for a moment before sighing and standing up from her chair. “Well, that’s all. I’ll send an email out once we’ve got an exact date and time for next week. You’re all dismissed.”
You stood up quickly and clumsily dragged the chair back into its corner as Tyler and Camilla got their stuff together. You walked out after Tyler and exchanged goodbyes with them before you power walked out of the office. For a second you thought about taking the stairs, but you were in heels and the idea of falling down several flights didn’t really entice you. So you tapped your foot in impatience as you took the elevator down what felt like a million floors and huffed in annoyance when it took just a little bit too long for you to hail a black cab.
Once you were tucked inside, you sent Harry a quick text telling him that you were running late. You asked if he would be okay to come over at eight instead and felt yourself relax when a small thumbs up appeared above the message.
Harry didn’t know what to wear. He was being stupid and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring into his closet blankly for over twenty minutes. He wasn’t sure what the vibe was. It wasn’t a date—or maybe it was but he knew you would never call it that—but it wasn’t something entirely professional either, as much as you probably wanted to pretend it was.
In his mind, it was something akin to date. He planned on kissing you and flirting with you and trying to make you like him back. He didn’t like that his feelings were one sided. His teenage boy crush was in fact not a crush and he was pretty sure that if he really got to know you, it would be over for him. Which he had decided was fine.
He spent at least two hours the night before staring at his ceiling thinking about you and the way that he felt about you. He had known that he was pretty fucked for a while, but the way he had been thinking about tonight had more than convinced him that he was a goner. He had been for a while, but his constructed version of you got in the way of him seeing it.
He was meant to be at yours in a little over thirty minutes, which was exactly how long it would take him to get there. He sighed in annoyance before settling on one of his usual t-shirts, a pair of slightly distressed jeans, and one of his favorite cozy sweaters.
He spent the drove over debating whether or not he should pick up some flowers. He hadn’t thought about bringing anything beforehand, but the second he settled himself into the driver’s seat, it was all he could think about. It wasn’t a date, but it felt wrong to show up empty handed. If he brought a bottle of wine, it would be less romantic than flowers, but he wasn’t sure what kind of wine you preferred. He didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked either, but surely it was the safer option.
When he was only a few streets away from your place, he decided to stop at a small shop. He slid on a pair of sunglasses despite how dark it was outside and pulled his hood up. Thankfully, the shop was pretty much empty except for two people and the workers. He lingered in front of the wine section for far too long, picking up reds, then whites, reading the labels and trying to figure out what you would probably like. He finally settled on pinot noir, deciding that it was a pretty safe choice.
There was a small section of flowers towards the front of the shop where the self checkout machines were. He couldn’t get roses. They were too much, too romantic and would surely give away the fact that he saw this as a kind of unspoken date. The sunflowers didn’t seem to be very you, as much as he loved them and lilies reminded him too much of funerals. The mixed bouquets were extremely bright and ugly looking. So he settled on the pink peonies. They were pretty, not too much, and if he remembered correctly, were part of the small bouquet tattoo that was on your ribcage.
When his finger landed on the button next to your name, he was officially fifteen minutes late. Harry hoped you didn’t mind, especially since you had been running late first but still felt slightly bad about it. He had the flowers tucked into the crook of his left elbow and the bottle in his left hand while his right fiddled with his rings nervously.
He hated that he was nervous. It felt both lame and overdramatic. The two of you had hungout before, had sex, and hurled awful insults at one another with what felt like extreme comfort. Why should this be any different?
He knew exactly why. This was a date—he knew that you knew it was too. This wasn’t getting coffee, or being out with friends, or kissing because you were drunk. It was spending time together sober, in an intimate way. You had to know it was a date.
When his buzz got no response, he hit the button again and held it for a little longer.
“Harry?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Sorry, sorry. I had…stuff all over my hands. Come up.” You sounded distracted even through the fuzzy intercom.
When Harry heard the door unlock, he pulled it open and walked quickly to the elevator. He knew he was eager, but he didn’t really care much. He was excited to see what your place looked like, what you looked like in it. That was always interesting to him: the way people behaved in their own spaces versus the way the behaved in other, more social spaces. He had a feeling you would probably be the same. You’d be confident and witty and stoic, but he hoped you would be a little softer, a little warmer, the way you sometimes were with him.
Whatever music you were listening to seeped under the door where Harry stood. It was muffled but he swore he could hear you singing along. He knocked three times quietly, but immediately realized that the chances of you hearing that were slim to none. He knocked again, a bit harsher, and a few moments later, he heard it unlock before it swung open.
“Hi.” Your eyes were bright but you seemed flustered.
“Hi.” You both stood there staring at one another for a beat too long. “Uh, these are for you.” He held out the flowers and you took them a little hesitantly, with a small smile on your face. “And this—I wasn’t sure what you liked, though so—“
“Oh! I love this one.” You interrupted as you read the label and Harry smiled back at you in relief. “Thanks. The flowers are really pretty.”
There was a heavy tension between you. Lately, it seemed as though there always was and he wanted it to go away but he wasn’t sure how to make that happen.
You two were staring at one another again. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was. Was he meant to hug you hello? Kiss you? Maybe on the cheek? He had no idea where to go from there and apparently neither did you.
You cleared your throat softly before stepping out of the doorway. “Uh, come in.”
He stepped over the threshold and watched as you closed the door behind him. “I seem to be a bit underdressed.” He joked as he checked you out.
It wasn’t actually a joke. While he was comfortable and casual, you looked about ready to go out. You were wearing a long sleeve black wrap dress that seemed to be made from suit material. It was short and ended a few inches below your butt. It was extremely low cut, a problem you had solved by wearing a silky, cream colored button up underneath. The first few buttons were undone, revealing your usual gold necklaces and he collar of the shirt laid casually over the dress; the blouse’s sleeves also peeked out a bit from under the dress’s. Harry’s favorite part of the outfit though, was the cream colored Gucci tights. They were sheer with an extremely minuscule fishnet pattern, with the Gucci logo patterned throughout. You looked amazing—and he felt frumpy.
“You’re not, really. I wish I was in jeans and a sweater right now.” He followed you towards the tiny kitchen space. “I wanted to change after work but I was so behind and it was either change or clean up my apartment and I figured cleaning was the right choice.”
He stood at the small island and watched you open a cabinet and pull out a pink, glass vase.
So, you did live in a box. There was very little kitchen space; the stove and sink were only a few inches apart and directly next to the sink was the fridge. The only counter space you really had was the small island that was a little less than half the size of his. The only other bit of counter space you had was to the left of the stove, but it was covered in cookbooks. The kitchen floor was tiled in black and white and you had painted the cabinets and base of the island sage green. He wondered if you were allowed to do that, but quickly realized that you probably didn’t give a shit.
On top of the cabinets, which he knew you could absolutely not reach, was different colored bended candles which had never been lit as well as two planters, one yellow and one a rust color, adorned with small smiles that had no plants in them. What looked like one of your brother’s class schedule was stuck to your fridge, along with a few family pictures (it still shocked him that you had three brothers, he wasn’t sure why), an old photo of a man that had been torn in half, and a handwritten recipe for lemon bars. Harry thought it was charming and so badly wanted to turn around and scope out the rest of the place, but didn’t want to be so obvious.
You placed two glasses on the island between the two of you before grabbing the wine.
Harry held his hand out. “‘Ve got it, love.” He opened the wine and began filling the goblets you were using as wine glasses. They were the same height and same shape, but the designs on them were different. “These are cool.”
“I got them on Brick Lane. You know the vintage market before the one that’s underground?” Harry nodded even though he was only vaguely sure of what you were talking about. “There’s an older guy there who sells old glassware so cheap. I got most of my stuff from there.”
“You really love it over there, don’t you?” He asked before bringing the glass to his lips.
“I do. I’m honestly there most Sundays.”
“Really? I might have to join you next time.” It was a test.
“I’d like that.” You tried to mask your smile by taking a drink from your glass. Suddenly, the sizzling noise coming from the stove became much louder and your eyes widened slightly. “Fuck!” You placed your glass on the counter and turned back to the stove quickly.
Harry walked around the island and joined you where you stood stirring. He stood close enough that every time you moved, your back brushed against his chest, but he kept himself from dropping an arm around your waist or running his hand along your back. “Smells good.”
“Let’s hope I don’t burn it.” You were sautéing mushrooms, garlic, and peas in a pan, while a small pot of broth sat heating up next to it.
“Do you cook often?” He asked as you removed the vegetables from the pan and put them in a small bowl, added more oil to the pan and then dropped in shallots with ease.
He felt your shoulder shrug against his chest. “I did for a while before I moved in with my grandparents but then my grandma did all the cooking.”
There were at least a thousand questions on the tip of Harry’s tongue. He was so curious about your family and had a feeling it would help him understand you in a way he couldn’t as of then. He was afraid of asking those questions though, especially since the night had barely started. He was afraid of upsetting you or putting you in a bad mood. He wanted tonight to go well because he needed it to.
“Do you need help with anything?” He asked dumbly as you poured rice into the pan.
“You can get me the wine if you want?” You said as you looked up at him over your shoulder.
“Our wine?”
“No, the small bottle of white. It should be on the island somewhere.” You waved the hand that wasn’t stirring the rice behind you.
Before walking away, Harry placed his left hand on the small of your back and dropped a quick kiss to your head. You didn’t react at all, which he took as a good sign. He knew things had been going well between the two of you and that he could be more affectionate with you if he dared, but the affection usually came after or before sex. It never usually happened in a normal moment—as normal a moment as the two of you could have, anyway. Even at the Halloween party, sure there was affection, but the two of you were drunk. And then he rejected you. He was still waiting for you to bring that up.
He quickly located the tiny glass bottle and brought it over to you along with your glass of wine. Harry stood next to you, leaning his left hip on the counter and waited patiently for you to pour the wine into the rice. After he handed you your glass and received a soft “thank you,” he continued to hover.
Harry was wondering if you’d let him kiss you. He didn’t really know how to go about asking. He was afraid it was too weird, too random, too couple-y, which you two were not—like, at all.
He wanted to kiss you. The need was growing as he watched you stir the rice carefully, a soft echo forming in the small space as you sang along to the song playing in your work clothes and slightly smudged eyeliner. He wanted to reach out and pull you into him—but he had no idea how. He didn’t know how to do anything with you, how to be anything with you. It all seemed too scary and complicated. You were intimidating and you always had been, but now that he had feelings for you, it was amplified.
“You look really pretty.”
“Hm?” You glanced up at him.
He cursed internally. The music in the kitchen was too loud and you weren’t paying attention and he said it too low. Why was this so hard? He had never had this problem when he was drunk—or at all. Compliments were always easy for him. He loved handing them out, especially when they were genuine. Again, the complication was rearing its head, his insecurities were out, and he was so unsure of how all of this could go.
“You look really pretty.”
You tried to fight back a smile. “Thank you.”
Harry reached his right hand out and tugged lightly on the tie of your dress which was wrapped around your waist. “I like this.” He could see that you were trying not to look fazed. He dropped his hand and then brushed the backs of his fingers on the side of your thigh. He was trying to warm you up, he was trying to make you want to kiss him too. He thought it was working.
You attempted to hide a shiver and knew he had you.
“I know what you’re doing.” You kept your gaze focused on ladaling broth into the rice, but a playful smile broke through. “And your lack of professionalism astounds me.”
Harry smiled and took a step closer, removing almost all of the space between the two of you. He looped his arms around your waist and rested his interlocked fingers on your right hip. “If you kiss me, I’ll go away.”
You let out a small laugh through your nose. “Promise?”
“Kiss me and I’ll pretend not to be hurt by that.” Harry grinned as he watched you roll your eyes dramatically.
“You’re such a child.” You complained as you turned your head towards him and leaned in.
He knew you would try to make it quick, attempt to appease him with a barely there kiss—and you did, already pulling away the second your lips touched his. His right hand left your hip quickly and landed on the back of your neck. Harry pulled your back towards him and stole another kiss, a deeper one, only pulling away because the sizzling had gotten louder again.
“Satisfied?” You asked, a small glow in your eyes.
Harry attempted to shrug nonchalantly. “For now.”
You shook your head and moved your attention back to the rice. “This was supposed to be about the interview.”
Harry wandered back to the island where he left his glass. “We both know that’s not true.”
“Have you spoken to Sarah at all?”
He knew you were going to change the subject. Certain behaviors of yours were predictable at this point: you would always run or change the subject instead of actually dealing with anything complicated, instead of ever admitting that you maybe liked being with him.
“Have you?” He knew you hadn’t, but he also knew how much all of it was probably bothering you and that you wouldn’t have spoken to Charlotte about it for a lot of reasons. He was giving you the chance to talk about it if you wanted to.
He watched your shoulders deflate as he refilled his glass. “No. I mean, I’ve texted her but she hasn’t answered me at all. Charlotte said the same thing.”
Harry walked over with both his glass and the bottled and topped yours up as well. “We haven’t really spoken either. Obviously, we talk at rehearsals, but barely. She only speaks to me and Charlotte when she has to. I think everyone else knows something’s wrong, but no one says anything.”
You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For Sarah. I should’ve told her.”
Harry moved back behind you and squeezed your shoulders before letting his hands run lightly down your arms. “Oh, stop. It was none of her business. She’s the one with a problem, no one else. She’s got to get over it.”
“Have you said anything to Mitch?”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his hands from your arms. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”
“Oh, god. What did you do?”
“I haven’t done anything yet!” Harry laughed. “I want to tell him, I think. Everything is just weird and complicated now. It would be so much less weird if everyone knew.”
“I agree.”
“You do?” Harry took a sip of his wine.
“Yeah. Charlotte and Sarah know. It’s not like everyone else isn’t going to find out and, I don’t know, maybe Mitch could talk to Sarah.”
“She’s stubborn.”
“She’s also wrong.” You answered quickly and then took a deep breath. Harry knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of your anger and he hoped Sarah would get over herself before she was forced to learn what it was like.
“Do you need any help?” Harry asked again, not wanting to dwell on the Sarah situation anymore and also feeling completely useless. He had spent the past twenty to thirty minutes wandering aimlessly around your kitchen while you did everything.
“Uh, yeah, actually. Can you finish stirring the last of the broth in so I can get the salad ready?”
Harry nodded and accepted the wooden spoon from you. He listened intently to your directions involving the cheese and vegetables that needed to added back in before taking your place.
“Do you think I could ask you some questions while you do that or would that be too much for your brain?”
He rolled his eyes at your shitty joke. “Like, for the interview?” He received a sound of confirmation. “Go on.”
Harry heard you place your phone on the counter behind him and turned so he could look at you and the phone could pick up his words better.
“This era we’ve really seen you branch out into more traditionally feminine styles when it comes to what you wear in videos, during performances, on red carpets and all of that. Was that something you were scared to do or was it comfortable? How much has the way you think about the idea of masculinity changed since you’ve started getting into womenswear?”
Harry continued to be shocked by you and your questions. You weren’t reading off your phone or a piece of paper. You were in the middle of dropping greens into a medium sized, blue striped bowl. He knew you were smarter than him (you had made that more than abundantly clear) but it was moments like this where the fact really smacked him in the face.
Harry dumped the small bowl of cheese onto the rice as he tried to explain how his thinking had changed in the past two years. He had dabbled in the idea of womenswear during his first era, and even before that, but since then he had really jumped into the pool—which obviously accompanied a transformation in thinking.
He talked about Lambert and Harris Reed and how he didn’t find the separation of gender in fashion satisfying, how it only served to box everything in and how if you remove the binary from fashion, it becomes a whole lot more fun and creative.
“Is it true that you meditate twice a day?” It was a follow up he wasn’t expecting.
He chuckled. “Yeah, it is.” Harry dropped the vegetables into the pan before turning to look at you again. You looked confused. “What?”
“Twice a day is a lot.”
“It’s good for you, for me. It makes me feel better.”
“I could never.” You shook your head.
“Have you tried?”
“Yes, actually. In college I saw this therapist for a bit who tried to get me to meditate, but I couldn’t. Apparently it was because I couldn’t cooperate or take it seriously. I think it’s because my brain is just incapable of shutting down that way. I feel like it’s always in fight or flight mode. It doesn’t have time for breaks, you know?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. You were talking without even thinking about it. Your focus was on cutting up small cherry tomatoes and slices of cucumber. He knew that if you had remembered that your phone was recording, you would’ve never said what you did. You were opening up and he didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t used to you talking to him like this and he had so many questions.
“I think so.” There was a beat of silence. “You were in therapy?”
You brushed off the question with a wave of your hand. “Wasn’t everybody at some point?”
“I guess, but—“
“Okay, everything’s ready now.” You were telling him to drop it.
You brought a large, glass, green bowl over to the stove and signaled for Harry to empty the pan of risotto into it. “Do you mind putting this on the table over there?”
Harry did as you asked as you grabbed the salad and successfully attempted to hold both glasses of wine in your hand.
The table was already set and Harry smiled when he saw the plates; they were white, with a bumble bee trim. The water glasses had tiny flowers on them and all of it seemed so sweet, set up on the small, square, dark wood table. The nicks in it were clear, as well as a stain from what seemed to be nail polish, but it made it all the more charming.
“Sarah got them for me last year. For my birthday.” You said while you put the bowl you were holding on the table when you noticed Harry examining the plates.
He thanked you when you placed his glass in front of him.
You both settled across from one another and dropped your napkins on your laps. Once you both had a good portion of risotto on your plates, you set your phone on the edge of the table between the two of you.
“Should we keep going?”
Harry spent dinner stealing glances around your apartment as he answered your questions and the two of you fell into tangent-like conversations.
A few feet away from the kitchen was the living room section of your apartment. On the back wall was your small, blue couch that had a chunky knitted blanket thrown lazily over its arm. It sat on a colorful, over dyed rug that looked old and worn. Your small, dark wood coffee table was covered in fashion magazines as well as a tabbed copy of what looked like Writer’s Digest. Between the couch and a door, which he assumed lead to the bathroom, was a full length gold mirror.
On the opposite was was a tiny fireplace that he was sure didn’t function at all since you had shoved a bunch of candles inside—which also seemed to have never been lit. Above the fireplace was a tv attached to the wall and an art print of a half naked woman, but it was very tasteful in Harry’s opinion. To the left, between the fireplace and the door of your place, was a tall bookshelf. It was overflowing with books, none of them seemingly arranged in any kind of order. There was even a small stack on the floor in front of it.
Straight ahead, parallel to the table the two of you were sitting at was your bed. It sat right under one of the only windows and was unmade, a cream colored comforter piled on top of the mattress. Its colorful, decorative pillows were on the floor and the green sheets seemed twisted in a ball. To the right of the bed, against the wall was a large, dark wardrobe that was left open. To the left of the bed was a clothing rack adorned with jackets and overshirts. Art hung all around the window and a hamper peeked out from its corner behind the wardrobe.
Harry concluded that it was very you. It was pretty and seemed extremely curated, but slightly messy and mismatched--all together charming. It was also cozy, which was what he had been hoping for most; it was proof that there was another side to you he hadn’t been totally privy to yet.
He was really enjoying this time with you. It didn’t feel as if he was being interviewed, but like he was simply talking to a friend, or on a date with someone who was genuinely curious about the kind of person he was. Your questions were insightful and, in a way, allowed him to completely control the conversation and the angle the conversations took. You never once tried to steer it away from what he was focusing on or ask any questions that lead a particular way.
You also added to his answers, helping him explain things he fumbled over or didn’t quite have the words or knowledge to explain exactly, mostly when it came to the whole concept of gender politics and talking about the books he enjoyed reading. He saw that you were enjoying being able to flex the gender studies knowledge you had obtained in college and so he allowed you to even explain things he already knew, simply because he loved the way you looked when you talked about something you cared about.
“I can clean up.” Harry said as you stood up from the table, your hands poised to pick up your plate and the salad bowl.
“No, it’s fine. I can do it.”
“No, love. You did all the work. ‘Ve got it.”
“Okay.” You sat back down, but only for a moment. It felt weird to sit and do nothing while he cleaned up after you. You also just weren’t very used to having someone do those things for you. You had lived mostly on your own since you were eighteen and before that, you helped a lot around your grandparents house, a result of the habit formed after your mom left and you had to step up when it came to your brothers.
“I’ll just help.” You said as you stood up again. Harry only laughed and shook his head, knowing it would be useless to argue.
“Have we finished the interview?” He asked as he scraped what was left on your plates into the garbage.
“I think so.” You thought for a moment before putting the bowls into your sink. “Maybe not. I don’t know. I haven’t exactly figured out how I’m going to write it yet. I might end up with a few more questions or need clarification or something.”
“Well, if you do, I’d love to do this again.” He smiled warmly at you and you tried to ignore the warmth you felt in your chest.
It had gone really well, better than you expected. You had managed to keep it professional despite the small kiss and his flirty touches. It hadn’t gone off the rails, but you were glad that you were the only person who would hear the recordings. You were sure that the two of you had flirted at some point, maybe throughout the whole thing--your cheeks were sore from smiling.
You liked having Harry like this: alone, intimately, sweet. You loved hearing him talk about all that he was interested in, found yourself completely drawn in as he explained his views on masculinity, and had to hold back with questions when he talked about the album you loved. By the end of the meal, you were more than sure you wanted to be friends—and there was a nagging feeling a crush had completely blossomed and had become so intense you felt as if you would burst.
You didn’t exactly hate the feeling. You weren’t exactly surprised by it either. Harry was attractive and he turned you on and made you feel better than any other man had before. He was also interesting, and multi dimensional and had more substance than any other man you had been with. That last part was probably because you rarely dated men who were smarter than you—and Harry wasn’t exactly smarter than you, but he was intelligent in areas you weren’t, like music and lyricism and stuff that you enjoyed but didn’t have the ability to completely access.
You had grown to appreciate him a lot, and by the end of the meal, wished you hadn’t hated him for so long. You had a feeling that the friendship the two of you could’ve had would’ve been extremely fulfilling. You hoped too much damage hadn’t been done, that your past actions towards one another hadn’t made it completely impossible for there to be a friendship at all. Not that you were sure there could even be one now since the two of you had been fucking, not regularly, but still fucking.
“I wouldn’t mind that.” You smiled back before turning on the sink and beginning to run the warm water over the bowls and pans.
When Harry walked over to place the dishes in the sink, he bumped his hip with yours. “You dry.”
Instead of arguing, you simply moved over and pulled a dish towel from the drawer next to the sink, more than willing to not wash your dishes for once.
“Do you actually think we could do this again?” Harry asked as he pumped soap onto your blue sponge. “Like, without the interview part.”
“You mean…just have dinner together?” He nodded. “Wouldn’t that be a date?” You teased.
“Wasn’t this?” His response was quick.
“What?” You were trying to buy yourself some time, trying to figure out what to say. “This was…for the interview.” You were flailing, at a loss for words—because it was, wasn’t it? You had asked him on a date. You made him dinner and let him flirt with you and kiss you and you flirted and kissed him back. You had invited him here to continue the interview, but you had the intentions of something else, seemingly without even realizing it. You had wanted to see him, and be with him and had tricked yourself into thinking it was for professional reasons, had tried to convince yourself it could only be for professional reasons. It wasn’t.
Before you could try to say more, Harry changed the subject. “Who is this?” He asked as he pointed a soapy finger in the air, gesturing towards the music that was playing.
“Gus Dapperton.” You supplied, still a little distracted by your realization.
“You must really like him.”
“Huh?” You took a plate from Harry and began to dry it, still only half tuned into the conversation.
“The album’s played, like, three times.” He smiled over at you.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t even notice. I can change it.” You put the plate down and went to grab your phone from the table as Harry tried to argue from his spot at the sink.
“No, he’s good. I was just teasing you.”
You suddenly felt extremely insecure about everything, the entire night. “No, it’s okay. I’ll change it.” You went to your liked songs and clicked on the first one: 45 by Bleachers.
“I love this song.” Harry said as it started to play.
By time you had returned to your spot at the sink, he was singing along under his breath and as much as you wanted to join in, decided to stay quiet because you loved the sound of his voice.
The two of you continued like that for a bit. Harry singing along to two or three songs under his breath as you dried whatever he handed you. The sound of his voice was comforting as you had a fight with yourself in your head. You weren’t even completely sure which songs had played as you tried to make sense of what was going on and what you were doing.
Harry had been all you thought about for days and you had looked forward to tonight all day—and you were nervous, something that you didn’t typically feel when it came to interviews or doing research for articles. You had asked him on a date and you didn’t even know it, or maybe you had simply chosen to ignore it. He was right—a rare occurrence, which meant that you had been absolutely clueless.
What were you supposed to do now? Did you like him like that? Maybe—but there definitely wasn’t any feelings. Maybe you liked him like you liked Nate in high school; the senior on the football team who you would’ve given anything to kiss. There were no real feelings then; just a confusing amount of lust (as much lust as a sixteen year old girl can have). Maybe it was an infatuation. Maybe you simply liked the idea of him. Maybe you didn’t want him to go home just yet.
“Harry?”
“Hm?” He was focused on cleaning the last pan, still mumbling the words to whatever was playing.
You let out a nervous sigh and wrung the dishtowel in your hands. “Do you—do you have plans after this?”
His eyes flickered over to you briefly. “No, I was just gonna go home and work on some stuff.”
“Oh, then never mind. You have stuff to do.” You shook your head.
“Did you want to do something?” You couldn’t define the look on his face.
“Well, yeah, kind of. Maybe I could make dessert to we could watch a movie or something?” You looked up at him tentatively and saw a look that wasn’t exactly encouraging. His brow was furrowed and he had pulled his upper lip between his teeth. You shook your head dismissively. “Sorry, that was a stupid idea. Forget it.”
He shut the water off. “No, no, (Y/N).” Harry said as he pulled the dishtowel from you and dried his hands. “I’d love to do something with you.”
“Yeah?”
He reached up and tugged lightly at your hair with a smile. “Yeah.”
He dropped his hand to your lower back and you tried not to lean into his touch. You were still confused on where you stood with all of this and how you felt. You thought that if he stayed and you stopped hanging on to the pacifier of professionalism, you could maybe figure it out.
“Great. Brownies?” You didn’t wait for a response as you started to walk away, but before you got very far, Harry had hooked his arm around your waist and pulled you into him.
He placed a kiss on your cheek before letting you go. “Brownies sound great.”
You left Harry to finish drying the pan and pulled a box of your favorite brownie mix from the cabinet you kept your baking supplies in. As you preheated the oven and pulled out a bowl and a spatula, Harry joined you at the island but on the other side so he was across from you.
He began opening another bottle of wine. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask, but I make no promise to answer.” You collected an egg from the fridge and vegetable oil from one of the cabinets.
“What happened to your parents?”
You froze. “Just jumping right in, I see.” You fiddled with the box and tried not to look at him.
“Sorry, I just—I didn’t really know how to ask.”
“Clearly.” You muttered.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have—“
“No, it’s fine.” You cut him off. “We’re supposed to be getting to know one another again, right?”
Harry nodded before sliding your glass across the island. You took a big sip and then let out a deep sigh before dumping the packet of mix into the bowl. “My mom left when I was twelve; my youngest brother was three. And before you ask, no one knows why. I guess my dad did, but he always pretended he didn’t. She left most of her stuff, which always seemed odd to me but we kept it. The Manolos were my moms—I guess they still kind of are. She’s probably still alive.”
“The blue ones you wore?”
“Yup. Those are the ones.” You measured out the correct amount of oil and then water before adding them to the mixture along with the egg. “After that, the four of us moved into a small condo because my dad couldn’t afford the house without my mom’s income.” You cleared your throat. “It happened really fast. He got sick and then he was gone. I was sixteen and my brothers were still pretty young.” You hadn’t looked at him once, intent on mixing the ingredients together. You tried to sound nonchalant, but you didn’t talk about it often and could hear the emotion start to seep its way into your voice. “We moved in with my grandparents and I got a job to help them take care of us because they were retired. I helped a lot with my brothers—I didn’t feed them or like, buy them clothes or anything, but I told them stories about our mom, which our dad never did. I told my youngest brother about our dad because he was so little and couldn’t remember. Then I went to college, but stayed close because they still needed me and—”
You stopped talking and took a deep breath. It had all come out at once, seemingly uncontrolled, as if the words had been waiting to spill out to someone. The embarrassment made your cheeks hot and you wanted the whole thing to be over, so you finished it. “Then I left.”
You let go of the spatula and glanced up at Harry who had a sympathetic look on his face. You hated it. When he didn’t say anything, simply stared at you with his hand wrapped around his glass, you pulled the glass baking dish over and started pouring the batter into it.
“Anyway, I should probably get these in the oven.”
He finally spoke when your back was turned. “You don’t come from where I thought you did.”
“What?”
When you turned back around, Harry was staring into his glass and turning it with his fingers. “Your family…your background…it’s not what I thought.” He shrugged.
“What did you think?”
Harry hadn’t known anything about you other than what you had chosen to share, which wasn’t very much. You kept all of this information extremely close and so it wasn’t a surprise that he had taken his own guesses as to where you came from. You would’ve done the same thing if his background wasn’t public knowledge. It was human nature to be curious about the lives of other people and often, we adjusted our own judgements based on that knowledge. Because of that, you had a feeling you weren’t going to like Harry’s answer.
He scratched the back of his neck. “I thought you were really spoiled and, like, came from money or something. I always thought you just had everything handed to you.” You scoffed, obviously offended, as he continued. “It’s just the way you carry yourself, I guess. The way you act.”
“Are you saying I act snobby?”
“No—just, a little ‘better than’. We’ve already had this conversation.” You leveled him with a look that told him you didn’t care. You wanted him to keep going. He sighed. “I know you’re successful, but you’ve never been humble about it. Like, your ego has always been huge and the only other people I know like that had been, like, super privileged their whole lives. Always got what they wanted, had their parents buy their way into things.”
“It never once occurred to you that I had a big ego because I earned it? I’ve done everything on my own, I think that gives me a right to be a little proud about it.” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“And it does! It does.” Harry raised his hands in surrender. “It makes a lot more sense now, honestly. You should be proud. I’m sorry.”
You shrugged and dropped your arms from your chest. “Like you said, we’ve already talked about it. Want to pick a movie while we wait?”
A little over thirty minutes later, you were placing a few brownies on a small plate as Harry sat against the short, wooden headboard of your bed. He had helped you pull the tv out and swivel it so it was facing your bed, something you rarely did because it required you to climb on top of your old coffee table. You’ve Got Mail was paused on the opening credits and all the lights except for the ones in the kitchen were off.
You padded over, still in your dress and tights and placed the plate on the bed before climbing on next to him.
“Thanks for making it.” You said as you smoothed a hand over the comforter. While you tidied up the kitchen, Harry had kindly sorted your bed out, after declaring that it would be a more comfortable place to watch the movie. He was probably right; your sofa was in no way long enough for his body.
“Thanks for the brownies.” He said as he picked up a corner piece and took a bite.
It felt weird again between the two of you. The tension had returned and you didn’t like it. Why had tonight been so hard? Why couldn’t the two of you be normal? Did you have a normal? It seemed that everything between the two of you fluctuated so often it was hard to pin down a baseline, something to measure everything else against.
You took a brownie, also a corner piece, as Harry pressed play. For the entirety of the opening credits and the first ten minutes of the movie, the two of you sat shoulder to shoulder on your bed, munching on brownie and sipping from glasses of water and then wine in silence.
When the plate was clear, Harry moved it from the space between your legs to your nightstand. As he leaned back into your pillows, he lifted his arm above your head, signaling that he wanted you closer. You scooted over until your side was flush against his and let him drop his arm around you. After shifting to get more comfortable, you laid next to him, your chest pressed against his side, his hand rubbing your waist softly as your fingers traced tiny, nervous circles on his chest.
He moved down a little and rested his cheek on the top of your head but not before he placed a kiss to your hair. You could feel the warmth stir in you again. It was confusing when he was sweet like this. You knew he wanted to be friends and that he liked you, but this wasn’t normal friend behavior which twisted everything up in your mind.
“Comfortable?” Harry asked.
You looked up at him, which forced him to lift his cheek from where it rested. “Yeah. Are you?” It came out quietly. You were so close; close enough that your nose brushed his when you looked up at him. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips—and then again. You closed the distance between the two of you and pressed your lips to his tentatively. It hadn’t ever happened like this before and there were nerves stirring in the pit of your stomach.
For a second, there was no response, and then the hand that wasn’t on your waist was holding your cheek and he was pulling you closer to his body. The hand that was on his chest went to rest on his neck, the brush of your fingertips sending a slight shiver through him.
He kissed you slowly and patiently. The nerves you were feeling had dissipated and had been replaced by an aching kind of need. The last time you wanted him, he denied you and you hoped it wouldn’t happen again. You spent the past few days trying not to think about the way his hands felt on your body, trying to curb the desperation that had shown itself on the night of Halloween.
Harry had become the person you thought about when you were alone at night—as hard as you tried to fight it. He was the one you imagined touching you even though your hands were so much smaller, so much softer, than his. It was embarrassing, really, how much pleasure you got from just the idea of him but he made you feel good and no part of you was able to forget it.
Harry moved forward, his lips still on yours, so that you were lying on your back and he was on his side. He dipped his tongue into your mouth as his hand left your cheek and trailed down your chest, over your dress, and landed on your inner thigh. He squeezed your thigh and massaged his fingers into the tight covered skin. You let out a hushed whimper and felt warmth blossom between your thighs.
Harry moved his hand over the outside of your thigh and pushed it under your dress to grab your ass. You bit his lip and response and he moaned softly.
There was too much fabric between the two of you; Harry’s sweater was just getting in the way. You pulled your right hand from where it was wedged between the two of you and settled both of your hands on the bottom of his sweater.
“Off?” He asked when you tugged lightly and you nodded. Harry pulled his left hand from where it was under you and sat up so you could pull his sweater off of him.
You smirked when you saw his t-shirt: women are smarter. “Nice choice.”
“Thought you’d approve.” He mirrored your expression before pulling his sweater from your hands and dropping it onto the floor. He hooked his finger around the tie of your dress. “Can I?”
You pulled at one of the strings in the bow, causing it to come undone. Harry replaced your hand with his and finished untying it and pulling it open. He moved back to his side and let his right hand slip under the silk shirt you were wearing underneath, trailing his fingertips over your warm skin. You tugged lightly on his t-shirt to get him to kiss you again and he obliged, kissing you at the same slow place as before.
Harry released a pleased hum when you snuck your hands under his t-shirt and ran your hands over his sides.
“Take it off.” He mumbled against your lips.
Once the t-shirt was over his head, his hands were tugging at the sleeves of your black dress, trying to get them down. You sat up slightly, both so you could reconnect your lips and to help him get it off of you. When you laid back down, Harry’s fingers started fiddling with the buttons of you blouse, but then he paused.
“Is this okay?”
“Of course it is.” It was a breathless whisper.
“Tell me if I’m going to fast.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. This was the slowest the two of you had ever gone. When his expression remained the same, you kissed him softly. “You’re perfect.”
He tried to hide his smile by kissing you and moving you back down so that he was half hovering over you. Your left hand went back to rest on his neck as his right hand worked at the buttons of your blouse. When he got the last one done, he pushed the material open and cursed softly when glanced at your body.
You had worn a cream colored set that day—you wanted to match the tights in case of any kind of unfortunate incident and you wanted to feel sexy that day. You needed the confidence boost since you had woken up feeling so nervous.
Harry trailed his fingers under the wire of your bra and then down until they caught on to the band of your tights. He tugged at it delicately before moving back down towards your inner thigh. He brushed his fingers over your covered clit and you whimpered again. When he applied more pressure, you moaned and moved your hand from his neck to grip onto his shoulder. Harry moved his finger down towards where you center was and were sure it was damp at the least.
“Fuck.” He breathed before he squeezed the inside of your thigh again. You heard the tear. His finger had caught onto the tiny hole you had caused the last time you wore the tights. It was extremely high up and on the inside of your thigh so you didn’t see the problem in continuing to wear them since the hole would always be covered.
“Of course.” You mumbled.
Harry shrugged innocently. “I can make up for it?”
“Oh, you will.”
Harry giggled softly and you couldn’t help but join him as you pulled him back down to kiss you. He shifted himself so that he was hovering over you completely. He pulled away just far enough that his lips grazed yours as he spoke. “How ‘bout I do that now?”
You nodded and kisses him again quickly before he dipped his face into the crook of your neck. He ran his tongue over the spot below your ear and then sucked lightly. Harry continued trailing kisses down your body and over the tights before he settled himself between your legs. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and gave him a questioning look.
He was leaning on his elbows when he took his left hand and stuck a finger into the small hole in your tights. “I thought I’d just…”
“Harry.” You were giving him a warning.
You heard them tear and he pulled on them with his finger. “Could be fun, yeah?”
“You owe me a pair of tights.” You said as you moved your elbows and fell onto your back, deciding it was easier to just give in—maybe even more fun.
The rip was loud and you could feel the air hit the insides of your thighs. He had torn them straight across and created a large hole that gave him easy access to you.
He ran a hesitant finger over your panties before pulling them to the side. Harry hummed in what seemed to be anticipation as he ran a finger through your folds and swirled the tip of it around your clit causing you moan in slight surprise. When he pulled his finger away, you made a needy sound and he pushed your legs open wider so he could get comfortable.
The second his tongue was on your clit, your hands were in his hair. His tongue was warm and you could feel how wet you were. When he sucked the small bud into his mouth, your hips bucked and your grip on his hair tightened. He moaned at the action and began flicking his tongue over your clit quickly, building you up so that your breath was coming out quickly, in pants, before bringing his tongue back down through your folds and dipping into your center.
He was trying to torture you, to tease you, to build you up and then take the sensation away until you were frustrated and begging. You knew he liked to hear it and you would have to decide how nice to him you wanted to be.
Harry swirled his tongue over your clit and continued to trace it in circles as you pulled on his hair with each moan that left your mouth. He moaned against you when he heard you say his name. He sucked onto your clit again and had to clamp his right hand down onto your thigh to stop you from closing your legs.
“Fuck.” You groaned when he went back to tracing the bud in circles.
He could see you struggling to keep your eyes open. Your brows were furrowed and your lips were slightly swollen. Every few seconds he would catch you looking at him before your lashes fluttered shut again. He had a feeling you were close, but he loved having you like this and he wanted it to go on for as long as he could make it.
When he tried to move from your clit, your grip on him tightened and he knew you wanted to finish.
“Please, don’t move.” Your voice was breathless.
He stayed where he was and continued to do exactly what he had been doing. He could feel your legs start to shake on either side of him and your noises were becoming short and rushed.
“Fuck!” The cry was strangled as you arched your back against the bed and rolled your hips against his tongue.
He licked you slow, all the way through your orgasm and even as you came down. Just when you seemed relaxed and your breathing had started to return to normal, he pushed a finger into you, forcing a surprised moan from your lips.
“Harry,” you whined.
“Feel good?” He knew you probably wanted more, but he still needed to double check that it was okay.
“Mhmm.” Your eyes were closed again and your hand fell from his hair to rest on your thigh, the backs of your fingers brushing slightly over his cheek.
Harry kissed your hand before adding another finger. Your back arched again and you whimpered. Your hand fell to the bed where you grabbed unsuccessfully at the comforter. When we added his tongue your hips rolled against his mouth and you gave a drawn-out moan. He moved his fingers to match the rhythm of your hips and made sure to curl his fingers into you every time they dipped inside.
It felt like a lot to you; his tongue moved slowly as his fingers curled deep. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and tried to hold in the cry that tried to escape when he quickened the pace of his tongue. You felt the orgasm already start to build in your belly, but didn’t want to give up the feeling that quickly.
Your clit was sensitive and the roll of your hips became less rhythmic with every pass of his tongue. Harry pressed a kiss to the spot right above your clit, giving you a short break but your hips continued to move.
“Close, baby?”
“Mhmm—fuck, Harry.” Your eyes were squeezed shut and your hands were back in his hair, his curls wrapped around your fingers. When you glanced down, you could see his hips barely moving against the bed, trying to satisfy himself in any way he could.
His tongue began to move in precise circles around your clit when you pushed him further into you. Once your hips had lost their rhythm completely, he started moving his fingers faster and curling them in as deep as they could go. Your breathing grew harsh ad your chest rose and fell slowly as your second orgasm built gradually.
“God…” It sounded like a curse falling from your lips. “Harry, I-I’m coming.” You had to choke the words out as your vision split and you felt the sensation make its way throughout your entire body. Your moans came out an octave below a scream and you were sure your neighbors—all of them—could hear you, but you didn’t care.
Harry placed kisses on the small bud as he continued the movement of his fingers throughout your high. When you came down, you brushed your fingers through his hair softly and massaged the tips of your fingers into his scalp, fully aware of how hard you had been tugging. The mix of wine and two orgasms had made you slightly sleepy, but you weren’t done yet. You wanted what he had refused to give you Saturday night.
Harry moved back up to lay on top of you and placed a soft kiss to your lips.
“Take those off.” You whispered as you tugged on the belt loop of his jeans.
He pushed himself off of you and the bed so he was standing and undid his jeans as you took off your blouse and bra. When your hands went to the waistband of the tights, Harry shook his head. “Keep those on.”
You rolled your eyes. “I hate fucking with underwear on. It just gets in the way.”
Harry dropped his socks on the floor and then crawled back onto the bed. You watched him tug helplessly on the lace material of your underwear and tried to hold in a laugh. He adjusted his grip and tried again—and failed. A frustrated look took over his face as he tried a third time and again, failed.
You couldn’t hold in the laugh any longer. “Want to try a fourth?”
“Forget it. Just take them off.” He sounded disappointed.
“Look,” You sat up and tore at the tights a little more to get to at a specific part of your panties. “You have to tear them here.” With one swift movement, you had torn them apart, giving Harry clear access to all of you.
“So you’ve done this before.” You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or disappointed that he was slightly behind your experience.
You dipped your hands under the tights and pulled your panties up so you could tear them again at the hip, that way they were off completely. “And you obviously haven’t.”
“Okay, okay, enough.” He pulled the delicate fabric from your hands and threw them behind him before grabbing your jaw before settling on top of you. “If I agree to buy you another pair, will you shut up?”
You smirked. “Maybe.”
“You’re so fucking annoying.” He mumbled as he sat back up. He grabbed your hips and turned you over so you were on your stomach and then pulled them towards him, forcing you on your knees. You bit your lip in anticipation, never shying away from Harry being rough.
Harry lined himself up with your center and pushed inside. He gave you no time to adjust before pulling back and driving into you, causing you to curse loudly. His left hand stayed gripping your hip harshly while his right hand moved up your back. He gripped onto the back of your neck so that you dropped your head onto the mattress, back completely arched, hands fisting the comforter in front of you.
“Fucking hell.” His voice was low and raspy.
When his right hand came down on your ass, you let out a small shriek, more surprised than anything.
“Okay, baby?” He asked as he rubbed over the spot he had hit, the warmth of his hand veiled by the tights.
“Fuck—yeah…I’m okay.” Your words were broken by moans as he continued to pump in and out of you. Your grip tightened on the comforter when his hand came down again.
Harry didn’t think he was pushing any sort of boundaries, you had done all of this before but for whatever reason it felt different then. Each time you cursed or moaned when his hand hit your skin, he was listening for any indication of pain or dislike in a way he hadn’t the last time the two of you did this.
He slowed down the speed of his thrusts and cursed when your moans grew in both volume and frequency. You liked when he went slow and pushed deep—he needed to remember that. He leaned forward and pushed your hair away from your face so he could see you—only your profile, but he liked to see the way he made you feel. He massaged the cheek that was growing red even through the thick material and gave you a second to recover before he did it again. Just as he was about to bring his hand down, he heard something that more than surprised him.
“I want to see you.”
“What?” He paused inside of you and squeezed your hip.
“I want to see you.” Your voice was small and, if Harry didn’t know better, you sounded almost embarrassed.
Harry felt his chest warm. He pulled out and pushed at your hips, signaling for you to turn over and lay on your back. Once you were settled, he hovered over you and kissed you slowly.
“Better?” He mumbled against the corner of your mouth. You nodded and kissed his cheek before turning his chin so you had access to his lips again. He reentered you with a low moan and dropped his forehead onto yours. You ran your hands along his biceps and squeezed when he pushed in deep. “Feels good.” He mumbled. “Fuck, you feel good.”
You lifted your legs a little more and held your knees closer to you so that he could push even deeper. When you saw his eyes flutter shut and his brow furrow in pleasure, you brought your left hand to his cheek and used your right to brush his hair back. “Look at me.” You whispered.
You had never wanted this with him before, this kind of intimacy. You never cared whether or not you could see him or feel him on top of you the way you did then. You felt this deep ache for connection in your chest and you weren’t sure at all where it came from. He needed to look at you. He needed to look at you the same way you were looking at him.
He lifted his forehead from yours and opened his eyes. You watched them roam over your face. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
Your hand went to the back of his neck and you pulled him back into a kiss. He dropped to his elbows and you could finally feel his chest on yours. He moaned into your mouth as he continued his thrusts.
“Fuck, Harry.” You sighed. You knew he loved to hear his name. “Fuck, that feels good.” When he heard your praise, he pushed harder and let out a groan.
“Oh…baby.” His voice was strained and you could tell that he was trying to control his thrusts. His hips held onto their rhythm as you brushed your nose against his, his lips hovering over yours. When he hit a particularly deep spot, you dug your nails into his sides, earning a pleased hum from him. You dragged your nails down his sides as he continued moving and it was clear that he enjoyed it.
He dropped his face into your neck—a sure sign that he was almost ready. He kissed and nipped at the skin of your neck, mumbling your name along with a few curses. You loved hearing your name as much as he loved hearing his.
A desperate whimper fell from your lips when his skin brushed against your clit. After the second time, he adjusted himself so it happened every time and the sensation was almost too much. “Holy…fuck.” Your words came out as a whisper and you were sure you would be leaving nail marks in his skin.
“Baby—oh, my god.” Harry’s teeth sunk into the spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt a tingling sensation move up your neck and into your hair. You loved when guys did that—but it felt the best when Harry did it.
His hips began to slow and he was holding himself in you for a few seconds with each thrust. He would pant and then drive himself into you again. You knew he was trying to prolong it for your sake but you wanted him to feel good.
“Harry—baby, I want you to cum.”
“Yeah?” It was muffled since his face was buried in your neck.
You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, then vocalized your approval. “Yeah, babe.” You tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Fuck, (Y/N). Fuck…” His moans were desperate and needy.
You wrapped one arm around his neck and draped the other over his back as you pulled him as close to you as possible. You felt his breath against your neck and held in a shiver when his teeth grazed your skin. You whispered his name as your own orgasm built, although you didn’t care whether or not you finished for the third time. For the first time, this was only about Harry.
A gasp was followed by a rough moan and then a breathy pant before Harry pulled out of you and emptied himself all over your folds. You held him as he finished, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching at the skin of his upper back.
He kissed your neck three times when he was done before pushing off of you and laying on his back. “Where’s the—“ He was breathless and you felt a weird sense of affection towards him—like you wanted to take care of him, to coddle him, to brush you fingers through his hair as he fell asleep. You tried to shake it off, tried to chalk it up to the sex haze you were in, but something in the back of your mind told you it was more than that, something in your gut told you that you needed to stop kidding yourself.
“Where’s…where should I get the towel?” Harry asked as he laid there next to you. He ran a hand through his hair.
You shook your head and sat up. “I’ll get it.”
“Wait.” He grabbed onto your arm and stopped you. He sat up and got to his knees in front of you. He grabbed onto the waistband of the tights and began to pull them down. You cooperated by pulling your knees in and once Harry had dropped them on the floor, he fell back beside you and kissed your shoulder.
You stood up, suddenly extremely conscious of how your body looked and walked quickly to your bathroom. You pulled the towel you used that morning from off the hanger behind the door and cleaned yourself up. Afterwards, you leaned your hands on either side of the sink and looked at yourself for the first time since you left for work that morning. Your eye makeup was smudged from what you and Harry had just done, your hair slightly tousled in a way that didn’t look bad, and your eyes were bright, excited—alive. You took a deep breath before pulling open your medicine cabinet. You were taking your birth control an hour late, but it was fine—you had taken it much later in the past and never had any problems. While you were in there, you decided to wash your face as quick as possible and peed to make sure there were no UTIs in your future.
When you emerged, Harry was still laying on top of the covers, his eyes glued to the TV which was still playing the movie.
“Alright?” He asked as you handed him the towel.
You nodded. “Yeah, just figured I’d get ready for bed while I was in there.”
You climbed onto the bed next to him and laid on your back. When he finished cleaning himself, he dropped the towel to the floor. He rolled over onto his side and leaned his head on his hand for support. His fingers went to your ribcage, where the small bouquet tattoo resided.
“Hm.” He traced the flowers with his fingers. “I got this wrong.”
“Got what wrong?” You were struggling to keep your eyes open.
“I thought this was a peony, but it doesn’t look right.”
“That’s because it’s a carnation.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” You tried not to squirm as his fingers tickled over your side.
“Why these four flowers? It seems oddly specific.”
“It’s me and my brothers.” You crossed your right arm over your body and your fingers joined Harry’s as they traced over your left side. “I got it when I was eighteen. It’s the months we were born.”
“It’s the only tattoo you have.” His voice was soft.
“It’s the only one I want.” Yours was a whisper.
Harry realized then just how much he didn’t know about you. He always thought you were so cold, that you didn’t care about anything or anyone; he thought your callous attitude was natural, that you saw everyone as unworthy until they proved themselves otherwise beyond a shadow of a doubt—but that wasn’t the case. You were warm—unbelievably warm. You seemed to love your brothers more than you loved anything else and he understood that there was something maternal in you. It was innate because of your status as an older sister—he saw it in Gemma constantly—but it was amplified because you actually had to take on that role. He remembered the way you talked about your brothers: keeping tabs on them, guiding them, admonishing them and supporting them—beyond what a sister was meant to do. He believed you when you said it was the only tattoo you ever wanted. He trusted that they were really the only thing you’d ever love with every part of you.
He scooted closer to you and draped his arm across your waist. He kissed your cheek as he rubbed his thumb over your skin. “Can I stay?”
“Of course you can.”`
November 6, 2020
“He stayed?” Charlotte asked, her martini glass poised in front of her lips.
“He stayed.”
“Didn’t you have work yesterday?”
“I did.”
“You are not giving me as much detail as I deserve.”
It was Friday and you were at Charlotte’s apartment for a martini and pizza night. Usually, the two of you did wine because Sarah didn’t like martini’s and they were honestly a little much, but Sarah still wasn’t talking to either of you and you needed the burn running down your throat.
You two were sat on her couch in your sweats, your hair tied back with Tame Impala’s discography playing throughout her apartment.
Sarah was treating her the same way she was treating Harry; she only spoke to her during rehearsals and when it was necessary. The night before, they band had gone out for dinner and Charlotte lamented about how awkward it was. Both Adam and Mitch knew about you and Harry—and neither of them cared—but Sarah had the power to turn a small thing into a colossal thing. According to Charlotte, Mitch was beyond encouraging and insisted on making jokes about it all rehearsal while Adam egged him on. Sarah was pouty and pissy and scoffed at every joke while everyone ignored. Charlotte said that Sarah needed to realize that she was only hurting herself—and that she was the only who gave a shit about the whole thing—and you reminded her that Sarah was the most stubborn out of the three of you, which was saying a lot.
“He just…slept over. We woke up at six—well, I woke up at six and got ready for work like normal.” You shrugged. “He slept until I brought him a coffee and even then he, like, stayed in bed until I was about ready to walk out the door.”
“Did he drive you to work?”
“He did.” You nodded.”
“Oh, my god. Did he kiss you goodbye?” Charlotte covered her mouth with her hand in excitement and anticipation.
“He did.” You smiled as she squealed.
“My god, (Y/N). He likes you.”
You shook your head. “No. Only as a friend.”
“Oh, fuck off!” She waved her hand at you. “Whatever. I want to know how the sex was.”
“Charlotte, that’s weird.”
“It is not!”
You picked up your martini from where it sat on her coffee table. “Yes, it is! You’re friends with him, you see him every day. That’s weird.”
“Oh, come on. You’re absolutely no fun.”
“Harry would disagree.” You said slyly as you took a sip from your glass.
Charlotte scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m pretty sure Harry would say that too.” You smirked and Charlotte rolled her eyes at you.
“Honestly, though. What’s going on here? The two of you are having sex seemingly regularly and you’re both staying the night and making dinner for one another. What’s happening?”
You shrugged again. “Nothing.” You shook your head dismissively. “I don’t know. He says he likes me and that he wants to be friends. I guess I want to be friends too. I was wrong about him, I think. He’s kind of fun and kind of hot—and he’s smart—in very particular ways—but I like listening to him explain things and talk about stuff. We had a really nice time the other night and the sex is great. I don’t know. I know I want to be friends, but everything is still kind of confusing.”
“You’re so fucking annoying. I could slap you.” Charlotte took a large sip from her drink. “You like him. Like, you fancy him. Just get over yourself and admit it. I am tired.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out.
“Let me walk you through it.” She positioned herself so she was facing you completely and you nodded, very much prepared for her instruction. “You like hooking up with him, right? Since, you know, you keep doing it.”
“Yes.”
“So you like him.”
“I mean, yeah. Now I do. I didn’t before.”
“No, but you like him, like him.”
“Oh.” You paused. “No, I don’t think so. I think I have a crush, though. Kind of a big crush, actually.”
“Babe, you’ve had a crush. I think we’re past crush.”
You furrowed your brow and pulled at your bottom lip. Charlotte was the only one who noticed that you did it in the same way Harry did—a new development. “I feel like you’re wrong.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am not wrong. You—“
“Hold on.” You said when you felt your phone vibrate and saw a certain editor’s name as the sender of the email. “Oh, my god.”
“What? You get a text from lover boy?” Charlotte asked, a smirk dancing on her lips.
“No.” You said, not reacting to her words at all. “It’s an email from an editor at the New Yorker. They’re going to publish one of my poems.”
“Like, actually?”
“Yes, actually.” You repeated as you looked up at Charlotte, your phone clutched tightly in your hands.
“Oh, my god! That’s great!” She grabbed your wrist and quickly sobered her expression. “Wait, that’s great, right?”
“Yes, Charlotte. That’s great.” You laughed when she went back to being excited for you.
“We’re going out tomorrow to celebrate. I’ll text everyone. I don’t care whether or not you want to. It’s happening. Just buy a hot outfit and be there.” She was already unlocking her phone.
You were about to tell her that it was unnecessary when your phone vibrated again. This time it was a message from Harry.
Guess who’s gonna be on the cover of British Vogue?
Ur taking too long
It’s me :)
You smiled down at your phone and sent him a response.
Guess this calls for a double celebration. Are you free tomorrow?
Double celebration?
Charlotte will text you the details ;)
Can you text me the details?
Or at least call me when you get home? Feel like we haven’t talked in ages
It had only been a day, but you would be lying if you said his text didn’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“We’re going to The Roxy tomorrow night. Don’t make any other plans, alright?” Charlotte said as she texted on her phone.
“Alright.” You said as you sent Harry the details.
If you don’t show I’ll be pretty upset.
I’ll always show up for you
You desperately tried to ignore the way his words made you feel. It had just been a long time since someone had acted like that towards you. You hadn’t had a serious boyfriend or any guy even remotely steady since before you moved here. It was simply nice to hear those words, to think that someone was there for you. That was all.
November 7, 2020
The day had felt so long. You had changed your outfit a million times, had gone back and forth between hairstyles and lip colors. You checked the time with Charlotte three times and tried to pretend that it didn’t bother you that Sarah and Mitch wouldn’t be in attendance.
You showered four hours before you had to leave and spent way too long on your hair. You had to fuck around your apartment for over an hour since you didn’t want to do your makeup to early. You read some of Mary Oliver’s poetry as well as some of Helier Skelter—a book you had been trying to finish for over a year.
When it was time to do your makeup, you kept it simple—well, sort of. You kept your base makeup the same: light foundation, a shit ton of powder because you would be sweating, light on the bronzer, and a little heavy handed on the blush (both on the ops of your cheeks and your nose). You smoked out a wing on your eyes and dragged some brown shadow across your lash line and paid careful attention to your lashes. You dragged a deep red lipstick over your lips before shimmying into your dress.
It was short—your favorite kind. You had splurged on it ages ago but never thought an occasion worthy enough to wear it. You weren’t exactly sure what made you feel like that night was the right time—after all, it was only a poem—and you made sure to tune out the voice in your head that repeatedly whispered that Harry would like it. You didn’t dress for him, or any man for that matter. Well, maybe that was a lie. Two things could simultaneously be true, couldn’t they?
It was the same color of your lipstick: a deep, wine red. The neckline was a V and dipped only slightly into your cleavage. The straps were thin and lined with tiny little stones. It was tight on your torso and the skirt was an a-line, the fabric close to your body but not skin tight. The dress ended a few inches below your thigh; the bottom was adorned in jeweled fringe that was about an inch long, which didn’t add much to the length of the dress.
You paired it with a pair of strappy nude heels which often became painful after a few hours but a few drinks always seemed to fix that problem. You dropped your phone into your small bag along with your birth control—just in case—and sprayed your favorite perfume in the crooks of your elbows, on the backs of your knees and on the back of your neck, and then your puffy coat before walking out the door.
The plan was to meet at Charlotte’s for pre-club drinks but you were running about twenty minutes late and so you weren’t sure how much drinking you would get to do. You had a feeling you would be slightly behind everyone else for the rest of the night, but you didn’t mind that much—you weren’t a huge fan of blacking out to any degree, and had a habit of overdoing it at clubs because it was just so easy. You also swore that somehow the loud music made tequila completely tasteless—in a club setting it always went down like water.
You pulled the long coat tighter around your body as you waited for Charlotte to buzz you in. Other voices were clear over the intercom and it sounded like they were playing music.
As always, her door was unlocked, and when you pushed it open, a small cheer erupted around the room.
“There she is!” Adam called from his place at the kitchen island. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry.” You said with a sheepish smile.
Harry held his arm open where he stood on the opposite side of the island and motioned you over. Once you were under his arm, he hugged you into his side. “Worth the wait, though.”
You rolled your eyes despite the smile on your face and moved to greet Charlotte. “He’s been very impatient.” She said into you ear. “It’s very sweet.”
You moved to Adam who held a shot glass between the two of you so you couldn’t hug him. “You owe me one, first.”
“Easy.” You downed the shot quickly and fought the urge to make a face. Adam clapped his hands together before pulling you into a tight hug.
“Hey, (Y/N).” Mitch said as he hugged you back. “Sorry, I couldn’t get her to come.”
You shook your head and tried to show that it didn’t bother you, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was. “It’s fine.”
“Take that jacket off!” Charlotte appeared behind you and tugged on the hood with a full drink in her hand.
You pulled down the zipper and shrugged it off your shoulders.
“Jesus Christ.” Adam said as you handed Charlotte your jacket and took the gin and tonic. “You look fucking amazing.”
“Mate.” You heard the warning in Harry’s voice and rolled your eyes for real.
“Thank you, Adam.” You squeezed his forearm before settling yourself next to him. You purposefully didn’t go near Harry—mostly to annoy him. Just because the two of you were fucking, didn’t mean he had the right to get all possessive—especially when it was a compliment from a friend.
“Charlotte, you look so good.” You said and she did a little spin in her dress, a small smile on her face. She was wearing a hot pink, sparkly wrap dress which looked amazing with her slightly faded orange hair. Teal eyeliner was smudged along her top lash line a little bit under her lower line as well. Her lipstick was a deep magenta and it might’ve been your favorite look of hers to date.
“Thank you.” She did a small curtsey after she spun. “Oh, there’s snacks near Harry if you want some—and some pizza, which is probably cold now.”
You knew she was trying to get you to go over near Harry. She tried her best to hide her smirk as she said it but she was the worst at hiding what was going on in her head.
“Mitch, can you hand me a slice, please?” He was standing on the other side of Adam and next to Harry.
Just as Mitch was about to pull one out for you, Harry slid the box away. “If you want it, you’ve got to come and get it.” He winked.
So tonight was going to be like this. This was going to be the downside to everyone knowing what was going on; there would be never ending teasing, jokes, expectations. It was so much easier when no one knew and you didn’t have to stand next to him if you didn’t want to or talk to him. It was easier when he had no choice other than to act like a normal fucking person around you. You knew the jokes and teasing would get old quickly, but you didn’t know how to tell Charlotte to quit it—and Harry to stop being so fucking weird—without sounding like a complete bitch. So you sucked it up and walked around the island to where Harry was standing.
He handed you the slice of pizza and then dropped his arm around your waist, his hand falling onto your ass. You ignored the small warmth between your legs and focused on being annoyed at the whole situation.
“So…we’re celebrating something tonight?” Mitch looked over at you with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
You swallowed a mouthful of gin before responding. “Sort of? I guess? It really is such a tiny thing, it doesn’t need a celebration.”
“I disagree.” Charlotte raised her hand.
“Well, you would since this whole thing was your idea.” You commented before taking a bite of your pizza.
“You’re being published in the New Yorker for the second time. And it’s a poem, which you said is the first time you’ve ever had a poem seriously published. So, it is a big deal.” She turned her attention to Harry. “And Harry’s going to be on the cover of British Vogue.” She pointed and moved her finger between the two of you. “And you two are finally being honest about fucking!”
Harry choked on his tequila and both Adam and Mitch let out a laugh while you stood there, absolutely wanting to disappear.
“Is it time to go yet?” You asked.
“Once every one finishes we’ll go.” Charlotte said.
At the same time, you and Harry raised your glasses to your lips and downed what was left. Mitch and Adam exchanged a look before doing the same. You all looked over at Charlotte. “Oh, fine.” She said reluctantly before finishing whatever was in her glass.
As everyone else collected their stuff to go, Harry squeezed your ass and dropped a kiss to your head. “Want me to get your jacket?”
You looked up at him. “I’m not wearing it.”
His eyes widened slightly. “You’re going to absolutely freeze.”
“It doesn’t go with my outfit.”
“So? You’ve just got to wear it until we’re inside.”
You shook your head adamantly. “It’ll look stupid.”
“You rather freeze than ruin your outfit for a few seconds?”
“Yes.” You said it as though it was obvious and he laughed lightly.
“Absolutely ridiculous.”
“So is that shirt.” You smirked as you pulled on its collar. It was electric blue and adorned in polka dots. He paired it with a pair of high waisted, black trousers, which you loved, and pair of black Gucci boots.
He leaned down to you. “Bit rude, yeah?” He kissed you softly.
Just as he was about to go in for another, Mitch’s voice rang out. “Yeah, this as just as weird as I thought it would be.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Harry groaned as you laughed.
“Trust me, it’s weird for me too.” You said and ignored the exaggerated pout on Harry’s face.
“Whatever.” Harry said as he looked at his phone. “Car’s here!” He called as he walked towards the door and you all followed behind him.
The Roxy was what seemed to be a Great Gatsby themed club near Piccadilly. It wasn’t specifically Great Gatsby themed, but as soon as you walked down the stairs and a man opened the door, that’s exactly what came to mind.
Large, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, glistening in the multicolored club lights that were above them. The entire wall where the bar was to the left was mirrored and framed in gold. The bar itself was made of dark wood and seemed ornately carved; both the men and women behind it wore jewel toned vests and bowties.
The dj’s booth was raised slightly above the dance floor and was covered in mosaicked mirror, forcing the lights to bounce off of the small pieces each time the lights on the ceiling turned.
The couches that sat on a platform along the right side of the club were velvet and matched the jewel tones that the bartenders were wearing. The stairs that led to the platform was blocked off by a black velvet rope and a security guard clutching a small list to his chest.
Harry led the way over to him and when he got there, greeted the man with a handshake. Harry leaned in and said something in the man’s ear, who then did the same to him, before he unclipped the black rope and let Harry through. The rest of you needed to get your hands stamped; once you were all adorned with purple feathers, you were allowed to join Harry at one of the couches.
“Come here often?” You asked as you sat down next to him.
Immediately, his hand went to rest on your knee. “Only twice, but Eddie works at another bar I like near my house, so he knows me.”
“Ah, okay.” You leaned into his side a bit and believed it was only because there was still a chill in you from the few short seconds you spent outside and not just because you wanted to be close to Harry.
Right when everyone settled, a waitress came over and asked for everyone’s drink orders. Harry looked over at you. “Want tequila or gin, love?”
“Surprise me.” You shrugged before turning to Charlotte who was tapping on your arm from beside you.
“I cannot believe how normal this feels.” She said.
“How normal what feels?”
“You and Harry being together.”
“We’re not together.” You said with a furrowed brow.
“What?”
“We’re fucking, not together. We’re friends, I guess—I think, but that’s it.”
“Wow, you’re really confused.”
Harry’s hand left your knee and landed on the back of your neck, pulling your attention away from Charlotte. “I haven’t said congratulations yet.”
You sighed. “It’s really so not a big deal.”
“It is! Poetry isn’t your best so it being in the New Yorker is huge.”
The furrow in your brow returned. “Who said it wasn’t my best?”
You saw the panic flash over his face. “You did?”
“Mm, no, don’t think that was me. Actually, if I’m recalling this correctly,” your pointer finger made contact with his chest, “it was you who had a lot to say about my poetry.”
“No…” Harry dragged the word out and shook his head in an exaggerated manner. “I would never.”
“Oh, you would and you have.”
“Mm, no. Don’t think that was me.” Harry leaned forward and kissed you—obviously trying to distract you from bringing up his past offenses.
When he pulled away, the waitress returned with the drinks and you took a sip of yours. Harry had gone tequila—straight tequila. You shouldn’t have been surprised.
You sat back against the couch and Harry draped his arm casually behind you. You crossed your right leg over your left and bopped your foot along to the familiar beat that was playing. You were already itching to dance, but didn’t want to go down there alone. You figured you would let everyone finish their first round before dragging them out into the crowd.
Halfway through your tequila, you needed a break. It was a lot. It was strong and you seemed to be drinking yours much quicker than Harry.
You cradled your glass in your lap as Harry leaned over your legs to talk to Mitch who was sitting next to Adam. Harry’s thumb brushed along the inside of your knee softly as he spoke and you had a feeling that the only reason he was leaning the way he was, was to be close to you. There was really no other reason for it, since the couch was slightly curved in order to be able to see everyone sitting down and the music didn’t seem as loud up on the platform.
Harry’s neck was only a few inches from your face. Your eyes trailed over the way the tendrils at the base of his neck curled over his skin. When he raised his voice, his neck strained and allowed a vein to pop out just a bit—the way it did sometimes when the two of you were fucking. Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned forward and placed your lips delicately on his neck. You pulled back quickly, extremely embarrassed by your actions, but no one said anything. They just ignored it as if was normal and the only reaction you got from Harry was a squeeze to your knee and a huge grin as he continued to listen to what Mitch was saying.
Despite feeling like you wanted to slow down, you brought your glass to your lips and took a big gulp and forced yourself to enjoy the slight burning sensation as it moved down your throat. You couldn’t believe you had just done that. That so wasn’t you. Usually Harry was the one inappropriately affectionate or handsy in public and around your friends. You were always the one on the receiving end of it, always the one telling him to relax, or cut it out, or not to be to obvious—until you gave in eventually and simply enjoyed his attention. You felt a little embarrassed and forced down the need you felt to do it again.
“Another round?” The waitress asked when she reappeared. Without looking at Harry, you nodded and said ‘please’. You downed the rest of what was in your glass quickly before placing it on her tray.
When Harry sat back into the sofa, he leaned in close to your ear and brushed his nose over the top of it. “You okay? You don’t usually do that.”
“Fine.” You examined your nails in your lap, inspecting an imaginary chip in the polish at your thumb.
He kissed the spot right above your ear. “We’ll dance in a bit, yeah?” As he said it, he squeezed your knee again, reminding you that your foot was still bouncing along to the beat.
“Harry said the fitting for the cover was next week?” Charlotte asked, thankfully allowing you to turn away from Harry.
“Yeah, it’s on Tuesday.”
“That’s a bit quick.” She said before finishing the last of what was in her glass.
“Yeah, well, they want it for the January issue, which is meant to be ready for print by, like, the second week of December, so.”
“Are you stressed yet?”
You shook your head. “I really only have to show up. The interview is done, I just have to write the thing.”
“Arguably the hardest part.” She was echoing your past words. You were such a perfectionist that getting through the first draft was often harder than doing all of the research and running around to collect information.
“Yes.” You shrugged. “I don’t know, though. I have this weird gut feeling that this one will just write itself.”
“Hm. Wonder why…” You saw her eyes flicker behind you as a smirk broke out on her face.
The waitress placed the refills in front of all of you and by the second sip, you were beyond antsy. You didn’t want to sit down anymore. The dj was playing some of your favorite dance songs and you were missing out on all the excitement down below you.
You placed your drink on the table and stood up. “Okay, I’ve had enough. I’m going down.” You looked down to your left. “Charlotte?”
“Obviously.” She scoffed as he stood up with you.
Your eyes roamed over the boys. Adam took a sip of his drink, Mitch looked away and Harry’s eyes raked up and down your body. “Think I’d like to watch for a bit, actually.”
“Whatever.” You huffed. Charlotte grabbed your hand and led the two of you away from the boys, down the platform and onto the dance floor.
Just when you reached an empty spot on the dance floor, Hands Together by House of Omni started playing—one of your favorites from when you were running around New York with your college friends.
You started moving your hips in time with the baseline, singing the words to Charlotte, who had no clue what the song was but had a huge smile on her face.
Harry was sure you had done it on purpose: chosen the one spot where he could see you perfectly. He had made the comment that he wanted to watch, but meant it as a teasing joke more than anything. If he did watch, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself in the slightest and although he wanted nothing more than to have his hands all over you in front of everyone, this was an extremely public place, with way too many eyes and it was in both of your best interests if he stopped himself from getting handsy anywhere that wasn’t the couch he was sitting on.
You were smiling as you danced with Charlotte. Each time she did a little spin, you tipped your head back and laughed. He could hear the sound in his ears and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.
You looked more than amazing in that dress. He couldn’t stop looking at your body each time he was near you. The dress accented each curve of yours perfectly—it was sexy and delicate, and simple, but still special.
In the car, you were half on his lap—not because you needed to be, but because when you, Harry, and Mitch climbed into the second row of seats, he pulled you down onto him when you went to sit in the middle. His arm stayed tight around your waist the entire ride while his fingers trailed dangerously along the inside of your thigh. He had been ready for you since he saw you and couldn’t wait until later when he would get to have you all to himself.
At first, when he got the text from you inviting him out, he was a little surprised. Usually, you would’ve just let Charlotte invite him and pretend like you didn’t care whether or not he showed up. You never wanted to seem interested or like you wanted to see him even though he knew you usually did. If you didn’t, you would show up, or allow his invitation, or end up curled up together in someone’s bed each time you saw each other. This time, you had gone out of your way to invite him. You wanted him there with you.
He spent the entire day after the date trying to convince himself that it had actually happened. You asked him to stay, let him stay the night, were more than okay with him giving you a ride to work—you even initiated the kiss goodbye. He had somehow convinced himself that it was all in his head, but the invite for tonight made him think that he was more than right in thinking you were feeling the same way as he was.
Harry’s brow furrowed when he saw two guys approach you and Charlotte. He saw some blond talk to you but you shook your head—then leaned in so he could say something in your ear. Harry knew that it was probably innocent and that you most likely just couldn’t hear him, but he still felt a rush of jealousy.
“Mate,” He turned to Adam, knowing Mitch wasn’t much of a dancer, “c’mon.” He waved him along as he got up and started down towards the dance floor.
You smiled at the guy, who’s name was Sam, and thanked him for the compliment. He hadn’t tried to buy you a drink or dance with you, just told you that you looked amazing. It was sweet and pretty rare behavior from a guy at a club. Usually they always wanted something, but he didn’t even try to get close to you at first; he only did it when you couldn’t hear him at all.
Suddenly, you felt someone’s hand land at the top of your ass. You immediately knew it was Harry, just from the way he touched you. His chest was against your shoulder and without thinking, you leaned back into him.
“Harry.” He stuck his hand out to the guy who took it without hesitation.
“Sam.” When Harry dropped his hand, Sam gestured towards you. “You’re real lucky mate. She’s beautiful.” He was talking to Harry but looking at you as he said it. You blushed and looked away.
“I am.” Harrys voice was hard.
Weirdly, you didn’t feel the need to correct him, to make it known that, no, Harry was in fact, not lucky because you weren’t actually his. Instead, you were hit with a small swell of pride, something you never expected.
“Have a nice night.” Sam said as he waved and backed away from the four of you with his friend.
“Surprised you let me do that.” Harry said in your ear as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and held you close to him.
“It would’ve made it awkward if I corrected you.” You explained and he nodded against your cheek.
“Oh, so that was it.” He kissed your temple before releasing you. “I guess I’ve got to dance now.”
“Yes, you do.” You smiled and dragged him into the little circle that you, Charlotte, and Adam made.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Harry cheered when a version of Lizzo’s Boys started to play.
Harry never failed to make you laugh when he danced. He was more than attractive all the time, and even when he danced, but he was always just a little off rhythm, always a little goofy, always so animated that you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter.
He pulled what seemed to be his usual moves: rocked back and forth, did an exaggerated step-touch while his arms moved above his head, rolled his shoulders back and moved his arms at his sides. At one point, he even tried to mimic the way you moved your hips and stepped with your feet, which made containing your laughter impossible.
You shoved him away from you lightly. “I do not look like that.”
Just as the song changed to one with a darker beat, he grabbed your arms and held you from behind. “You kinda do, but hotter.”
“Oh, shut up.” You said in a teasing tone as you tried to move from his grasp, but he only held you tighter.
“C’mon, dance with me.”
“After you mocked me?”
He dropped a kiss to your neck, right under your ear. “Stop, you know I think you look amazing. I love watching you.”
You felt yourself melt into him then, completely flattered and loving his attention. “Yeah?” You pushed back into him and didn’t miss the hiss that left his lips. You started dancing again, extremely aware of the way your ass brushed against Harry every so often.
He wrapped his arm around you and placed his palm onto your inner thigh and gave it a small squeeze. “Fuck, I wish you were mine.”
You leaned back into him and tried to ignore the warning bells that were going off in your head, but you couldn’t. They weren’t warning you that Harry was saying something you didn’t like—the problem was that you liked it too much. The problem was, when he said those words, your stomach erupted in butterflies and you felt the warmth between your legs grow. The problem was: maybe you wanted to be his.
There was panic itching at your chest and you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t deal with these feelings now. You couldn’t spend the whole night with him while you were having a freakout about him. You needed to get away for a bit. You needed to get some air and just try and think for a second.
You turned around and placed a quick kiss to his lips. “I need a drink.”
“Let me come with you.”
“No, stay. I’ll get you one too.” Before he could argue with you, you were pushing yourself through the crowd.
What the fuck was going on? You wanted Harry? You wanted to be his? That was wrong. It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be the truth. You could make it a lie. All you needed was somebody else. It was that easy.
When you broke through to the other side of the crowd, you were fully stressed out and in need of something strong. “Sorry.” You said when you bumped into some guy’s back.
“You again.” Sam said with a smile on his face and his card in his hand.
“Yeah, me again.” You forced a smile back.
“No, Harry?”
“No.” You shook your head. “Sorry about that before. He’s a friend, just really protective of us.”
“Just a friend, yeah?”
“Absolutely.” You said as confidently as you could. You were trying to convince yourself more than you were trying to convince Sam.
“Then how ‘bout a drink?”
“I’d love one.”
You were taking forever. Harry knew that the bar was probably insanely crowded, but you were always the one to push your way through the crowd and make yourself a priority to the bartender. Harry also already had a tab open so it wasn’t like you had to deal with the annoyance of paying for it.
Just wanted to make sure that you were okay, he excused himself from Charlotte and Adam and pushed his way towards the bar.
It took him less than a second to find you since the lights bounced off the fringe of your dress, causing you to sparkle no matter where you were in the room. He felt the the jealously burn his chest as his eyes narrowed in on you and the same guy he saw you with before. It didn’t look so innocent this time. He had handed you a drink and you took a step closer, letting him brush his fingers down your arm.
Harry’s jaw clenched as he shook out his hand that had involuntarily formed itself into a fist. He shook his head in frustration before turning around and going back the way he came. He had no intention of causing a scene at the bar, but the two of you needed to talk.
He waited patiently with Charlotte and Adam until you came back, trying to dance with them and have fun but he was infuriated. He wanted to punch that guy in the face and scream in yours. He didn’t understand why you intended on doing this to him; why you felt the need to make him feel so good about the two of you and then purposefully hurt him.
Two songs came and gone before you got back to the group. He didn’t let you get a word about before he pulled the drink from your hands and dropped it in Adam’s. He pulled you close to him. “Bathroom. Now.” It wasn’t a suggestion and he knew you understood that from the way you followed closely behind him even though he dropped your wrist.
The bathrooms were neutral and so he pulled you into the only empty one, which was the last one in the long corridor. As soon as the door was locked behind the two of you he turned around and pointed his finger at your chest. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Your brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you doing? With him?” Harry pointed towards the door.
You crossed your arms defensively. “We were just talking.”
“C’mon, (Y/N). I’m not a fucking idiot. That wasn’t just talking. You were fucking flirting with him.”
“And so what if I was?” You were raising your voice now.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Harry’s laugh was bitter.
“What is your problem?”
“My problem?” He pointed to himself. “My problem is you fucking invited me here with you and then you go off and flirt with some other guy! What the fuck is that?”
“Charlotte invited you.” The response was cold and Harry felt as though he was going to scream.
“No. You fucking invited me!”
“As a friend.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Why do you care so much anyway? Why do you care at all?”
“Because I fucking like you! God knows fucking why, but I do! But fine! You want to go and fuck someone else, I don’t care!
“Fine!” You yelled back.
The two of you stood there staring at one another for a moment before Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck this.” He turned and pulled the door open, leaving you standing in the middle of the bathroom at a complete loss for words.
You went back to the couch, hoping you would find Harry there but it was empty. Even Mitch had gone somewhere. Charlotte and Adam were still on the dance floor—and had seemed to make some friends and so you were left up there alone.
He needed to say it again. He needed to explain. It sounded like he said he liked you, as in had feelings for you but you needed to know more for it to be real, you needed him to clarify and confirm. There was a feeling in your gut telling you that you felt the same. You’d be lying if you said that hearing the words didn’t make you feel something—you just wished they were said in a different way, a different setting.
You needed to find him and figure all of this out.
After ten minutes, but what felt like ages of searching for him, you found him. He was dancing with some girl near the middle of the floor. Rather, some girl was dancing on him. You watched as he leaned down and whispered something in her ear—then you saw him dip his face into her neck, the same way he had done to you earlier.
Your stomach turned.
You backed up right into someone’s chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” When you turned around, Sam was standing there. A drink in his hand and a worried look on his face.
“You never came back. Is everything okay?”
You tried to blink away the tears that were starting to form. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Something happened with my friends.” You held up your hands to him and patted him on the chest. “I just-sorry, I just need a second. I need some air.”
You brushed past him quickly, but instead of turning in the direction of the entrance, you went back towards the bathroom since it was closer and you felt the bile start to rise in your throat.
The straps of your heels were digging deep into your skin as you walked quickly towards the long hallway. Thankful when you saw no line, you tried to twist the knob of the first door but it was locked. So was the next one. The third one and the fourth. The fifth was locked—and so was the sixth. You leaned back against the ‘employees only’ door and took a deep breath. As soon as the third door opened, you rush towards it, nearly knocking over the guy who was exiting.
Once the door was locked behind you, you rushed to the sink and leaned your hands on either side of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You mumbled as the tears began to fall. Your stomach turned again, the nauseous feeling coming back full force.
You walked over to where the toilet was and stood leaning against the wall next to it, wanting to be prepared if you actually did end up throwing up.
This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be a celebration. You and Harry were supposed to dance and have fun and be handsy and then go home and fuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell you he wished you were his and you weren’t supposed to want it just as badly. He wasn’t supposed to get mad at you for talking to some guy and he sure as shit wasn’t supposed to tell you he has feelings for you. He wasn’t supposed to be with another girl and you weren’t supposed to be crying in the bathroom, completely freaked out because you had feelings for him.
The admission made you almost gag, but it was true. You had been fighting it for so long but you had more-than-a-crush feelings for Harry. Feelings that went past what you felt for Nate in middle school. Feelings that went past anything you had for any of the guys you had every hooked up with or ‘dated’. Any relationship you had in the past only lasted a few months. It wasn’t that you were incapable of having feelings for people, because you were, and it wasn’t that you got bored of people easily, because you didn’t. It was that you just rarely let yourself feel them. It was always something you regretted after the relationship was over—and it was always something your friends admonished you for, but you couldn’t help it. You would fight the feelings tooth and nail until they felt too real and then you would back out and blow everything up.
You didn’t like the idea of doing that to Harry—he didn’t deserve it, but you couldn’t simply accept that this was how you felt and that it was normal and okay.
You were getting sick over fucking feelings. You were trying to fight them off in your head—but it made sense, didn’t it? You more than enjoyed spending time one on one with Harry, loved your time with him on Wednesday night, could kiss him for hours, missed the way he held you the next morning each time you spent the night together. He made you laugh and blush; he now respected your work and the kind of person you are. He made music you loved and was someone you found way more interesting than you thought you would. You had genuinely hated him, but now you liked in a way that was a million degrees past the kind of likeness that was reserved for friends.
You didn’t know what to do. Even if you wanted to talk to anyone about this, you couldn’t. Everyone was drunk, everyone was having fun, or trying to have fun—and you were alone. You were always alone; always having to pick up the pieces of yourself with no help from anyone else. You didn’t want to put this on Charlotte right now, you didn’t even want to bother Harry, not that he would let you. You needed to deal with this alone, the way you dealt with everything, never needing anyone’s help or wanting anyone else involved.
The need to feel better rooted itself deep in your gut, but you didn’t know how—but you needed to feel something other than the intense hurt and overwhelming want for Harry that was consuming you.
After deciding that you probably wouldn’t throw up and that a few deep breaths were ll you needed to cure your nausea, you walked back over to the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror. You breathed deeply, in and out, a few times as you swiped your fingers delicately under your eyes, making sure to remove any trace of tears. Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely successful; your mascara had clumped together, your liner was smudged slightly beneath your eyes, and the tear tracks were clear in your makeup under the bright bathroom lights. You took one more deep breath, smoothed down your dress and told yourself that you could fix this. You could feel better—with or without Harry.
On your way to find Sam, you purposefully walked right past Harry, but received no reaction. When you looked back to see if he has noticed you, his attention was on the girl in front of him, your existence seemingly easily forgotten.
Sam was at the corner of the bar, talking with his friend from earlier. “Hey, you came back!”
“I did!” Your smile took effort.
“I know you said you couldn’t earlier, that you had to stay with your friends, but…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You’re sure you don’t want to get a drink somewhere a bit quieter?”
His smile was warm and seemed gentle. He was by no means a bad looking guy. His hair was wavy and blonde, falling down on his shoulders. His eyes were blue and his lashes curled up in a way you wished yours did naturally. His jawline wasn’t as nice as Harry’s but still sharp and there was stubble along his jaw that suited him well. You could be attracted to him and maybe, if you were in a better mood you would be, but he wasn’t Harry. Not that it mattered anymore. You wanted to feel better and Harry didn’t seem to care about you anymore.
“Actually, I think I’d like that a lot.”
“Great, yeah. Cool.” You could tell he was elated—obviously not being able to sense that your demeanor had changed from your conversation at the bar. “Did you want to tell your friends you’re leaving? Then we’ll grab your coat?”
“No coat, but yeah. I’ll go tell my friends. You’ll be here?”
“Of course, I will.”
You weren’t sure if you liked how eager he was, how nice he was. You weren’t sure if you liked him at all but he seemed gentle enough and your birth control was in your bag and he most likely had a condom on him and you just needed to feel better.
After grabbing your bag from where it sat on the couch, you stood in front of it, surveying the floor in search of Charlotte, Adam, and Mitch. You pulled your phone out to send her a text and heard Harry’s voice behind you.
“Going somewhere?” The girl was with him and each had full drinks in their hands.
“He asked me to go home with him.” It most likely wasn’t a lie.
“Are you?”
You couldn’t read his face. “Maybe.”
“You should.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“So now you don’t want me anymore?” You knew you were poking the bear. You wanted him to say the words again. You wanted confirmation that you hadn’t freaked out over nothing.
“Of course I fucking want you!” He took a step closer so he was only inches from you. You watched the girl back away and was happy to see her go. “But I’m not doing this shit with you anymore! You want me and then don’t. You hate me and then you’re sleeping over and wearing my clothes and you fucking invite me here because you want me and then you tell me that you might be going home with someone else?” He was pissed and hurt. “All you ever fucking do it play games. I’m tired of you being a bitch to me just because you can’t figure out what the fuck you want. So, look, I’ve figured it out for you, yeah? Fucking go. I don’t care anymore.”
It felt as if you had been smacked in the face. “Fine.” You brushed past him and made sure to forcefully knock your shoulder into his. You rushed quickly down the stairs and blinked back the tears that had returned. You were tired of this. All of it. You were tired of the club, tired of the night, tired of feeling that way, tired of Harry.
Harry dropped his drink on the table and ran his hands over his face. He was pissed but also upset. He didn’t really want you to go, of course he didn’t, but he was angry and he was tired of all the back and forth with you and he was embarrassed about his admission in the bathroom—it wasn’t supposed to come until he was sure you felt the same way, until he knew for certain you wouldn’t hurt him, but of course you did. It’s all you had done since the two of you met.
Against his better judgement, he went after you. He grabbed his coat from the couch and hurried down the stairs and pushed through the crowd with his phone pressed to his ear, leaving a message for Mitch, letting him know that he left. Whether he stopped you or not, he wasn’t going back inside.
He took the stairs up to the entrance two at a time, telling himself over and over again that you would be out there, that you would understand that you had hurt him enough for one night. When he shoved open the door and stepped out into the cold November air, he didn’t see you there. He didn’t see the guy that was trying to take you. He was a group of girls getting into a cab and the two bouncers talking with their hands deep in their pockets.
He cursed under his breath and started texting his driver.
“Looking for me?”
Of course. Of course you were there, leaned against the outside of the building, lit cigarette dangling between your fingers. It looked as if the cold didn’t effect you, your arms legs, and chest completely bare, but Harry knew that is he got close to you, your teeth would be chattering and your skin would be covered in goosebumps—but you liked to look strong. It was something he was learning over and over again.
“I was, actually.” He said as he shrugged off his coat. “What happened? Thought you were leaving.”
You shrugged as you walked over to him and took a drag of your cigarette. “Not really my type, I guess.”
“That was cruel.”
“You were cruel.”
“No, I was honest.” Harry corrected as he draped his coat over your shoulders and plucked the burning stick from your fingers.
“Doesn’t make it any less hurtful.”
He put it out beneath his shoe before looking up at you. Your eyes were red and your makeup wasn’t as perfectly applied as it had been earlier. “Have you been crying?”
You stopped his hand as it went up to touch your cheek. “I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
The whole ride to Harry’s your eyes burned. You were still freaking out—even more so after blowing off Sam. You made it all the way outside before you broke. He had the door to the cab open for you but you couldn’t step inside.
You didn’t want him at all and the idea of getting in that car with him made your stomach turn. The self hatred had started creeping its way in the second you turned away from Harry. The realization of your feelings hit you hard, harder than it should’ve and even though you were sure they had probably been there for some time, it was still a surprise. You didn’t have time to process them, didn’t have somewhere you could go and sit and talk it through, figure it all out for real.
You were somewhere with no privacy, no sober friends, no stability, no comfort. Harry had been pissed at you, been with someone else, your heart was lurching, your mind was reeling and you were overwhelmed.
Once in the car, stuck under the crook of Harry’s arm, you still weren’t able to calm down. The silence of the ride sent your mind into overdrive. The same thoughts repeated over and over again in your mind: you had feelings for Harry. For a short time, you tried to convince yourself that maybe you actually didn’t. Maybe it was the alcohol that was trying to trick you, the simplistic jealously of seeing a man who you only ever saw as yours with someone else. Yours. That was the problem right there, wasn’t it? You had been thinking of Harry as someone that belonged to you when he never did, still didn’t, but it meant that all the time something had been there—feelings had been there and you were just too stubborn to see it.
Harry’s hand had been massaging your thigh the entire time you had been in the car, but he had also been silent, the two of you obviously lost in your own heads, thinking over the events of the night.
He helped you out of the car and held you close to him as he said goodnight to his driver before leading you up to the door. You reached up and kissed his neck as he turned his key into the lock and he sighed. His fingers fumbled to turn the knob as you continued to trace circles over his skin with your tongue, but when he finally got the door open, the first thing he did was push your body against its frame.
He kissed you hard before pulling away but keeping his forehead against yours. “We need to talk.”
“Tomorrow.”
He moved his head back when you tried to kiss him again. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
As soon as the words were out, his lips were back on yours. He walked you inside and managed to close the door despite you tugging on the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. His coat dropped from your shoulders and his left hand pushed under the hem of your dress so he could grab at your upper thigh just under your ass.
You could feel in the way he was kissing you and touching you that he wanted that night to be rough, which was exactly what you wanted. That night couldn’t be like Wednesday. It couldn’t feel soft, or passionate in the way where it felt as if he cared about you. You needed it to be hard, maybe a little fast, and you needed him to make it feel like he hated you again.
Harry groaned when you tugged harshly at the hair at the back of his head and pushed you back against the wall. He dipped his face into your neck and sucked hard at the skin. Your brow furrowed and you sighed before pushing him away slightly when the image of him doing the same to the girl at the club flashed through your mind.
He gave you a questioning look and you forced the thought away, pulling him back into you. You started working on the buttons of his shirt, wanting to slide your hands over his skin as soon as possible. When you tugged at his shirt a little roughly in order to get it untucked from his trousers, his hands moved to your wrists.
“Careful, it’s Gucci.”
“Do you fucking know how you sound, right now?” You mumbled.
He chuckled against your lips. “Right. Sorry.”
After undoing the last button. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, not satisfied until it dropped softly to the floor. As your fingertips trailed over his chest and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, Harry hiked up the skirt of your dress and grabbed roughly at your hips, forcing them into his.
You raked your nails down his chest and he hissed while moving his hands to grab your ass. He rolled his hips into your again and you cursed softly, feeling the warmth between your thighs deepen. Despite the emotional mess the night had been, your need for him had been building since you first saw him at Charlotte’s. You always wanted him when you were with him and often when you weren’t. He had somehow worked his way into every single part of your life: into your friendships, your work life, your love life. He was fucking everywhere and it wasn’t fair.
“I want to go upstairs.” You said as you gripped onto his jaw.
Without a word, he bent down and scooped you up from your knees. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he started moving towards the stairs.
“Harry, you’re going to drop me.” He ignored you. “H, you can’t. You’re not going to make it. Just put me down.”
“Would you shut up?” He kissed your neck. “Do you know how much I can lift?”
“Doo you know you sound like a cocky asshole?”
“Thought you liked that.”
You covered his smirk with a kiss and he moaned again as he took the last step.
Once you were in the bedroom, he dropped you on the bed and trailed openmouthed kisses down your neck and your chest as his hands pushed under your dress and his fingers dipped under the band of your nearly there thong. It was more of a g-string, really, but it was tasteful, delicate. The front was blush pink and lace and another small patch of lace sat at your back, while the fabric that connected both pieces was extremely thin and looked almost like ribbon.
He moved off you but stayed kneeling in front of you, eyes on your body as he ran his left hand down your leg before pulling your foot up towards him and undoing the tiny straps of your shoe. He kissed the inside of your ankle before setting it down and repeating the process with the other one. When he was done, you pushed yourself up so you were leaning back on your hands and kissed him.
“I want you in my mouth.” You whispered. What you really wanted was control. You felt as if you had lost all of it and desperately wanted it back.
“Fuck.” He sighed before placing his right hand on the back of your neck. Harry held you in a kiss as he leaned forward on his left hand, forcing you to lay back down, before he rolled the two of you over so that you were on top.
You rolled your hips into his once, twice. He bit your lip and whimpered. You pushed against his chest in order to separate your lips before moving down to the spot between his legs.
After he had hurriedly undone his pants and you pulled them off, you settled into one of your favorite positions: legs bent at the knees, ankles crossed in the air, your cheek resting on his thigh. You stroked him slowly and watched his eyes flutter shut before his head tipped back. He was trying not to buck himself into your hand and failing. He was trying to hold back, to give you the control you wanted, but it was obvious he was aching.
It pleased you to know that he had been feeling the same way about you the entire night, as much as you wished it didn’t. For a second, the intrusive thought entered that it wasn’t you who had turned him on, but the other girl—you forced it away. The jealousy was frustrating and unnecessary. Harry was yours. Wasn’t he? Didn’t he want to be? You hated yourself for how much you wanted it.
Harry’s hand went to your hair when you moved up to place his tip at the opening of your mouth. He was ready to do exactly what you wanted him to do. When he pushed you down to take in all of him, you squeezed your thighs together. He didn’t let himself hit the back of your throat, but he was close, and held you there for a second as a strangle groan left his lips.
“Fuck, (Y/N). Do it again.” He released the pressure on your head and let you come up. When you started to move back down, he pushed again and held you there. As you came back up, you sucked harder and made sure to swirl your tongue around his tip in the way you knew he liked.
He hit the back of your throat when you went back down without warning. Harry’s moans were strained as he gripped tightly onto you hair. You peeked up at him as you moved back to his tip; his chest was heaving slowly and his cheeks were pink. His grip on your hair tightened once more when he saw you looking and pushed you back down, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag.
You released him quickly but held your mouth over him, letting the spit drip down his cock, fully aware that he was watching. His hips bucked slightly into nothing and you knew you had him. He would do whatever you said, whatever you wanted. All you had to do was ask—and it would be a big ask, especially since Harry didn’t exactly seem like the type.
You gave him one more; as you went down you sucked hard and gagged when he hit the back of your throat but didn’t move. You let him buck his hips into your mouth twice as he cursed loudly between pants and had to pull you off of him.
When he dropped his hand from your hair, you moved to stand on your knees. After he brushed his knuckles over the corner of your mouth and then your chin and he tried to calm down his breathing, you unzipped your dress at the side and then pulled it off up over your head.
You left your underwear on since there was no real fabric there to get in the way and nodded at him. “Sit up. All the way.”
Harry followed your commands as you crawled over to him. You placed your knees on either side of him and rested your forearms on his shoulders while his went to your ass. When he licked your nipple, you let your head fall back and moaned. He closed his lips around it and tugged at it with his teeth, causing you to inhale sharply, but you liked it.
When you felt his fingers touch your clit, you whimpered and he cursed before running them over your barely covered center.
“You’re so fucking wet.” He moved your panties over with ease and pushed one finger inside.
You shook your head and when you opened your eyes, saw this his were focused on your face. You grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. “I want more.” You breathed as you lifted his cock from where it rested underneath you and lined it up.
You sunk down and immediately started moving your hips back and forth. A choked groan came from Harry and he gripped tightly onto your hips. You felt good—you felt full.
Each time you rocked forward, you cursed softly from the friction on your clit. Your forehead landed on Harry’s, which was damp with sweat. A surprise since, so far, you had done all of the work.
His hands moved back to your ass so he could help you rock forward, getting to a spot you didn’t know you needed to hit. “Fuck, baby.” He whined.
Quickly, you dropped your head into his neck and covered his mouth with your left hand. “Don’t call me that. Just shut up.”
He moaned in response because he probably thought it was a game, that this was you trying to have fun, trying to push him, see how far he could go and what he would allow—but you were more than serious. You couldn’t hear him call you that right now, couldn’t deal with the butterflies you got when he said it. You didn’t want to be soft now—you didn’t want to have those feelings right then.
You rolled your hips with more pressure and kissed Harry’s neck as he groaned against your hand. The orgasm was building quickly and each time your clit rubbed against his skin, your chest heaved and the furrow in your brow deepened.
“Holy…fuck!” It was a strangled cry, and partially muffled by Harry’s neck. Your hand slipped from his mouth and landed on his jaw, where you squeezed, as you rode out your orgasm.
“Fucking hell…” The moan was slow and tense. When he felt your teeth sink into his neck, he wrapped his arms tightly around your body. “Fucking enough.” He lifted you as he pulled his legs under him and pushed the two of you forward. Your legs shifted and wrapped around his waist as you landed on your back against the mattress.
Harry gripped harshly onto your jaw and kissed you roughly before driving his hips into you. You smirked when you noticed he seemed angry. This was what you needed. You needed it to be like it used to be. Before all of this, the sex was angry and rough and devoid of anything that mattered. It was where you were comfortable.
He held himself up with his left hand and wrapped his right around your throat. You released a pleased hum when he applied some pressure.
“Like that?” You nodded. He dropped down and hovered his lips right over your ear. “Can you please just be good?”
“Fuck…” It was a drawn out whisper.
His grip around your throat tightened again. “I asked if you would be good.” His voice was stern in a way it had never been before, because you had taken more control than you ever had. You liked knowing that he didn’t one hundred percent like being the submissive one—you like the arguing, the demanding. It was what was natural between the two of you.
“Mhmm.” It was small since his hand around your throat wasn’t exactly allowing for full sentences.
“Words.” He lessened the pressure.
“I’ll be good.” It was a lie.
He moved back up so he was looking at you as he continued to thrust into you. His hips hit yours hard and you winced with every few thrusts. He shifted quickly so that he was no longer holding your neck, but so that your right leg was hooked over his arm, allowing him to push deeper. When he hit a particularly deep spot, your dug your nails into his sides at his ribcage and dragged them down.
“Fuck, careful, baby.” His eyes were on yours and his gaze was sweet. He was searching your expression for any trace of pain, anything that told him he had pushed too deep or hit a wrong spot. Harry was looking at you as though he cared for you—and you knew he did, but the whole point of tonight was to forget about that. You wanted to forget that he cared about you at all, it would make it easier to deal with your feelings later.
“You could hit me if you want.” Your voice was soft and strained as he continued to push into you. Your eyes flickered from his lip between his teeth, to his eyes, where confusion and hesitancy swam. “Maybe you should.”
“Babe, d-do you want me too?” He dragged his fingertips across your cheek.
You nodded and looked back down to his lips, which were red and swollen.
He grabbed your chin tight. “Look at me. I need you to say it or I can’t do it.”
“I want you to hit me.” Your voice was strong and you felt your stomach tighten at the idea of feeling his hand against your cheek. You had done this before—a lot with a guy you had been seeing a little less than a year ago. The two of you weren’t good for each other and often, your feelings were conflicted and anger bubbled constantly between you—this always made everything feel better. It made it feel like you had some control in the way you felt, in how he made you feel, and you liked the sting, the euphoria that came with the pulsing.
Harry brushed his fingers over your cheek again but pulling his hand back and making contact. You whimpered and he immediately looked concerned. He needed to stop.
“Not hard enough.” You said.
“Yeah? Harder?”
“Please.”
He hit you again and that time you felt the sting. Harry cursed as a loud moan spilled from your lips. Your nails dug into his sides.
“Again. Please.”
He was more confident now and it was harder than the last. “Fuck.” Your voice was thick and your head felt like it was floating but you felt good—you felt better.
“Holy shit, (Y/N). Harry said as he trailed his fingers down your warm cheek. You could feel how hot it was, but the sting was wearing off and you needed it again.
“Again.”
“One more.” Harry groaned. His hips were rolling sloppily against yours. “One more.”
The last one was the hardest and it made you cry out in both pain and pleasure while you scratched at his biceps. “Harry…” You whimpered as he dropped his body on top of yours. His hand gripped your jaw again and he held your face as his thrusts grew more and moe lazy.
“Fuck, I’m coming.” He sucked at your neck right before pulling out. He kept his face in the crook of your shoulder as he finished all over your folds, his tip brushing against your clit with every stroke.
When he was done, he rolled off of you and you immediately got up and went to his bathroom. You grabbed a small towel from the shelf and cleaned yourself up. Just as you finished, Harry appeared in the doorway.
“You okay?” When you turned to him, he walked forward and pulled you into his arms.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You could hear that your voice was hoarse, but it wasn’t from how rough the sex was, despite what Harry must’ve thought.
“You’re sure? We’ve never…done that before.”
You squeezed his sides so that he would release you. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m the one who asked for it, remember?”
He released you but held your face in his hands and carefully swiped his thumb over your still stinging cheek. “I know, love. I just wanted to make sure. Do you want water or something? A snack? I can get you something.” He could tell something was wrong and he wanted to help you feel better—and you wanted to feel better, but he was the reason you felt so awful.
“No, I’m okay. I’m just gonna get ready for bed. I’ll be out in a few minutes, okay?”
He nodded hesitantly and placed a delicate kiss to your lips. “Come to bed whenever your ready.”
Harry closed the door behind him and you locked it quickly. You went over to think and watched the tears slide down your face in the mirror. Your skin burned—everywhere and the slapping only made you feel good for a fleeting moment.
Now, you were in the quiet. The people, the lights, the loud music was gone. You were the most sober you had been all night and your feelings for Harry weighed heavy in your stomach. You were sure if you fell into the river they would drown you.
You were struggling to fight these feelings for him and you weren’t even sure why you were fighting them. It was the part of yourself you never understood—the intense push to be alone. You didn’t want to be alone. You wanted someone to care for you and love you and you wanted to do that for them—but every time you got there, or as close as your brain would allow you to get, you blew it up. You got scared , terrified, and you ran. You always needed to be the one to leave, to ruin the other person—maybe that was the reason you decided to hate Harry so much in the beginning and why you understood him. Maybe you saw too much of yourself in him.
Everything felt as if it was moving to fast and your mind was doing somersaults and backflips trying to fight the intense gut feeling that you had feelings for Harry, that you could even fall in love with him. It rejected the whole notion, rejected him. It tried to remind you that you hated him, but the ache in your chest at the thought said otherwise. You felt a deep need for him and your mind tried to tell you it was a lie.
The tears continued to fall and your chest was getting tight. You flicked on the tap and tried to be quiet as you cried over the sink, not wanting Harry to hear any of it. You needed to get out of there. You needed to be alone. You couldn’t crawl into bed next to him feeling this way—it would be too much. You would shatter.
As the water ran, you calmed your breathing down and tried to pull it together. You wiped the tears from your cheeks and smoothed your hands over your hair.
You shut off the water and unlocked the door quietly. You shut off the bathroom light and pulled the door open slowly, confused when you saw that the bedroom lights were off.
When you took a tentative step into Harry’s room, you heard him snoring faintly and your whole body relaxed. You padded into the room quietly and picked up your dress from where it was on the floor at the foot of the bed and slipped it on as quietly as you could. Next was your shoes, which were a bitch to buckle in the dark, but you finally managed with a small sigh of relief. Sneaking out was easy since the bedroom door was still open and thankfully, Harry’s stairs were too new to creak. You tip-toed into the foyer and picked your bag up from the floor and pulling out your phone. Against you better judgement, you slipped on Harry’s coat and swore you would give it back tomorrow.
You slipped out the front door as quietly as you possibly could and then hurried down his driveway as you hailed an Uber. Once Sarah’s address was typed in, you pulled up your messages with Harry.
asshole!harry calling y/n irresponsible for accidentally burning the dinner because she was busy studying/reading at the counter
-💅
+he was not busy that time and did not help y/n🔁
:(
“fuck, i burnt the dinner, i’m sorry. can we just order t-”
“you burnt it? were you not watching it at all? now we don’t have dinner, y/n.” harry cut y/n off and y/n furrowed her brows a bit. she turned the stove off and took the pan on it off, placing it down.
“i-i was busy studying and forgot-”
“let’s just order takeout tonight. you need to stop being so irresponsible all the time, fuck’s sake.”
“i’m sorry.” she said quietly before grabbing her phone, deciding to just order food for the both of them.
Word Count: 10.4k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: Green Eyes by Coldplay
“The best love language is being irritating. I will annoy you because I love you.”
- Unknown
It smelled next to awful, and the feeling beneath my hands made me cringe. I didn’t know what I was expecting when I had wandered in here after a long day of work. Several other people seemed to have the same idea at five o’clock on a Tuesday, so I wasn’t the only one. Their drinks aren’t that great, either, I quickly found. Nevertheless, they did their job, and they were cheap, so I’m not sure what more I could ask for.
The flat screens above the bar area played nothing but American baseball and footie matches. I silently made a promise to myself that if I ever opened a pub of my own, that Rom-Coms and FRIENDS would fill the tv screens, not bloody sports.
“‘s this seat taken?” a voice hums, pulling me away from my inner monologue. My eyes begin their lull back into my head at the stranger’s question.
“Ye-,” begins on my lips when my eyes tear away from the orange colored drink before me. That is, until, they still when I look at the stranger who stands in front of me. He’s bloody gorgeous - all curls, legs, and those dimples. Hell, you own this seat already. Please, do sit down. “N-No,” my words come out rushed and therefore, sloppy. He doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls out the wooden stool to sit down beside me.
I swallow against a dry throat when my eyes nervously flit away from him. Never have I had an actually handsome bloke talk to me at the pub. I sound more than selfish, and far bitchy than I intend, but it had always been some lousy drunk who had a bit too much liquid courage. Not that I’m anything special, especially compared to him.
Listening to his slow drawl as he orders a drink, I can’t help but try to remember as many details about him as possible. First, there were the chocolatey brown curls. Then, there was the way his violet button up was opened to show ink donning his chest, a cross sitting in the middle, and the wildly attractive chest hair around it. I only saw a glimpse of his unwrinkled, black suit that looked far too good on him. That wasn’t the best part. No, not by far. That award went to the cavernous dimples that sat in his cheeks when his lips spread into that heavenly smile. One that made me wonder how it could be just for me.
“Ta, mate,” he murmurs to the bartender, the gold liquid greeting his lips. All of a sudden, I’m quite jealous of a lousy pint of beer. He doesn’t notice me watching him, the way he licks the foam from his lips, or how I admire his thick eyelashes. Most of all, I catch the long sigh that passes his lips, tugging on his drooping eyes with circles underneath them.
“Rough day?” bravery finds me a moment later, but I don’t announce
myself until I’ve looked away.
“Huh?” he hums distractedly, and not in a rude way. I wait a moment before doing anything, looking at him or even replying. It feels longer than several seconds, and stirring the ice chips around with my red straw doesn’t make it pass any quicker.
“You look like you’ve had a hard day, is all.”
“Oh,” he rasps, clearing his throat after taking another drink of the amber colored liquid. At last, I turn my head to look at him, finding that light stubble covers his cheeks in every place. I don’t know how in the hell I had missed that, because, God, does that look good on him. “Ya, reckon you could say that.”
I nod along with his words, feeling like we belong in the same boat. It only rings all the more true when he shifts in his seat, and my eyes catch something on his breast pocket.
“It must be a hard case, then.”
“What?” he asks. When I see the way his bold eyebrows near his inquisitive sage colored eyes, a laugh escapes my lips. It warms my cheeks and surely reddens them furthermore at the appearance of those dimples again. “How’d you know?” his smile is heaven and everything more than that.
My shoulders rise and fall, answering his question, before I do, “I just had a feeling.”
“Yer good,” his answer is concise, finished with a staccato like laugh. The next sip of his pint is silent, and I would know because I can’t help but watch. At last, there’s something good to watch at this pub. It only took me two drinks and far too long of waiting for it to happen. “What ‘s it now?” his question is light and affable when he finds my eyes waiting on him, holding back a laugh.
“You have something,” I begin, pointing a finger to his mouth, but he doesn’t get it. Instead of wiping the foam donning his upper lip, he brushes under his eye, and then his nose. “Here,” it’s louder than I intended it to be, but my laugh makes its way out with a soft snort, something else I didn’t intend. His upper lip is sand papery from his stubble when I wipe away the foam from his pint.
“Thanks,” he murmurs gingerly, and all I can do is nod, because my lips had begun to fall. “Y’know, I usually don’t let a bird get tha first flirt in befo’ I introduce meself.”
“I wasn’t-,” I start, but his shaking head of curls stops me, and so does the hand that he holds out. More ink marks it up in places when his sleeve rides up above his glinting watch.
“‘m Harry.”
“Becky,” I announce, once again greeting the ball that’s appeared in my throat, ever since he asked me that first question. His hand is cold at first from caressing his pint, but then it warms in my own. The rings that adorn nearly all of his fingers greet my own, lingering a few moments too long. His handshake is firm, and yet gentle. Surely, I must have set the world record for how quickly you can fall in love with a stranger.
“How’d y’know ‘m a lawyer? Really, ‘s it that obvious?”
“Yeah, Mr. Styles,” I tell him, reaching a hand out as his face contorts with confusion again. My fingertip comes under the plastic corner of the name tag against his breast pocket. “Harry Styles of Styles and Lawson law firm.”
Surprise gives away to realization on his face when he looks down his nose at the name tag that gave it all away for me, just a little.
“Oh, ‘d forgot ‘d been wearin’ that,” his answer is giggled, and it truly couldn’t be any more cuter. He slips a hand into his blazer and removes the name tag held to the fabric with two magnets. “I had this convention thing t’day, speakin’ at a uni t’ promote me law firm.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of those. I know they used to have them quite often, those job fairs, when I was at King’s.”
“You went t’ King’s College too?” the surprise rises in his voice, and it fills me when he pushes the basket of chips over that had just been dropped off. His eyes are patient as they wait on me while he feeds a hot chip between his rose colored lips.
“Yeah, I graduated last year, after taking a bit of time off and coming back to my degree,” I answer him, relenting after he nodded his head at the basket and then to me. Ignoring him in part, I reach for the heavy glass bottle of Heinz beside the napkin holder.
“What was yer focus of study?”
“Really?” now, it’s turn for my lips to rise, as if they hadn’t been stunted for the last several minutes, hiding their secrets.
His question comes out in that breathy laugh of his, in between munching on chips and licking his fingers. Good God, Mr. Styles.
“You’re a lawyer yourself and you can’t tell when you’re speaking to another one?” it doesn’t come out haughty or anywhere near cocky, but I still relish in the astonishment that comes over his face.
“You too?” Harry says, excitement loud in his voice, and which I nod at. “Where at?”
“Turner and Jones.”
The chip is perfectly salty when I take my first bite of it coated with ketchup. I echo his laugh as he shakes his head, murmuring about how stupid he is, and it takes everything in me to not tell him he’s the least bit of that.
“I see, so how’re you likin’ it there? ‘ve heard good things, but y’know, I may be a bit biased towards Styles and Lawson. They’re rather great, ‘ve heard.”
“Oh, I can only wonder why,” it’s becoming difficult to say all of my words before they’re overwhelmed with laughter, especially when his are too. “But, I like it. I did my clinicals there for my degree, and was offered a job. You couldn’t really ask for much better than that.”
His eyes are brimming with laughter as questions float between us until the basket of chips is no longer. Then, when the greasy tacos come, and the next few drinks only loosen our lips more.
“So, ya got a crush on that Ben Sanders there like ev’ry other bird?” Harry drawls, words muffled against the rim of his third Scotch Coke a little later on.
“What? No, why would I?” my response is framed with laughter, especially as I think of what to say next. “Are you worried or something, that your reputation for London’s heartthrob lawyer is being threatened?”
“‘Scuse me?” his drink is soon running down his chin. He coughs again after it had went down the wrong pipe when I stole a laugh from his lips.
“God, learn how to breathe, would you?” I tell him, slapping him hard on the back a few times as he presses a napkin to his mouth.
“No,” his chuckled reply comes a few moments later.
“No, what?” I say, taking the turn for furrowed brows when I set down my own pint.
“Don’t reckon me heartthrob status ‘s bein’ threatened,” he shrugs, plucking one of the taller billiard cues from the rack on the wall. “I seem t’ be winnin’ my way with you, afta-all.”
Now, it’s my turn to choke on my drink. Thank God, my back is turned to him so he can’t see it dribble down my chin, or more importantly, the scarlet that fills my cheeks.
“Would you shut up? You’re so cocky. Newsflash, you’re not in the courtroom anymore, mate, you don’t have anybody to win over,” I insist, grabbing a shorter cue and stepping up to him where he sets up the balls.
“I have you t’ impress, don’t I?” his greens lift for a moment to find mine. I can’t help but notice the way that they sparkle.
“You already have,” my answer is gentle and quiet enough for only me to hear. I thought wrong, because he steps towards me and keeps going. For the first time tonight, the sour pub smell has gone, and replaced by it is his cologne. What is that? Leather? Warm vanilla? His nose just brushes past mine, his lips hovering above mine until they pass and press softly to my cheek.
“Have I now, ‘s that right?” his breath is warm against my ear. The skin there sings when his teeth graze it. “Winner buys tha next round ‘o drinks?” his proposition is laced with a knowing glint on his lips when he’s facing me again.
“I thought you had agreed to cover the tab, Mr. Hotshot Lawyer? I only remember one of us being a partner and co-owning a firm.”
“Ah, givin’ me that lawyer lip o’ yers, are ya now?” Harry smirks, dusting the tip of his cue with the blue block.
“Maybe, I am. What are you going to do about it?”
His shrug is accented by his lips turned down with a thoughtful question, “‘m sure I could find somethin’,” he muses aloud, staring off into the distance. When his eyes turn back to me, a corner of his lips pops the dimple out of one cheek. It only falls deeper when he walks around me holding his cue proudly. I feel his hand pinch my ass.
“Harry Styles!” it comes out as nothing less than a giggle, all firmness absent in my voice.
“Y’know, yer not very convincin’ with that voice o’ yers. Ya sure yer a lawyer?” his shit eating grin spews another line as he leans down, readying his cue. “Yer bum ‘s rather nice, ‘ve been wantin’ t’ do that all night,” he has to shut his eyes to ride out the rest of his laugh when I walk over to him and swat him on the shoulder.
“You’re bad,” I murmur, stepping away to grab my drink again.
“And who said that’s not a good thing?”
Turning, I find him mere inches away from me, cue forgotten on the table amongst the array of billiard balls he’d just cracked.
“I dunno,” is all I can think to say, until it hits me. “Why’re we playing billiards when we could be playing Truth or Dare?”
“Truth or Dare?” he wheezes. My insides continue to melt when his large hand comes into view, dragging his fingers through my hair. “What, are we thirteen ‘gain, Becks?”
“Becks? My name is Becky,” I protest, but all he has to answer with at first is those shrugging shoulders of his.
“Don’t care, I like ‘Becks’ better. It sounds mo’ like you,” he insists with lips that haven’t stopped smiling since . . I can’t remember when. “I choose tha dare, then.”
Setting down my finished glass, the hops-y flavor remains on my lips, sending courage into my veins. I ready my question, staring back into his eyes, trying not to think so hard about his thumb nudging at my bottom lip.
“What, are you a pussy or something?”
“N’body calls me a pussy, love,” he denies softly, his quiffed curls shaking with his disagreeing head.
“Then, show me . . I dare you to kiss me.”
“Oh, d’ya now? I see you went right fer it, didn’t beat ‘round tha bush one bit.”
“Yeah, but you are, because you’re still talk-,” I have one syllable left when his lips steal it away from mine. His hair that I’d wanted to touch and caress all night is at last between my fingers. I taste Scotch and Corona on his pillowy lips, and feel the warmth of-
“Becks, wakey wakey, my love,” comes a voice, ripping the dream away from me. Grunting, I shift under the covers, feeling my tired limbs. My expression tightens when I feel lips sponge kisses across my face slowly.
When at last I open my eyes, I find my favorite face in the entire world hovering above me.
“Mornin’, bubs. Did ya have a good sleep?” Harry murmurs with a dopey grin stuck to his face. His voice is deep and slow like molasses, even more so after sleep. It only makes him all the more attractive as my eyes dance along his shirtless chest.
“Yeah, did you?” I yawn, and his mumbled reply is heard between kisses pressed to my lips.
They stir a laugh from me, especially when his own wander to the crook of my ticklish neck.
“Time t’ get up, my Mrs. Styles,” he coos, his words sending an instant tingle up my spine.
“Harry, I’m not your Mrs. Styles.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” he replies from his position underneath my chin where his lips lie. A smile doesn’t come this time though, and even if it did, it’d leak of melancholy, at best.
“What were ya dreamin’ ‘bout, li’l one? You were extra hard t’ wake up t’day.”
My answer is framed by yawns, “What’s it to you?”
“Oooo, I see somebody ‘s upset I woke her up,” his response tickles against my cheek in his warm breath tinged with the taste of mornings. I squirm away from him, tugging the covers back up my shoulders, feeling their returning warmth. “It must’ve been good, then.”
“I was having a good dream, and you ruined it.”
“Oh no, poor baby Becks,” the pout couldn’t be stronger in his answer, and my groan couldn’t be louder. His facial hair leaves zings of irritation across my cheeks and temple where his lips trail. “‘s time t’ wake up, bug. We hafta go t’ work.”
“Why can’t we ever just have a late day, like a ten to six, instead of eight to four?” I moan, taking the covers back when he pulls them down my body.
“Hey, you were tha one who wanted t’ have three rounds o’ sex last night, so don’t be gettin’ mad at me now.”
“Harry, don’t act like you didn’t want to too,” I sigh after twisting and turning until I find that perfect spot again.
“‘Kay, but doesn’t change tha fact that we hafta be at work in a li’l over an hour, my love,” my lips sputter a short laugh at his admission. “Alright well, ‘ll be in tha shower, and if yer not up by tha time ‘m out, we’re gonna be late. Again. Y’know how I feel ‘bout bein’ late, bug.”
“I miss the time when you liked being late. You being this responsible boss isn’t much fun anymore,” my words are muffled by the firm pillow. They’re ended with a yelp after he pinches my ass. “Fuck you, Styles!”
I know my regret the second his sweet laugh hits the air, “You already did last night, Becks, but . . if ya wanna have a quickie befo’ work, y’know where t’ find me.”
“Ugh,” I groan into the off white pillow case, turning my head to find his naked ass walking away from me. “You’re a tease, Harry Styles! A proper, no good tease!”
“And what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it, Rebecca Styles?”
The cold air greets my skin when I at last sit up, our duvet cover falling to my waist. Any words that had been ready to spring off of my tongue stop there, replaced by others, “Don’t call me that!”
“Why not? I thought you liked it,” he calls back, raising his voice to be heard over the hum of the shower starting.
“Just . . don’t.”
“I don’t like it when yer crabby in tha mornin’s. I can think o’ somethin’ that’ll cheer you up, tho’,” Harry comments wryly. I take the bait unknowingly, mumbling a ‘what’ when I step foot into our walk-in closet. “Dick,” his voice is right behind me. I should’ve known, is what I think to myself when I’m lifted off of the floor and soon have hot water hitting my skin.
“You’re so bad, Harry Styles,” it comes out in a giggle that grows throaty and belly deep as he pulls the shower curtain shut behind him.
“Am I, now? I rememba you sayin’ you liked that ‘bout me last night, so why ya seem all upset?”
A squeal jumps from my mouth when his teeth nip at the corner of my neck. By habit, his name leaves them next when he surrounds me with his body, and his fingernails dig into the flesh of my ass. It’s carried with a laugh as he takes the brunt of the hot water, sponging kisses to my neck that the shower washes away.
“When’re you gonna work again with me, bug? Huh? I swear, you’ve been with Rose fer months now. Simon and that intern Jilly are hoots and smart ones, but I miss workin’ cases with you,” by now, his nose has reached to my shoulder, and so have his lips.
“I dunno, Harry,” is all I say, because those are all of the words that I can find right now.
If I’m telling myself the truth, they are the only words that he can handle to hear. I had been with Rose off and on for the last six months, and my off with Harry had never been longer. We hadn’t talked about it for a while now, but it may have had something to do with him having a fit when we last worked a case together. Like, a proper fit. It was a difficult case, to say the least, and because of that, it made things outside of work hard for us too. I usually loved working with him, but I’d found out the hard way that it’s already hard enough having your boyfriend as your boss. You’re only adding more hell to the handbasket when you throw in working with him every minute of every day, leading to being with your significant other quite literally twenty-four/seven. I loved him, quite a lot, but I also get sick of him, quite a lot. Just don’t tell him that part, is all. I try not to as his lips wander my body and so do his hands, first with cloudy intentions, and then with body wash.
/
“Eat,” the word comes out clipped until a stubborn curl comes to my lips.
“No.”
“It’s not a question, Harold, eat your fucking breakfast. Since when did you stop liking eggs?” I insist playfully, shoving a plate towards him where he sits sipping his plain coffee.
“Since I said I don’t, Mum. Now, would ya leave me be t’ drink me cuppa and read tha paper?” he returns with a lift to his brows, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And me name’s not Harold, dunno why ya fancy callin’ me it lately. Yer not funny.”
“I am, you just don’t want to admit it,” it comes out in a sigh. A shock of cold air slaps me in the face when I open the freezer, grabbing a plastic wrapped block of chocolate ice.
“Are not.”
“Are to,” I grumble in response, scraping his plate of eggs onto mine. Shaking my head, I turn around with the plate in hand, grabbing the toast peeking out from the toaster. “Grape or strawberry today?”
“Mix ‘em, please.”
“I’ve never met somebody who likes to mix their jams,” I comment playfully, soon hearing the nostalgic sound of a butter knife against toasted bread.
“‘ve never met somebody who cared so much ‘bout eatin’ bloody breakfast.”
“What, as if I didn’t used to get you Starbucks breakfast every morning three years ago?” he tries not to smile at my wheezed words, but I see it when I set down the new plate in front of him.
“Now, eat something, Harry. We need to leave soon, since somebody is intent on being on time.”
When I turn my back, the silence is interrupted by him biting into the toast. The microwave beeps and I gingerly carry the plastic wrapped steaming muffin, plopping it onto his plate.
“Our kids better not be picky eaters like you someday. These chocolate veggie muffins are like, the only way I can get you to eat vegetables for breakfast.”
“Why not, Becks? You think ‘s cute,” he smirks, cocking his head to face me when I take a seat next to him.
“Do not.”
“Do to,” I can hear the grin in his voice as he devours the rest of his toast. Shaking my head at his stubbornness, I pick up my fork to fill it with scrambled eggs.
“What features o’ mine would you want ‘em t’ have, then?”
“Um,” I idle, unsure of why I have to, seeing as how I’ve thought this through about a hundred times, by now. It’d only made it harder before, his hand cupping my knee, but it brings me comfort, by now. “It’d be easier to say what I wouldn’t want them to have of yours.”
“God, do I even wanna know?” he scoffs, showing me his dimples sunk into his cheeks full with food. Licking the dollops of jam from his fingers, he picks up the wrapped mozzarella cheese to peel the wrapper off.
I almost choke on my eggs when a laugh finds me, but as I chew and then swallow, his hand rubs circles on my leg through my sheer black tights.
“Ya sure ya won’t consult with me on my new case startin’ t’day? I know ya jus’ finished that Doud theft case with Rose.”
“What, are you spying on me?” it comes out hearty and laced with a joke. I listen to him sip his coffee and flip the paper, scooping eggs onto my buttered toast.
“No. Did somebody fo’get who their boss ‘s now?” Harry smirks, flashing me those god awful eyes that by now he knows I can’t resist. I sometimes really hate it when he pulls that card, but at other times it’s undeniably sexy, and he knows it.
“Yeah, his name is Myles Lawson. There’s this other guy he works with, Harold something or other, he’s this rubbish lawyer who keeps hitting on me.”
“Hush, you, or no tacos t’morrow,” his words make me groan through my mouthful of food. It’d become hard for us to honor our Taco Tuesday dates when I teamed up with Rose, and we had different schedules. Eventually, they’d fell away to consist of random days here and there, until we’d started it back up again.
“Be nice,” I warn, feeling the cold wood under my feet when I get to them. The warmth from the toast and eggs is replaced by the cold wetness when I pour orange juice into two glasses, setting one before Harry.
“I am?” he laughs, holding up his glass in question before gulping half of it down. “C’mon, Becks, jus’ give this case a shot with me, please? Ya can quit after a day, and if you don’t like it, that’s fine and you can go back t’ Rose.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way, and so do I after working with you for a year and a half now.” And dating each other for the same length, just about.
“Why you bein’ so mean t’ me, bug? I jus’ wanna work a case with you, ‘s been ages,” he whines from my side once again, feeding the last chunk of mozzarella between his grumpy lips. It’s always boggled my mind why he doesn’t peel it, and instead, eats it in chunks. He really is a weirdo, but he’s mine.
That thought sticks with me as my eyes remain glued to his handsome figure. Some sleep still clings to his captivating green eyes framed with thick lashes. His hair couldn’t be more curly these days, cropped to its usual length below his ears and longer on top. He had caved, letting Skye work her magic on him, and to the surprise of both of us, he had been happy with a recent cut from her. Even if it had only been a measly trim, as well as giving him some tips to keep it styled so the top wasn’t always in his eyes. Bringing his coffee to his lips again, a question sits in his eyebrows.
“Whatcha thinkin’ so hard ‘bout?” he wonders aloud, rosebud colored lips moving under a dark brown beard claiming the outskirts of his mouth. If that wasn’t enough to get me going, that new maroon suit he dons does. It’s fitted perfectly for him, just how he likes it. Me too, since I get to see his bum in nearly all of its glory in it. His legs. His crotch. His arms, too. The dusty black button up beneath leaves little of his chest to imagination, just the way I like it.
At times, I still catch myself wondering how he was all mine. Well, almost, that is.
“Oh, here’s one. I hope that they don’t have your weird eating habits.”
“What weird eatin’ habits?” Harry wonders aloud, leaving smears of chocolate against his lips a moment later from his muffin.
Declining to answer, I finish off the rest of my eggs after checking the time. “Eat your banana and clementine.”
Sure, I’d missed working with him too, but not his micromanaging, how he’d sometimes pick the most challenging cases as if he had to prove something, or how I still couldn’t get past the added pressure I felt working with him. I’d wished for so long that it’d be the opposite, but it was wishful thinking, at best.
/
The hum of the air conditioner fills the silent space as I tap away on my phone, sighing at the weather forecast. The warm front that had come in a few days ago wasn’t leaving anytime soon, leaving me in dresses for work. I find Harry without his blazer once again when my eyes turn to the window, admiring his attractive backside while pumping petrol.
“What?” I murmur, lifting my head when the door opens, sending a rush of hot air inside.
“I said d’ya need anythin’ from inside? Ya want a soda or anythin’?”
“No, and don’t you get one either. I know what you’re doing, Harry,” the reply comes out giggled and with a finger pointed at him.
“Becks, I jus’ want one Coke, please.”
“No, you said you wanted to do a no soda challenge, and we’re only a week in and you’re caving.”
“Am not, but I crave it bad, bug,” his response is whined, pulling more happiness from my lips.
“I know, but don’t even go by the coolers. Just go in and pay, please, or better yet, pay at the pump.”
He mutters a defeated ‘fine’ before closing the door, walking away from the car and towards the small building.
I hope that our kids have that feature of yours, I think a few moments later after watching him pick up and return a dolly a little girl had dropped. From here, I can even see the dimples fall into his cheeks as he speaks to her. The selflessness you’ve always had, even if it took awhile for you to share that page of yours with me.
We didn’t drive separately to work very often, unless he had an early meeting or a long day. It didn’t make sense to spend money to drive two cars to the same place five days a week when we usually get there and leave at the same time. Sure, one of us sometimes had to wait around for the other, but it worked rather well, we’d found. I usually won the fight of who got to pump petrol less than half of the time, if we were together, and even less in the winter. Mr. Stubborn usually beat me to the punches, first one out of the car got to do it, and it’d become a little race of ours that we enjoyed. I hope that our kids learn from their father about how to treat others, even doing things that you dislike to show your love for them.
“I don’t care what you say, it’s never me who makes us late, it’s always you. Usually, it’s something to do with your hair or suit, and you know it,” I jest when the lift doors close in front of us.
“Sure, it ‘s,” Harry sighs, leaning his back against the furthest wall. My head soon finds his shoulder, and his arm wraps around me. “Sorry, ‘ll see if we can get done early t’day. I know you’ve been up late tha last few nights finishin’ yer last case.”
“It’s okay,” I yawn from my place in his arms, not opening my eyes until he’s standing up straight again, my forehead itchy from his kisses. “I’ll tell you what.”
“What?” he grins at me. It takes a lot in me to not roll my eyes at his dad joke once I’ve come back to full attention. Forgotten it is when his fingers dive into my hair behind my ear, and his lips press to the imperfection below my eye. “Are you gonna say you’ll reconsider me offer o’ workin’ with me on me case?”
“Yes,” my sigh is everything but sad, and neither are my lips when they meet his own.
The same word flies from his lips with excitement when we part. “Missed you, bug. I think it’ll be easier t’ have sex in me office now if we’re workin’ a case t’gether.”
“Shut up,” I giggle, savoring the feeling of his lips against my forehead, and my arms laced around his middle warm underneath his blazer.
“‘m glad I don’t have t’ say goodbye t’ you this mornin.’ ‘s been a while since ‘ve gotten t’ keep you fer tha day, my love.”
“What happened to absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I titter beneath his sporadic lips covering my face happily in kisses.
“Reckon we’ve had enough o’ that rubbish, dontchu?”
Indeed, we have, Harry. Indeed, we have.
/
“Ooo, the salmon’s on sale,” the whisper is soft as I pour over the page, numbers and pictures jumping out at me. Switching my attention, I press the pen to the paper until I stop. “Wait, does Harry even like salmon?” Pausing for a second, I think until shaking my head.
“Okay, what else did we need? Bananas, veggie muffins, chicken bullion, garlic, quinoa, broccoli . . ,” the words dropping from my lips soon show up on the notepad held in my hand. Call me old fashioned, and Harry will, believe me. “Granola, roasted pumpkin seeds, pistach-.”
“Beep beep,” somebody chirps from behind me. A scoff leaves my lips next when a cart bumps into my behind. Whipping around in surprise, my mouth is open in astonishment. It only falls further when I find the culprit. “What, not happy t’ see me?” Harry smirks with his face squished into a question, head cocked to the side. His hair is more disheveled by now after our day, a busy day two of researching for his new case. “Meetin’ yer other boyfriend here, or somethin’?”
“No, I just . . I thought that you had a meeting after work today,” I murmur, feeling my lips oblige with a smile.
“It was cancelled, and moved t’ t’morrow. Some schedulin’ thing fer tha space, I dunno,” his lips hum against my forehead when he wraps an arm around me. My reply is measly and suffices for a verbal understanding, interrupted by his lips on mine for a second.
“How are you feeling about that?”
“Fine, things have been good lately,” I nod my head along to his response, flipping through the grocery ad, finishing up my list. “Journalin’ has helped loads, so ‘m glad I picked that up again . . ‘m jus’ sorry you can’t enjoy a glass o’ wine at home, anymo.’ I feel bad I took that away from you.”
“It’s just wine, Harry, I’ll survive. Plus, I have one every now and then at Skye’s. Your sobriety is more important . . you are.”
“Thank you, dunno what else I can say ‘sides that,” I feel his smile on my face not just from the sunshine it spills, but through his lips on my forehead.
“That makes me happy to hear that things are going well, though. I know that it’s hard to talk about together sometimes, which is okay, and how you had a tough day this past weekend,” I murmur, setting the list and ad in the front basket of the cart his hand sits on.
“Ya, me too, bug. ‘m better now . . So, what’s on our list t’night seein’ as how we ran into each other at tha supermarket, havin’ told tha other we’d get tha groceries.”
“Yeah, we didn’t communicate that too well,” I wheeze, feeling his arm come around my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“That’s okay.”
We’re quiet except for the sound of the moving cart, and our feet amongst the chatter of the shop. I wish I felt that way.
“Are you sure you are? You’ve been quiet t’day, Becks,” his question comes at the exactly wrong place, and the wrong time. How is it that he can always read my mind? I wish you would pick up on that one thing stirring up trouble in there, Harry.
I murmur a convincing enough answer, hoping that he believes it. It only reminds me of the promise I made to myself last February to not lie to him, and it only gets worse when that memory pulls with it another. The one of how he couldn’t stop saying that communication is key, and that we’re no good without it.
“Stop it,” I scold him with a light laugh, pulling on his arm when he wanders over to the cases of soda. Turning around, his lips dip into a pout. I hook my arm with his and keep walking down the aisle, having to pull him back when he goes to reach for junk food and sweets.
I’m just not sure about how to communicate this one.
/
“Reckon our case ‘s comin’ along nicely so far. Dontchu think?” his murmur threads its way through my thoughts, but it doesn’t quite succeed. Instead of a reply, my silent words wander to describing the way he tugs at his briefs that ride up his legs. “Becks? Babe, can ya focus mo’ on what ‘m sayin’ and less on me gettin’ undressed?”
“Oh, s-sorry,” the words are rushed out with a shake of my head as he titters. I try to apply myself to the conversation, but my eyes hold the remote, gluing themselves to his round bum when he turns around.
“Yer doin’ it again.” My voice is small when I yawn a question in return, waiting for him to return from the closet. With a hand caught in his hair, he does, rushing over with his arms around his otherwise naked body. “Actin’ weird, ‘s what.”
“Warm me up, bug,” Harry chatters, hurrying under the covers and over to me. My spontaneous giggle only lasts until the sound of his next words, “And while yer doin’ so, would ya please tell me what’s botherin’ you lately? Y’know I can’t help unless you tell me.”
The words escape me, like they have for the last few days as I’ve thought and thought of how to say them. More than anything, I’ve debated whether or not to even put them into a sentence that I could speak to him.
“No lies. Rememba, sweetheart?”
“I remember,” my voice is small and quiet. His hairy legs feel contrasting to my smooth pair tangled under the covers.
“Ya gonna show me those pretty eyes o’ yers, love? Tha ones I love so much I hope our babies have ‘em?” his question is answered with my head, and a denial at that. “‘s it easier t’ tell me what’s wrong without lookin’ at me?” this time, my head says something else. I hear his gentle hum amongst the drowning guilt.
“‘s okay, Becks, but y’know, ya never hafta be afraid t’ tell me anythin.’ Y’know that, right?” I myself hardly hear my vocal confirmation, but it’s hard to make it out over the hammering of my heart. I can’t decide if it does or doesn’t help the way his fingers are losing themselves in my hair, his cold toes against mine. “When yer ready.”
My head goes up and down with his words until it lifts, and his eyes are patient. I don’t need to look that hard to see the sunshine waiting in them for me, and how it curls his lips into his cheeks. With each second, I doubt what I’m about to do, and my body takes the brunt of it.
“Will you marry me?”
“What? No,” Harry chuckles, his face screwed up in confusion. My own falls indefinitely, turning away to hide in my pillow. “Becks, honey. C’mere.”
“No, I can’t believe you said that you wouldn’t marry me, Harry,” the whining in my voice is mostly authentic, but I do my part to milk it, as well. My guilty regret only comes once I’m on my feet and walking into the ensuite bathroom, having forgotten to take my contacts out.
“Hey, where d’ya think yer goin’?” Harry insists. As I unscrew the caps to the case, the worry almost overwhelms his voice. “I didn’t mean it that way, bug, please believe me.”
His cheek against mine from behind brings back that tingly sensation as I remove my contacts. “Why’d it sound that way then?”
“It didn’t, I promise you that, Becks.” I give him a smile when I turn around, taking his hand to pull him back into our bedroom. “Babe,” his laugh continues, seemingly never going to end as it grows deeper and heartier. Despite my upset, it finds the crack in my armor once we’re under the covers again. “‘Course ‘ll marry you, that’s not what I meant, bug- Hey, stop ignorin’ me and come gimme a cuddle.”
After a bout of failed attempts, his strong arms hook under mine until he’s pulled me into his chest. His warm hands manipulate my slack body until my chin is lifted, “Look at me, would you?”
“No.”
“Rebecca Ann Holte, look at me, so I can talk t’ you,” he replies firmly, but laced with honey. Always. Sighing, I oblige and open them. “Hey, dontchu cry on me. You bloody well know that I want nothin’ mo’ in tha world t’ marry you and have a family with you.”
“Then, why don’t you? It’s almost been a year and a half, Harry,” all fight and joking aside, my voice drips of a melancholy type of honey. Instantly, I see the effect it has on him, pulling his lips down into a sullen line.
“Where’s this comin’ from all o’ a sudden, huh? What’s happened, baby?” his question is spoken aloud. I avoid answering it, not wanting to share. I don’t need to, because within seconds, I watch the lightbulb go off behind his eyes. “‘s this ‘cos Amelia jus’ got engaged? ‘s it, Becks?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking away, and he lets me. Swallowing against a dry throat, my hand ventures to one of his where I remove a ring. I slide it onto a blank finger of my left hand, two others already claiming a spot. “They haven’t even been together five months . . it’s not fair. Jennings too, the other day. It’s like everybody else is . . “
“But you, love?” his murmur is gentle, and so are the pads of his fingers on my cheeks. “E’vrybody’s different, Becks. ‘m not innna rush, I didn’t know you were, love. That’s why we hafta communicate.”
“That’s why I’m telling you . . although a few days late, and I’m sorry.”
“‘s okay. Thank you fer tellin’ me,” his lips warm my face, willing the sadness away. “‘m gonna marry you, y’know that, right? . . Right?”
“Yeah,” again, I sound like a mouse. This time, he lifts my chin so I’m looking at him again, and no longer his ring dotted with black figures.
“Ya don’t sound very convincin’ . . but maybe that’s my fault. I didn’t mean t’ say no at first like that. ‘course ‘ll marry you, my bug, but I wanna be tha one who asks,” Harry explains, catching the dwindling tears that remain on the apples of my cheeks. A softness sits in his eyes that makes me pool with sour regret.
“How come? You said we could just go and do it at the courts one day, easy as that.”
“That’s not whatchu want, nor do I, Becks,” he states. Despite my stubbornness, I know that he’s right. “Same goes fer askin’ you t’ marry me . . I know we both want it t’ be special, and I need some mo’ time t’ make sure it ‘s.”
“You’ve jokingly asked me how many times now? Called me Mrs. Styles how many times a day lately?” I muse aloud, unsure of how to stop once I had taken the plug from the drain.
His laughing lips are what I first see, and then hear, “Yes, I joke ‘bout it ‘cos I can’t wait t’ ask you . . figuratively, bug. And, I love callin’ you that, don’t think it could sound any better . . But, you and I both know that we want it t’ be special . . t’ have a grand story t’ tell our kids one day. ‘m only plannin’ on doin’ it once, so I wanna make it unfo’gettable, Becks . . ‘m sorry if I made you feel like ‘ll never do it, and that yer sad it hasn’t happened yet, but it will. I promise you that.”
“When?” my question appears in the air before I can stop it. So do the dimples in his cheeks, again. “Thank you, I mean. I’m sorry I’m being impatient and rude, I know there’s more to getting married than just a pretty ring.”
“Yer okay, li’l one, I understand. Well, that wouldn’t be very much fun if I told you, now would it? It’d take away tha surprise.” his brows do the rest of the talking for him. Letting out a long breath, I dive into his arms, and start to relax when his chin rests on my head. “Soon, ‘s that good enough fer you? . . ‘kay, good. Bloody hell, yer a funny one, thinkin’ you can get away with askin’ me like that. And thinkin’ that ‘m not over tha moon mad ‘bout you that ‘m not gonna marry you one day,” he chuckles. I feel his stomach shake with the sound, and soon, mine does too.
“I can’t believe your knee jerk reaction was to say no.”
“C’mon, Becks, I didn’t mean it that way. I jus’ meant it as in, I don’t want you t’ beat me t’ it.”
“Yeah, well, I did. Again,” I giggle, and he joins me with that lovely sound his lips make.
“Seems ya did, like always . . Would you like t’ come with me t’ look at rings t’morrow afta work?” at the sound of his words, something blossoms inside of my chest, and quickly on my lips. It’s that effervescence that I find sitting in his eyes at times, an unbelievable bubbly feeling.
“I’d love to, Harry.”
“Good, I thought that’s what you’d say,” his trademark wheeze is like music to my ears, and at last, I feel my heart start to beat normally again.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothin’ t’ be sorry fer, bug. I feel as if I do, leavin’ you in the dark ‘bout this. I thought you knew from our talks that I was plannin’ on it soon, my love,” and the guilt train just speeds along, taking me with it.
“You’re too good to me, Harry.”
“Hush, li’l one, you deserve it and so much mo’, my Mrs. Styles. Now, let’s get some sleep, we have a big day ahead o’ us t’morrow. Interviewin’ witnesses, and engagement ring shoppin,’” he coos with an excited lilt to his voice. I can’t do any longer without seeing it in those sage abyss eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Styles. That sounds rather perfect, dontchu think?”
“Yeah,” I smile, combing stray hair away from those beautiful eyes. I don’t know, I think I want our kids to have his eyes, instead.
“Rebecca Styles. Becky Styles.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Styles.”
“Tha married lawyers,” he whispers until his lips explode with a laugh made of dreams. I taste it on his lips when he kisses me.
“I love you, Harry Styles.”
“I love you mo’ than you will ever bloody know, Rebecca Ann. Can’t wait t’ put a ring on yer finger, see you walk down tha aisle t’ me, and have so many babies t’gether,” he speaks animatedly, holding me tight and still holding my eyes with his. “Love you, Boops,” is the last thing he says before kissing my nose, and then underneath my eye.
I love you, Styles.
/
“He’s still alive, ‘s he? Hmm, dunno if ya have a green thumb quite yet, considerin’ you’ve killed ev’ry other plant ‘ve gotten you.”
“Hey! Plants just aren’t my forte, okay? But, succulents? Eh, they’re better . . easier. Plants are harder than they look, Harry,” my protest is weak, and we both know it. He wheezes while thumbing at a thick leaf on ‘Frankie the Succulent,’ the very plant that’s been here just as long as I’ve been a lawyer here.
“So am I,” I nudge him away when his lousy dad joke drifts over my shoulder.
“Shut up. I’m going to go and fill my water, so he can have some too. I’ll be back and then, we can have lunch.”
“Noted. I bloody well hope yer better at keepin’ kids alive than plants.” I have to roll my eyes at him this time too for the lame comment. “Hey, watch those eyes o’ yers, Rebecca Ann, or no churros fer you.”
“You never have, and you never will, Styles.”
“Oh, ya sure are temptin’ me now, woman,” he sighs with a finger wagging at me. Rolling my eyes again on accident, and from pure habit, I hurriedly leave the room, giggling after seeing the look on his face. “Yer gonna get it, Rebecca Holte!” I hear called after me, only urging my lips further.
When I return, his lips are still twitching with a smile, and part of me grows nervous. In one way, ever since we looked at rings last week, I feel on edge every time he has that glint in his eye, never knowing when he’s going to fall onto a knee. This time, I’m nervous about the way he bites at his bottom lip.
“What’s that look for, Styles?” my lips twitch with nerves. Swallowing against a dry throat, I lift my water bottle to my mouth briefly as I walk up to the succulent.
“Frankie’s jus’ lookin’ sad, ‘s all. Ya better hurry and water him befo’ he dies on ya too.”
I hear it, and the puzzle pieces all click together when I spot the long box adorned with glittery, purple wrapping paper in the middle of my desk. That definitely wasn’t there before.
“Harry-,” I begin, setting down the water bottle as my body turns to face him.
“Open it,” he interrupts softly, something I once hated him for. At times now, he’s become rather good at finding the best moments for it.
Squishing my lips together into an eager smile, I pull the box into my hands, unwrapping the violet colored bow. My body jolts when his arms come around my waist from behind, his massive height allowing his chin to rest on the top of my head. Lifting the lid of the rectangular box, I’m greeted by a surprising sight.
“Harry,” his name drops from my lips, something that had become so easy over the years, despite the times it had been the hardest word for me to say. His lips are touching the sky almost and his dimples couldn’t be deeper as he beams at me.
“Try it on, Ms. Lawyer. Figured you needed one too t’ stay organized.” Nodding to it, he licks his lips while watching me.
“This is too much, Harry, I-.”
“Happy One and a Half, bug, and congrats on yer sparklin’ review, as always. Ya deserve it. Now, try it on already. I wanna see it on you,” he wheezes with that sunshine smile spreading even more warmth across my face. The redness coating my cheeks I’m sure only reaches further when he turns me around to steal a kiss from my lips.
The lavender colored band feels buttery under my fingertips. I have to ask for Harry’s help, but within moments, an Apple watch similar to his, despite the purple band and purple hard case, sits on my wrist.
“You like?”
“Yes, I love it,” I sigh happily, exploring the small device’s possibilities. His giggle eggs me on, especially when he shows me the Walkie Talkie feature that he insists we experiment with from opposite sides of the room. “But, I didn’t really get you anything. Well, nothing as nice as this.”
“Hush, you. You didn’t need t’ get me anythin.’ ‘m mo’ than pleased with our dinner planned fer t’night. ‘m excited t’ cook with you, bug. Steaks, alfredo, honey glazed carrots, and yer famous chocolate cake. There’s nothin’ mo’ that I could want.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll just take back your present then,” I huff with sarcasm laced in my voice, plucking the present wrapped in Beatles paper from a drawer in my desk.
He too holds back an excited smile, reaching his hands out while walking towards me. “Gimme,” he nearly squeals, and I oblige. Biting on my nail, I watch as he tears the paper away, oooing and awwing at the square box that now sits in his palm. “Oooo, another wordy board game, me likey.”
Chuckling, I relish the way he turns it over in his hands, examining the front and back, “It’s called Boggle. You shake up the dice with letters and then have to make words from the touching letters before the timer is up. Then, you go through what words you have, and whoever has the most unique words wins . . My gran and I used to play it loads when . . when she was alive. I found it at my Dad’s the other weekend when I was there, so it’s not a new one, I’m sorry.”
“Becks,” he begins, having forgotten the game entirely to meet my eyes. Stepping forward, his hand comes to cradle my elbow, all smiles gone. “You shouldn’t have, bug. I can’t imagine how special this ‘s t’ you, thank you so much. ‘ll keep it safe and be careful with it. ‘ll keep it at home, then. We should play it t’night afta dinner. ‘ve been wantin' some new games.”
“I’d like that, and don’t worry, it just goes to show you how much I love you,” I smile, feeling his honesty when his lips touch mine. “But, for the record, I get it in the divorce. I’m putting it in the prenup.”
“Shut up, would you? Stop talkin’ and kiss me, honeybug,” Harry smirks, whisking all of my words away with his lips tasting of honey. “Love you.”
“I love you mostest,” it’s a titter against his lips, but it grows fuller as he shakes his head at me, gnawing at his lip.
“God, I can’t believe you did that. Ya went right fer it. What am I gonna do with you?” he tuts, clucking his tongue at me. Before I know it, his fingers are dancing along my sides, and his laugh is mingling with mine.
Who knew that it could ever be this good?
/
It had been information overload, and my noggin was ready for a break a few days later. Beginning it with a coffee in hand, my legs inch closer to his door. My reprieve is closer with every second as I near the door with my favorite person’s name on it. That was the last thought in my mind when that frosted glass door swung open, and two men turned around to face me with surprise. At first, I have a hard time telling them apart, until I blink a few times.
“Oh, I-I’m sorry. I should’ve knocked,” the words are automatic on my lips, and so is the apology on Harry’s face.
His parting lips are fast, but they don’t beat those of the man who stands closer to me, “You’re okay, love. I was just leaving.”
I nod along with his words, but I don’t have any of my own. Instead, my eyes veer to Harry’s pair with a question in mine. The alarm that had risen inside of me at the sight of the man only worsens once I find his pages unreadable to me. His lips curls just the slightest, but there’s something else there I see as they ready themselves to speak.
“Becks, this ‘s me Dad, and Dad, this ‘s me girlfriend, Becky,” he announces warmly, removing a hand from the pockets of his beige blazer, pointing to the tall man in a dark suit. I can’t stop my eyes from widening at my boyfriend and he nods at me. I don’t have any more time to look, because Harry’s dad is stepping towards me.
“Reckon we’ve met once before, if I remember correctly. Anyways, I’m Dez. Dez Styles, ‘s nice t’ meet me son’s girlfriend at last,” the man says in a slow drawl with an accent similar to Harry’s. A smile appears on my lips from nowhere as I take his hand in my own, shaking it. If I look hard enough, I think I can see a hint of Harry’s eyes, and more in him.
“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Becky.”
“Pleasure t’ meet you, Becky, but I best be going. I have to get back to work meself. Maybe we could talk more another time. I’d love t’ hear more about you, and how the two of you met over some fish and chips, or a pint some time,” he continues, and so does my nodding.
“Ya, we’ll see,” the words are soft, but they’re from Harry as his dad nods to the both of us before leaving the room.
“Have a good day, the both of you. Talk soon.”
Suddenly, we’re joined by the silence, and Harry only feeds it when I wish he’d end it. No matter the looks I give him or the questions that shout from my eyes, he remains silent, despite the recent bombshell.
When he does speak, at last, it’s the least from what I expect, “Wanna play some Boggle? Reckon ‘s that point in tha day, I need a break.”
“Really, Harry? Boggle?” my question graces the air, long overdue, even if only for the last few minutes it’s sat inside of me being a bother.
Again, he deprives me. Instead, he plops onto the trusty old sofa, removing the playing items from the box to set them on top of it. When I find my seat, a blank notepad and pen both with the logo of Styles and Lawson await me across from him. The loud clatter of the plastic dice bouncing around inside of the container fills my ears when I wish it was something else. Somebody else.
When he removes the lid to set it aside, and tips the sand timer over, I leave it at that. For the next minute, we sit in an absence of words, concentrating on forming random ones of our own from the arrangement of random letters.
“Time’s up,” I announce when the white sand has completely filled the bottom half of the timer. His frantic scribbling comes to a stop, but my lips resume, with a laugh.
“What’re you laughin’ at over there?” Harry hums, lifting his narrowed eyes at me. Despite the number of times I’ve asked, he’s never let me near his beloved eyebrows, but of course, they’re rather perfect as it is. Big surprise, there.
“Your handwriting has gotten so bad, Harry. How do you even read it, anymore?”
“Hush, you. I can read it, that’s all that matters,” he whines, carding a hand through his hair.
“I hardly can, though! I barely could when I was your assistant, it took me forever to learn.”
“‘Kay, thanks fer tha lecture. Now, ‘ll start,” he shrugs with a laugh, pointing the tip of his pen to the first word on his list. His handwriting was a cross between cursive and chicken scratch, that’s all I could ever explain it as.
“Can we please wait, Harry? I want to talk,” my question is slow and gentle, or so, I hope. If anything, my hand is when I place it on top of his. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but it’s enough when he forgets the pen to cradle my hand in his.
“Are you mad I didn’t tell you?”
“No, of course not, Harry. I-.”
“Thanks, ‘cos I don’t wantchu t’ and ya don’t hafta be. I didn’t know it was gonna happen, either. I . . ,” a sigh steals his words away as his thumb worries away at my promise ring. “I texted him, askin’ him how he proposed t’ me mum . . and if he had me gran’s ring. His mum’s. He asked if he could stop by tha firm t’ speak ‘bout it, and I said sure, not thinkin’ ‘d actually happen. Things had been good lately, y’know. He was at Gem’s a few weekends ago when I stopped by, you were at a show with Skye, I think.”
“Yeah, I remember. How’d it go today with him?” my broaching of the question is careful, but if anything, this is a topic I know how to talk about. We both ride the parent trauma train, unfortunately.
“Good. It was brief, but it went good,” he answers, gracing me with a look of his beautiful eyes. Finally, they hold all of the pages to his books, open for me to read, as I like. “He gave me some tips, and we spoke ‘bout rings. It was actually really nice, and I think he was really tryin,’ which meant loads t’ me. He wants t’ get t’gether t’ meet you- Well, reckon he already did, once or twice, now. But, I think ‘d like that, too. ‘m not jus’ lettin’ him back into me life tho’, but I want to try with him again. I want t’ have a Dad again, Becks,” a happy wheeze accompanies his words, and so does a glassiness to his eyes.
“I’m so happy for you, honey.”
I feel his breath on my cheek, and then his beard when I surround him with my arms. Laughs dripping with hopes and dreams pass between us as I hug him back, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Thanks, babe. I jus’ hope it’ll stay this way . . that it’ll stay good.”
“I know. I’m sure it will, Harry,” trying to ignore the weight of our words, and the impending future that settles in my thoughts.
SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.
PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry
TROPES: Enemies to Lovers
MUST BE 18+ TO READ
WORD COUNT: 4K+
STORY PAGE
You could spot the birthday parties from across the room. Beautiful, rich kids and socialites tend to go all out, with the balloons and banners, ordering bottles or at the very least, top shelf cocktails by the dozens. On occasion, you might get a wealthy middle-aged businessman, or some guy who just made his first half-mil in crypto, ready to live it up for the night, but they usually kept a lower profile, not attracting as much attention to their celebration.
Zelda’s was a swanky, high-dollar lounge for the rich and the wannabes. In your two years as a cocktail waitress there, you’d learned how to spot the difference. Those with money knew how to spend it. Those that were only there for one evening of “let’s pretend” spent frivolously, cashing it in before - or sometimes after - going belly-up.
Tonight seemed to be just like every other weekend evening, the corner booths filled with decorations and Gucci-lipped twenty-somethings taking cell phone pics of each other. You gave your best fake smile, ready to serve anyone willing to blow a few hundred on drinks and hopefully dishing out hefty tips.
“What can I get you, doll?” you asked the blond at the end of the half-circle booth.
She gave you a quizzical look at first, as though you had just interrupted a private conversation. Then with a flip of her hair, she smiled at her group.
“Oh, I think Harry was gonna order for us all,” she said. “It’s his birthday.”
“And which one is Harry?” you grinned at the three young men who shared the booth, all dressed in suit jackets with their shirts unbuttoned past their pecs. Everyone at the table pointed to the dark-haired guy who sat in the center with his hands up.
“That would be me,” he remarked nonchalantly in a syrupy British accent.
“Well, Happy Birthday, Harry,” you raised your voice over the loud music. “What are we having for this celebration?”
“Tequila, the best you’ve got,” he replied, his ringed finger gesturing in a circle. “All around. And a bottle of Cristal.”
Two of the girls at the table cheered, clearly impressed with Harry’s selection.
“Sounds like a good party to me,” you nodded. “Be right back.”
Heading over to the bar, you heard the group cackle behind you. Then one of the girls shouted, “Stop it!” When you reached the edge of the bar, giving John, the bartender your order, you snuck a glance over at the table. The girl sitting next to Harry held her cell phone up to take a photo, the birthday boy with his tongue in her ear. Clearly the group had gotten a head start on drinks before they’d ever arrived.
“Another one of those, huh, Y/N?” scoffed John.
“Same shit, different day,” you commented, shaking your head. “Gimme one of the birthday glasses, will you?”
“Ah, which Paris Hilton wannabe is the birthday girl? Lemme guess…the blonde in the silver bandeau top getting her ear tongue fucked.”
You chuckled. “Try the fucker.”
“Oh yeah?” John raised a brow, placing the bottle of Cristal on your tray. “The himbo, eh? Wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“Why not?”
“Imposter Armani suit? I can spot it a mile away, honey.”
You laughed as he finished pouring the tequila. “Guess he’s out of his element. But he obviously wants to impress on his birthday.”
“From the look of the caliber of girls he’s with, I’d say I don’t blame him.”
You nodded, carefully taking the tray. You knew what John meant. Harry may have not been the typical socialite to walk through Zelda’s doors, but the women in his company obviously were. And they expected to be treated as such.
Returning to the table, you gave your biggest smile as you set out the tequila. You noticed Harry eyeing you as the rest of the group claimed a glass.
“This is your best tequila?” he asked, almost in a huff as though you couldn’t have possibly selected the best.
“Definitely,” you replied. “It’s a Siete Leguas.”
“Hmm.” Lifting his glass, he let the liquid swirl before taking a sniff.
“Smells good to me,” remarked the blond next to him. “But I don’t know much about tequila.”
Harry took a slow sip, his eyes still on you above the rim of his glass.
“What d’ya say, H?” asked one of the other gentlemen.
“It’ll do.”
Trying your best not to react negatively, you chewed your bottom lip. “I can get you something else if you like.”
“I said it’s fine.”
Not bothering to mask your frown, you took a deep breath through your nostrils. This was gonna be a long night.
“Would you like me to pop the champagne now?” you asked.
“Sure, go ahead,” Harry gestured with his hand, taking another sip of his tequila.
Taking the bottle, you opened it with finesse, just the way you’d been taught and had been doing since you’d started working at Zelda’s. The girls all cheered when the cork popped. Harry, however, was not impressed.
Grabbing the special birthday glass, you began to pour.
“What the fuck is that?” spat Harry.
“It’s for you,” you smiled.
“I don’t want that. Gimme one of the regular champagne glasses.”
“I’ll take it!” beamed the blond on the end. “It’s cute!”
Harry rolled his eyes before handing the glass to her with a smirk.
“Here, Tawnie,” he said. “Pretend it’s your birthday.”
“Aw, yay!” she giggled with glee.
Trying to keep your composure, you poured another glass of Cristal, handing it to Harry.
“Shouldn’t ladies go first?” he remarked, scooting the glass to the girl next to him.
“God, I’m gonna be so wasted,” she laughed.
Swallowing hard, you knew where this was headed, so you poured champagne for the other two girls, then passed around the remaining glasses to the guys, leaving the last for Harry.
“Happy Birthday,” you said again, this time with no enthusiasm. “Enjoy.”
Leaving the bottle on the table, you turned away, cursing under your breath before making your way back to the bar.
“Jesus fucking Christ, kill me now,” you whined at John.
“That bad, huh?”
“He’s a petulant, disrespectful asshole!”
“The good looking ones usually are,” John sighed.
“You think he’s good looking?” you twisted slightly to look over at the booth. Harry was laughing at something one of the other guys had said.
“Honey, don’t tell me you didn’t notice!” chuckled John.
“I was too busy wanting to pour tequila over his head,” you grimaced.
“Well, try not to let it get to you, hon. Just be your sweet self, and get that massive tip. The night will be over, and you’ll never have to see him again.”
With a nod and a sigh, you took the refills for the next table, handing them out with a bright smile. The older gentlemen gave you a thanks and a wink, one of them patting your behind as you bent over. You hated being fondled at work, but if you had a choice, you’d take that any day over dealing with jerks like Harry.
“Excuse me!” you heard someone shout as you started to make your way back to the bar. Speak of the devil.
“Yes?” you grinned, stepping over to Harry’s table. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I get a glass of wat-” asked a brunette before Harry rudely interrupted.
“We need water,” he said, accusingly.
“Sure, no problem. All around?”
“Of course,” he rolled his eyes. Apparently this man lived to be constantly perturbed.
“I’ll get those for you right now.”
“That should have been like…a given, right?” he remarked. “What waitress doesn’t automatically bring water?”
With a sigh, you slid your tray under your arm, pressing your hand on your hip.
“If you want water…or anything for that matter…you can ask for it!” you barked. “I’m happy to bring it to you. But you don’t have to treat me like an imbecile!”
“Jeez,” one of the other guys muttered under his breath.
“What?” Harry glared at you, his eyebrows knitted together.
“You heard me, Birthday Boy! I’m just doing my job!”
As you started to turn away, you heard him mutter, “Doesn’t look like it,” followed by the rest of the group either giggling or shouting “Ooooh!”
You decided not to delight him with a response. Instead, you strutted to the bar where your darling pal John was already getting water glasses ready.
“Fuck me sideways, girl, that was rough!” he exclaimed.
“I’m done, John! I can’t deal with these assholes anymore!”
“Uh oh, looks like you may have to,” John averted his eyes to the glasses in front of him. Turning to see what he was talking about, you nearly ran into Mr. Personality.
“You owe me an apology,” he growled.
“Excuse me? I think it’s the other way around!” you yelled.
“I’m out with my friends for my birthday,” he explained, gesturing toward the table, “and I don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me.”
“The way I’m tr-” you turned beet red. “How dare you! You entitled, self-centered prick!”
“Easy, girl!” you heard John shout, but you paid no mind. You were ready to have it out with this guy.
“What did you call me?”
“Y/N!” someone else shouted. Looking up, you noticed your boss, a scowl on his face as the entire lounge had turned their focus on your encounter. “What seems to be the trouble here?”
“Are you the manager?” asked Harry.
“Yes, sir, how can I assist you?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” he began, “but your waitress here seems to have a problem with me. I’m here celebrating my birthday with my mates, and she’s gone out of her way to be rude to me all evening.”
“What?!?!” you shouted incredulously.
“Y/N, did you have a problem with this young man?”
“No, sir,” you shook your head, your arms crossed over your chest. “It’s the other way around. He’s been nothing but rude since-”
“She just called me a prick,” Harry interjected.
“Because you’re being one!” You glared at the asshole, shooting daggers at him. You felt like your insides were on fire as you held your hands in fists at your sides.
“Y/N, if you can’t control your temper, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” said your boss.
“I’m sorry, but he’s so rude, Mr-”
“Y/N,” your boss narrowed his eyes at you, before turning to Harry. “Sir, I do apologize for my employee. We do not condone this kind of behavior at our lounge.”
You watched Harry as his shoulders fell, a breath releasing from his nose. “I should hope not.”
“Now…” your boss added. “What can we do to rectify this situation? Perhaps we can put your tab on the house?”
Harry raised his brows, surprised at the offer. “That would…yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”
Your boss nodded, patting Harry on the back. “No problem whatsoever. I hope you’ll come see us again.”
“Not if she’s here,” Harry scowled.
“I assure you, that won’t happen.”
With a gasp, you watched your boss turn around and face you. “Get your things, Y/N,” he said in the most relaxed voice possible, as though you weren’t just getting canned.
“Are you serious?” you cried.
“We don’t talk to our patrons this way,” he explained. “I won’t allow it. Now, put your apron away and clock out.”
Your jaw set, you tried your best not to cry. No, you wouldn’t allow yourself to. Not in front of him.
“Fine,” you said, untying your apron. You slapped it down hard on the bar, then turned for the back room, but not before noticing the sly, satisfied smirk on jerkhead’s face.
Only when you reached the back room did you let the tears fall. Cursing at yourself, at Harry, and your boss, and at the entire situation, you managed to grab your jacket and purse. You almost forgot to clock out, but you figured you might not get paid otherwise. Sitting on the dark green leather sofa, you waited until you thought Harry and his crew might be gone. Then wiping your eyes, you stood up, nearly bumping into John.
“Oh, Y/N, honey I’m so sorry!” he cried, wrapping you in a big hug.
“What the fuck, John? Why does he get to win?”
“I don’t know. The whole ‘the customer is always right’ thing, I guess.”
“That’s a load of bullshit,” you sobbed against his chest..
“Preaching to the choir, sister.”
“Is he gone yet?”
“Mr. Pretentious? Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Want me to walk you out?”
With a nod, you let John walk you halfway through the lounge until you met up with your boss again who insisted he be the one to see you out. Just in case you were to cause a scene or some shit. As if you would. Not after that whole ordeal. You felt completely defeated…and deflated. You felt the eyes on you as you made it to the front door. Your boss held it open for you as you stepped into the balmy night air. With a sigh you walked to your car, turning once to give Zelda’s the middle finger.
Fuck that Harry guy. Fuck him to hell and back.
“Are you ready?” asked Shae.
With a sigh and a nod, you grabbed your keys. Last month you had promised your roommate that you’d go with her to get a tattoo. While you had been thrilled then about getting some new ink, after getting fired from Zelda’s, the excitement had worn off. In fact, you’d considered canceling all together, seeing as spending dough on a tat now seemed frivolous, and you could certainly use the money in case you couldn’t find another job soon. But in the end, you decided you owed yourself some kindness. And besides, Shae was chomping at the bit to get one, and she wouldn’t let you live until you went with her.
You drove to Fine Line Ink, just a few blocks from your apartment. You’d driven by it several times, but had never gone inside. Shae specifically requested this tattoo shop because apparently it was fairly well-known on social media. At least your roommate had done her research, even though she had no idea what tattoo she wanted to get.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” she’d insisted.
You heard 90s rock music playing when you opened the door, but saw no one standing near the counter, or even in the waiting area. The front room was dark, but with warm lighting, much like at Zelda’s. You could smell incense burning as you gazed around at the walls decorated in various designs. Wandering over to the glass counter, you inspected the display of body jewelry.
“Hi, how can I help you?” you heard a voice say.
Your body instantly felt cold as you stood up straight. You knew that voice. And it was one you’d hoped you would never have to hear again. Turning around, you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, his t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, his biceps peeking out from the sleeves.
Motherfucker.
“Hey,” beamed Shae. “We’re here to get tats.”
Shae gestured toward you, and your body went numb.
“Oh?” Harry raised a brow, then looked at you. The recognition and disdain both happened instantly. “Oh.”
Turning back to Shae, he asked, “Do you know what you want?”
“Not exactly,” she shrugged. “Nothing too big. But not too small either.”
Harry chuckled. “Alright. I have a book right here,” he pointed to one on the counter. “It’s got some ‘not too big, not too small’ ideas in there, if you wanna take a look.”
“Okay, thanks!”
“Take your time,” Harry grinned at her. “I’ll be back.”
He gave Shae a small wave, but you didn’t miss the way his expression changed when he glanced at you before he disappeared to the back.
“So what are you thinking of getting?” your friend asked as she perused the book. She stopped on a page of flowers, but scrunched up her nose. “Nah.”
“Um…let’s go somewhere else,” you told Shae, practically pulling her arm out of the socket.
“What? No! I wanna get a tattoo here!”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Why not? I heard this guy’s the best. Plus…he’s like hella hot!”
“No, he’s not,” you argued.
“Are you fucking blind?” scoffed Shae. Turning the page in the book, she stopped and pointed at a baby lion. “That’s it!”
“I just…” you stammered, “I just don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I changed my mind.”
“Did you find something you like?” Harry asked from the doorway.
“No-”
“Uh huh!” exclaimed Shae. “This baby lion is so cute. It’s so me. I want him right here on my hip.” She jutted out her hip, slapping her hand where she wanted the tattoo to go.
Harry chuckled again, making your insides churn. You wanted to vomit.
“Alright,” he said, handing her a clipboard. “If you’ll just fill this out for me, I’ll go prepare your stencil.”
You weren’t sure what to do. You’d already promised your friend, and she looked so excited. You knew there were dozens of other tattoo shops you could go to, but Shae had picked this one. Why did it have to be this guy’s shop? Of all the fucking…
Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly in a nearby chair as Shae filled out her paperwork. Signing her name, she turned to you with a smile.
“Isn’t it cute? I’m so excited!”
With a gulp, you were about to respond when Harry returned.
“Let’s go back here,” he gestured once he’d taken the clipboard from Shae.
“Wait, my friend’s getting one too,” she looked at you. “Aren’t you?”
“No.” Although the sound came from your mouth, you could have sworn Harry’s lips moved too.
“Um…” you cleared your throat. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Shae asked, confused.
Although you didn’t want to, you gazed at Harry. His frown was so apparent, it almost looked like his eyebrows were sewn together. Finally, he relaxed his expression, pretending for Shae’s benefit.
“Don’t reckon I have enough time, love. It’s only me here tonight.”
You had to hand it to him. That was a good answer.
“Oh,” Shae pouted. “But I wanted to get tats together.”
“It’s alright,” you assured her. “I need to save my money. And I doubt there’s anything here I’d want anyway.”
You had to hand it to yourself. That was a nice dig.
It wasn’t lost on Harry, either. He scowled at you before turning for the tattoo chair, Shae following behind.
“This your first tattoo?” you heard Harry ask as you remained in the doorway.
“Yes. So please be gentle,” your friend replied, obviously flirting.
You rolled your eyes as Harry chuckled. In any other situation, with any other man, not only would you have encouraged the flirting, you might have even joined in. Both John and Shae were right in saying he was good looking…or hella hot as it were. Even you had to admit that. But you hated to. And you also hated how his laugh rang through the shop, like an invisible tattoo of its own, lacing with the sound of the Foo Fighters song that played.
Crossing your arms, you leaned against the door frame, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. You thought of faking an illness. You did feel like throwing up. But Shae wasn’t having it.
“Come sit over here, Y/N!”
“I’m fine here.”
“Noooo. Come over here in case I need to hold your hand. What if I pass out or something?”
“Do you pass out easily?” Harry asked as he pulled on his gloves.
“No,” Shae replied. “I’m actually not scared of needles. But you never know.”
You caught the grin on Harry’s face as he turned in his chair. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Y/N!” Shae whined. “Please!”
Rolling your eyes, you surrendered, walking slowly toward Harry’s tattoo station. You noted everything he had set out on the tray beside him. At least he seemed to know what he was doing. But you weren’t about to admit that. Grabbing a nearby chair, you took a seat on Shae’s other side, opposite from Harry.
“So, you want it on your left hip?” Harry confirmed.
“Yep.”
“Alright. So I’m gonna need you to pull down your pants just a bit, past your hip, and turn on your right side facing…um…your friend.”
“Yes, sir,” Shae smiled, happily willing to oblige.
You watched as she unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down as sensually as she could on the leather chair. You caught a glimmer in Harry’s eyes when he noticed she was wearing a thong.
“Seriously?” you scoffed.
“What?” he frowned, looking up at you.
“Do you have to ogle at her for fuck’s sake? She’s getting a tattoo, not stripping for you.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Believe me, joking is the last thing I’d be doing with you.”
Shae stared at you as she laid on her side. “Y/N, it’s okay! He can ogle at me all he wants!”
“Shae,” you narrowed your eyes.
“I think your friend can speak for herself,” remarked Harry.
Making a face, you sat back, crossing your arms and legs. His expression stoic, Harry pushed his chair closer to Shae, lightly swiping her skin with rubbing alcohol. Then he took a disposable razor to gently shave her hip.
“I promise I just shaved this morning,” giggled Shae.
“I’m sure you did,” Harry smirked. “It’s just procedure. We have to thoroughly prep the area before adding ink.”
Taking the stencil, he placed it on Shae’s hip, directly under her panty line.
“Is this where you want it?”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Good.” Harry ran his fingers slowly and smoothly across the thermal paper, and you just had to say something.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Blowing air between his lips, Harry glared up at you.
“Would you stop? I’m just doing my job.”
“Oh, really? Could have fooled me. Looks like you’re trying to feel her up.”
“Y/N, what the fuck?” cried Shae. “Do you have a problem with this guy?”
“Oh, you noticed?”
Shae sat up, looking at you quizzically. “Do you know him?” Then lowering her voice, she whispered, “Did y’all fuck?”
Hearing the question, Harry snorted.
“Yeah, you wish,” you scoffed, giving him the evil eye.
“In your dreams, babe.”
“That’s it, I’m outta here,” you sprinted out of your chair, heading for the door.
“Y/N!” Shae shouted. “What is going on?”
“I’m sorry, Shae, I tried to keep my cool. But I can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” muttered Harry.
“Ugh!” you cringed. “C’mon, Shae, pull your pants up. We’ll find someone more competent to do your tattoo.”
“I believe I’m more than competent,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“I’m so lost here,” Shae whimpered, still in her chair. “How do you know each other?”
When you reached the doorway, you turned to face her, your arms still crossed.
“He’s the asshole who got me fired.”
“What?! Are you serious?!”
Adjusting herself in her chair, she faced Harry, waiting for him to retort. But he remained expressionless, his mouth in a straight line. Giving up on getting any response from him, you sighed and gestured for Shae again. When she slid off the chair, buttoning her pants, Harry finally spoke.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“What?” you glared at him.
“I…I didn’t mean to get you fired.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
“I mean it. I was…a complete prick to you…just like you said. And I’m sorry.”
“Pffftt,” you sounded. “It's a little late for that. I lost my job because of you!”
“I know, and I felt bad about it.”
“No, you didn’t!” you spat. “You were ecstatic that you’d gotten your way! You’re an asshole!”
“You’re right,” Harry nodded. “I deserve that. But I hope you know that wasn’t me.”
“Do you have an evil twin?”
“No. I was trying to impress my friends.”
“By being a jerk?” piped Shae.
“Yeah. I know it’s not a good look,” Harry shook his head. He rose from his chair, stepping closer to you. “I was seeing this chick, Nicolette…and she was…used to a certain lifestyle. It felt good to be part of her world for a while.”
“Doesn’t sound like friends to me,” you remarked.
“No. They just wanted to go to Zelda’s and get drunk. I swear, it’s not my scene.”
“You don’t say.”
“Look…” Harry sighed. “I’m not asking for forgiveness because I know you won’t give it to me. I have no real justification for the way I acted. I truly was a prick that night. But I regretted it later. I knew it was wrong of me, and I wanted to apologize but I didn’t even know your name, let alone where to find you. I broke it off with Nicolette, too.”
“Oh, jeez, that makes me feel soooo much better,” you said sarcastically.
Throwing his hands up, Harry turned around and began to gather things from the tray.
“You really have some nerve, you know that?” you added.
Harry spun around, “For what? For apologizing?”
“For everything! For acting like a big shot, especially when you obviously didn’t belong there. For yelling at me in front of the entire bar, including my boss, and for getting me fired. And for being rude to me as soon as I walked in here.”
“Hey, you were rude to me first!”
“I was not!”
“Hey, guys?” Shae interjected. “Maybe we should just drop it. You were right, Y/N. We shouldn’t have come here.”
“I swear, Shae, if I had known he worked here, we wouldn’t have. Let’s go.”
As soon as you pushed the door open, you heard Harry huffing. “Your loss, not mine.”
“Fuck you, dude!” you exclaimed. “And get a life. A real one, not someone else’s.”
a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN PEEPS!!! this entire part takes place on halloween! tonight! warning: half of this is unedited because i ran out of time, but i will come back tomorrow and edit it! im also going to add the exact fit/costume links later--im sorry im already running so late!
what it is: you and harry hate one another but that doesn’t stop you from fucking
warning: choking, cursing–i always feel like warnings can ruin the like, surprise or spoil the smut so im telling u now, if choking is too much for you, the other shit in this will not be for u either so read at ur own risk :)
word count: 16k
pls pls pls reblog if you liked it!
i’d love to hear your feedback :)
SERIES MASTERLIST
here we go:
October 31, 2020
A soft hum echoed in Harry’s throat as his eyes fluttered open. His left arm was half asleep where it was tucked under his pillow and his expensive sheets were warm against his chest. He shivered slightly when he felt the cold air on his bare back, where his comforter didn’t reach and felt something heavy on his right arm. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked over, slightly surprised to find you there on your side, hugging his arm, your forehead on his shoulder as you continued to sleep.
As much as he didn’t want to wake you, his left arm was going numb and he couldn’t comfortably be on his stomach any longer. Harry started to turn his body over very slowly, using his left arm to prop him up as he turned towards you. He carefully wiggled his arm out of your grasp so that he could drape it over your waist as he settled back down. He let out a small breath of relief when you released a contented sigh and snuggled further into him.
His eyes stayed focused on you as you slept, trailing over your lashes, your cute nose, the lips that to him seemed so perfectly formed. He knew he had always been attracted to you—there was never a question of that. The moment he saw you at Sarah’s for the first time, the thought that you were just a little bit out of his league managed to zip through his mind, which was an extremely rare occurrence for him. You were always so put together, so well spoken and intelligent, always talked about everything as if it was something you were passionate about even if you only had a passing interest and he couldn’t help but admire all of that. But you were always so cold to him—maybe not always but it didn’t take very long before you started being cruel to him and he didn’t understand the change. He could admit that maybe he should’ve asked you why you suddenly had a problem with him instead of becoming just as cold to you and deciding that you were the opposite of what you seemed to be—but also, no. You shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions the way that you did. You should’ve tried to get to know him more, get to know the situation more, before making wrong assumptions about him.
The first night he kissed you, he wasn’t really sure why he did it. Of course he was attracted to you, but you were rude and bitchy and there wasn’t much coming from you that hinted at you being attracted to him in the same way. You obviously hadn’t shown it by the way you attacked him that night, but you also didn’t compliment him, he didn’t catch you staring at him the way he often stared at you—but he still thought there was something there. It was something invisible and maybe it had always been there, but he hadn’t felt it until that night. He had this feeling like he had to kiss you. He needed to know if it was really there or if it was whatever he was drinking, if it was something he had made up in his head—and he’s still not completely sure if there is something there. Wouldn’t the hatred have fallen away by now if there was? Wouldn’t things have been different between the two of you after the first time? The rom-coms he obsessed over said yes—if there was something, it would’ve presented itself by now. The two of you wouldn’t still be acting the same way you were.
That being said, all of those movies are fake—and he knew that. They all followed a certain formula. He had never been in this situation before. He had never fucked someone he didn’t like more than one. He didn’t actively pursue them or get jealous over them the way he did with you. Maybe it was all in his head because absolutely nothing had changed—but maybe this formula was different.
Harry actively tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that was screaming at him that something between the two of you had changed. He had been getting more affectionate with you and it seemed as though he couldn’t stop it. Note: the arm draped over the dip in your waist.
He tried not to think of the night at his house, how his hands were all over you and how he craved to be near you in a way he never had before. At the coffee shop, he felt a warmth in his chest when you touched him and he couldn’t help but hang onto every word you said. He was impressed with you for the first time since he had known you and he didn’t want you to leave. When you walked into the studio a few days later. His breath caught and every time he was with you, he wanted you to stay. He wanted you to stay—and he had never felt as insecure as he had the night before. He was embarrassed about the way he had begged you and it all seemed to come out of nowhere. He wasn’t sure when his hatred had started turn, but he didn’t particularly like it.
It definitely hadn’t turned over completely. Last night was proof of that. He still hated the part of you that was cruel and acted so unbothered all the time. He often made jokes about his own emotional unavailability—but he was the minor leagues compared to you. The worst part of all of it was that yes, his hatred may have been turning, but he was more than sure that yours wasn’t.
Harry flinched when the sound of your weekend alarm rang loudly throughout his room. He felt you stir as he turned slightly onto his back so he could reach over to his nightstand and stop it. He felt you try to move away from him, but before you could, he was back on his side and his arm was tight around you. “Where you goin’?” His voice was still raspy with sleep.
“Wasn’t sure if it was okay.” Your voice was quiet and soft and he could see you were about ready to fall back asleep.
“‘Course it’s okay.” Upon hearing the words, you relaxed back into his arms before laughing so softly he barely caught it.
“What’s so funny?” He asked as his own eyes drifted closed again.
“I just don’t know how to do this.”
“In general? Or with me?”
“You.” The word came out small and he could tell that you weren’t trying to hurt his feelings, but he still felt the tiny twist in his gut.
“S’only weird if you make it weird.”
“I think it’s weird regardless.”
“I swear you liked me last night.” He was aware of the disappointment laced in his words, but hoped you weren’t.
“I did.” That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
Harry sighed. “Fine. If you don’t like me anymore, then we don’t have to do this.” He started to pull his arms from around you but your arm was quick to slide over his waist.
“No. Don’t move.” You scooted closer to him and he was glad your head was tucked into his chest so you couldn’t see his smile.
The two of you laid there in silence for a few minutes, Harry feeling contented by your slow, even breaths which signaled that you had fallen back asleep. Just as he was starting to doze off again himself, his nightstand began to shake beneath the harsh vibration of your phone. He removed his arm from around you for the second time to lean over and grab it. “It’s Charlotte.”
Suddenly, you sat up and ripped the phone from his hand. He watched with a furrowed brow as you quickly accepted the call and answered with an urgent, “Hey!”
Harry joined you and sat up fully. When he saw the slight worry line form between your eyes, he lifted his left hand and rested it on your back, moving it in slow circles as he tried to piece together your conversation.
“Yeah, sorry about that…It was late and I was drunk…I know that’s not an excuse…Yes, I will bring an extra bottle of tequila to make up for it…Of course I’ll be there…6:30 right?…Yeah…I’ll text Sarah and apologize…Bye.”
Harry leaned closer and watched you pull up Sarah’s contact before texting her a quick apology for not texting when you got home. “You forgot again?” He tried to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, but the last time you forgot Sarah and Mitch had managed to concoct an entire theory about the two of you and he didn’t want to deal with it again—he didn’t want you to have to deal with it again.
“Unfortunately, yes.” You dropped your phone into your lap and looked at him sideways. “You were a little distracting.”
A cheeky smile took over his face. “Oh, so it’s my fault?”
“Yes.” The corner of your mouth twitched as you said it and Harry couldn’t help but lean over and place a kiss on your cheek.
“How about breakfast?”
“How about a shower?”
Harry’s cheeks flamed at the idea of being with you like that. He felt his cock twitch in his briefs, but also felt a little bit nervous. He always considered showering with someone a very intimate act. Sure, it could be sexy (and often was), but a lot of the time, for him, it was a mostly domestic, mostly romantic thing and his brain couldn’t compute having you that way.
“I wouldn’t mind that.” He leaned forward and placed his chin on your shoulder.
You turned your head to look at him and he caught the smirk. “I didn’t mean with you.”
He swallowed the insult and placed a soft kiss to the spot between your neck and shoulder. “Could be fun…” He felt you lean into him involuntarily and he knew he had you. That was one thing you were terrible at: denying him. It was more than clear that you were attracted to him, but that’s all he was really sure of.
“Fine.” You sighed. “But you better not have fucking two in one shampoo.”
He chuckled against the skin of your neck. “Definitely not.” Another kiss. “C’mon.” Harry climbed off the bed and you followed as he led you to his ensuite.
He walked over to the large shower, which didn’t have doors or a curtain, just a glass wall enclosing it, and turned on the water, causing the large mirror across from it to start steaming immediately. Harry turned around and saw you standing in front of the closed door with your fingers poised on the top button of the cardigan. He roamed his eyes up and down your body while visions from the night before floated through his mind.
“Stop looking. Turn around.” Your voice wasn’t quite meek, but it didn’t hold the confidence that it usually did.
“Why? I’ve seen it already—twice.”
Your eyes went to the floor. “It’s different now.”
He knew you were right. Harry had thought the same thing only a few moments ago, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off of you.
When you looked at him expectantly, he turned back around towards the shower, closed his eyes and waited patiently, with his arms crossed over his chest. He heard your feet against the tile floor and felt you move around him, before he heard the change in the sound of the water, which signaled you had stepped inside.
He opened his eyes to find you already completely under the water, getting your hair wet, barely paying him any mind. Without saying anything, he pushed his briefs down his legs and stepped in.
The shower head was large and square, and hung down directly over the shower, another blessing according to Harry, since it meant that the two of you could be under the water at the same time. You wouldn’t have to deal with those awkward moments where one of you was stuck shivering to the side as the other rushed their time under the warm water.
When he stepped in, you turned around so your back was to him and your face was no longer getting wet. Harry pushed his wet hair off his face and watched as you tilted your head back into the rush of water. His eyes moved down your body and his jaw tightened. You always looked so good and it was getting harder for him to hold it together.
You turned around and stuck your face back under the water and rubbed your fingers over your eyes, causing your left over mascara to smudge. When you took your hands down, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the raccoon look you had acquired before he stepped out of the shower to fetch his face wash for you.
“Thanks.” You took the expensive bottle from his hand and washed your makeup off quickly. Harry knew you could probably feel him staring at you the entire time and knew he had been caught (not that he was trying much to hide it) when he saw your shy smile. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“I’ve just never seen you like this before.”
“Wet?”
He smirked. “Oh, no, I’ve seen that plenty of times.”
You rolled your eyes and threw your arm out with the intent of punching him lightly on the shoulder, but Harry grabbed your hand while it was in the air and pulled you into his chest. You squinted under the rushing water, your long lashes heavy with the weight of whatever drops managed to stick. Harry’s eyes looked over your face as his arms wound around your waist. He was more than aware that you could probably feel him hardening right below your belly button.
“Never seen my like what?” You asked.
“I don’t know, just…normal, I guess.”
“There’s nothing normal about me in your shower.”
He wished you would stop doing that. Every time he tried to be sweet with you, you went out of your way to point out that it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t what the two of you were, hinting that it was something the two of you would never be. Every time, it convinced him just a little bit more that he was nothing to you but a nice fuck. It made him feel as though you couldn’t possibly be going through the same kind of transformation he was sure he was—that he was sure he had been going through for a while without even realizing it.
He jumped away and let out a soft giggle when you tickled your fingers over his sides.
“C’mon. I hate getting all wrinkly.” You said as you motioned for him to hand you some soap from the shelf next to him. He held in a disappointed sigh and handed you the shampoo. Once you had the appropriate amount, you handed it back to Harry, who did the same and started to wash his own hair.
He saw you avoiding his eyes as you started running your fingers through your hair before you turned around to start rinsing the soap out. When you were done you turned back around and held out your hand. “Conditioner?”
He dropped the bottle in your hand. “When I said that a shower could be fun…I meant, like, fun.”
“Are you not having fun?” You asked with mock innocence as you ran the conditioner through your hair.
He blatantly looked your body up and down. “I could be having more fun.”
“Shut up and hand me the soap—and a new wash cloth. I don’t know what kind of bacteria that loofa harbors.” You faked a shudder and Harry rolled his eyes but did exactly what you said.
The two of you continued to shower in silence, until you noticed Harry struggling to reach every inch of his back. You sighed and slung your washcloth over your shoulder. “Come here.” You motioned for him with your hand.
“What?”
“Come here and let me help you.” You said it as though it was obvious and Harry wanted nothing more than to tease you for the offer that seemed so out of character, but knew if he did, you’d rescind it. He wasn’t going to risk that possibility.
He took two steps forward before handing you the loofa and turning around. You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder before moving the blue puff across his skin. The muscles in his back and arm tensed when your left hand drifted down his arm and his breath hitched when he felt your lips on his shoulder blade.
He turned around quickly and placed his lips on yours. His hands cupped your cheeks while yours held onto his forearms. Harry angled his head so he could slip his tongue between your lips and kiss you deeper. He moaned softly into your mouth as you dropped your hands to his chest so you could move closer to him.
Without breaking the kiss, he turned you and moved you backwards until your back was against the tile. You hissed when you felt how cold the tiles were and shivered softly, prompting him to move even closer, pressing his body completely against yours. Your arms slid around his neck and your fingers immediately began working the curls at the bottom, reminding him that he needed a haircut. You did it every time he kissed you, seemingly without even realizing it, but it was something he always found himself thinking about hours later.
He held back a satisfied smile when you pushed your hips into his. You pulled away just enough to ask, “Having any fun yet?”
Instead of answering, he kissed you—harder than before. He moved his hands from your cheeks to your waist, but didn’t miss the opportunity to brush his fingertips over your breasts. He squeezed at your waist and held your hips back into the wall when you tried to push them into his again. You whined and that time, he didn’t hold back the smile. “Someone’s a little needy this morning.”
You tugged harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, someone is.”
His smile turned into a smirk, which you made sure to smother with another kiss. Harry was more than aware that he was the needy one that morning—that he was the needy one usually. You were so good at hiding your desire, only ever letting it come out when you were sure Harry was more than into it. Unfortunately, he never seemed to be able to control himself around you. At some point, he always ended up wanting you and he always made it so obvious. He could never hide it and it always made him feel as though it meant you were the one actually in control, which he didn’t exactly hate, but he didn’t love the idea either.
He moved his hands back up your body, the water allowing them to slip easily over your skin, until his palms were on your breasts. He massaged them before pinching at your nipples softer than he usually did, easily pulling a pleased sigh from you. You pushed his lips further into yours using the hand on the back of his neck as his left hand travelled down to rest on your hip briefly before he brushed his fingers across your inner thigh while his right hand still teased your nipple.
He didn’t slip his hand between your thighs until he heard the whimper that he wanted. He loved when you needed him. He loved hearing you whimper and ask for something, to hear you say please. He loved feeling your hips buck into his own, or his hand, or his mouth. He loved knowing how badly you wanted him. It was the only thing you ever gave him that proved you wanted him at all.
He rubbed your clit with the tips of his fingers, causing your grip on his hair to tighten before you dropped your left arm to his bicep and squeezed. You gasped into his mouth as he sped up his fingers and he continued to kiss you. He knew you couldn’t finish standing up—and he knew that fucking in the shower was never as good of an idea as it sounded—so he planned on getting you as close to the edge as he could before taking you back to his bed.
You moaned when he pushed a finger inside of you—and then another, knowing you could take it. Harry ignored the sting of your nails digging into his skin and continued to pump his fingers in and out of you; he dropped his head to your neck and left open mouthed kisses up and down the space between your jaw and shoulder as moans spilled from your lips. He could feel your lower half start to shake and knew you were stopping yourself from bucking your hips into his hand and when a strangled, and frustrated, moan left you, he knew it was time to stop.
After he pulled his fingers from you, you pulled at his hair, prompting him to go back to kissing you. You pulled away after only a few moments and placed a firm hand on his chest when he tried to chase you. His jaw tightened when you placed a kiss on his jaw, then his neck, then his collarbone, then his chest; Harry sighed in anticipation when you dropped to your knees and continued to trail kisses down his torso, over his hip, and left the last one right on his pelvic bone.
Harry was prepared for you to tease him, and so when you immediately took him into your mouth, a harsh curse left his own. “Oh, my…” The words were drawn out and strained, and when he hit the back of your throat, his right hand fell to your hair. He looked down and watched you move your mouth up and down his length, while his hand helped you keep your rhythm. “Fuck, babe.” He sighed when your eyes flickered up to his.
You reached one of your hands up to massage his balls and you took him even deeper, causing you to flinch and gag. Harry tugged at your hair a bit to get you off of him so that you took a breath before taking him back into your mouth.
When he hit the back of your throat again, you put your other hand on the back of his thigh and held him there. Harry took the opportunity to buck his hips into your mouth, but it was too much. A groan left his lips as he fell forward and caught himself on the shower wall with his right hand. He stayed like that: left hand on the wall, holding up his weight, his right hand in your hair, guiding you on his cock, his eyes locked on you kneeled beneath him, as you started sucking again.
“Fuck.” It came out quiet and short and he knew if he allowed you to continue like this that he wouldn’t last very long. Your mouth was warm and the blow job was wet and you were swirling your tongue over his tip in just the right way that his chest was rising and falling rapidly and his breaths were coming out short.
Harry pushed himself off the wall and stepped away from you, and had the water off in less than a second. He helped you up from your knees before leading you out of the shower. Harry pulled a towel for you down from its shelf and as he slung it around your shoulders, placed a few soft but urgent kisses to your lips. You grabbed the ends and, when you had it wrapped tightly around you, he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder without warning.
“Harry!” You squeaked as he took you from the bathroom to his bed.
He tossed you down on the comforter and bit back his smirk when you immediately let the towel fall open, exposing all of yourself to him. Harry let his eyes wander over your skin as he reached his right hand forward and dipped his fingers in your center and collected some of your wetness before dragging his fingers up to your clit. He rubbed the very tip of his finger over the small mound in slow circles and watched your eyes flutter shut. He noticed the way your left hand gripped at the comforter bunched up next to your hip and pushed one finger into you, causing you to release a sigh. He moved the single finger at an agonizing pace, curling it up slowly each time it was inside. He could see the need on your face. Harry knew you wanted more; your brow furrowed as you sucked a breath in through your teeth and your hips were starting to rock with the movement of his finger. Without stopping the movement, he leaned over you and placed his left hand next to your head to hold himself up. He placed a delicate kiss to your lips. “Want it?”
You nodded and kissed him again. For a second, he thought of making you ask, but decided against it when he thought of how eager you had been to suck him off in the shower.
Harry stopped fingering you and climbed on the bed. You opened your legs wider to make room for him and he grabbed onto the underside of your thigh as he settled himself at your center. He pushed in without warning, but slowly, pulling a drawn out whine from you. He hooked your right leg over his shoulder and then your left over his other, before he leaned forward and sunk into you. Harry felt your hand on his arm immediately, as your face twisted in pleasure. He released a breathy moan and began to thrust into you slowly. The angle was better than any before it. He bottomed out every time he pushed inside and found it extremely hard to hold back his moans.
“Fuck.” He sighed. He pushed into you again, a little harder and a little deeper—and he heard it. It sounded like a wince, and he felt your grip on his arm tighten. He pulled out slightly and searched the expression on your face. “Alright?”
You nodded. “Keep going.”
Harry pushed into you again, not as hard and you seemed okay. You let out a breathy pant and he cursed. He wanted to kiss you so badly, but the position was too good and he loved seeing the way your lips formed a small ‘O’ with every few thrusts.
“Fucking hell…” It came out hushed and urgent. Harry’s brow furrowed before he snapped his hips into yours. He felt your nails sink into the skin of his forearm.
“Okay,” your voice was small. “Too much.” Harry stopped immediately, his cock still buried inside of you. Your eyes met his. “Too deep.” You were a little breathless and your brows were still furrowed in what he assumed was slight pain.
He didn’t mean to hurt you and he was sure you knew that, but he whispered an apology anyway before easing out of you until just his tip was inside. He released your legs from his shoulders and lowered himself onto his elbows so your chests were pressed together. He kissed you softly and nudged his nose against yours. Harry kissed your jaw as you rested your hands on his shoulders and trailed your nails over his skin, causing goosebumps to blossom down his arms.
“Can I?” His lips hovered right below your ear.
“Please.”
“Oh…fuck.” Harry sunk back into you. “Feel better, baby?” He asked in a breathy whisper.
“Feels good.”
“Yeah?” He kissed the spot right below your ear as he opened his palms and rested his hands at the top of your head.
“Fuck, Harry.” Your voice was strained as he kept his slow pace.
He already felt his orgasm building and blamed the head you had given him in the shower. He didn’t want to finish yet, especially since you had yet to orgasm, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last at this pace (which you seemed to love) and with you dragging your nails over his skin and curing his name every few seconds.
“Fuck, baby, I want you to come.” It was his way of hinting that he was struggling and he hoped you would understand it.
You took your hand from his arm and pushed it down between your bodies, causing Harry to hold himself up a bit more so you could nestle your fingers between your legs. He put all his eight onto his left arm and held onto your jaw with his right, making sure you were looking at him, in order to give you more room. You rubbed light circles around your clit as Harry continued to move his cock inside of you. Your breaths were growing shorter and you were having trouble keeping your eyes on his.
“Fuck…fuck…fuck.” Your hips started to buck and Harry rested his forehead on yours. “I-I’m coming.” Your voice was desperate. Harry sped up the movement of his hips and swore he would last until you were completely finished.
He felt your body start to shake under him as more curses spilled from your lips and your free hand squeezed his shoulder. When you removed your hand from your clit and had mostly come down, Harry dropped his chest onto yours and thrusted into quickly. He let you pull him in for a kiss and sighed when you bit onto his lip.
“Oh, my god.” He groaned when you wrapped your legs around his waist. It let him reach just a little deeper, just enough to send him over the edge. “Holy fuck.” He pulled out quickly and dropped his hand to his cock, jerking himself off until he finished all over your folds. He heard you gasp but didn’t think anything of it.
He heaved a breathless sigh when he finished completely before looking up at your face. “What?”
“You’re clean, right? Please tell me your clean.”
His brow furrowed in confusion before he looked down and then at his hand and realized he hadn’t worn a condom. “Shit.”
“I swear to fucking god, you better be clean.”
Harry chuckled softly and ignored your glare in response. “Relax. It’s fine.”
“It’ll be fine if you tell me I have nothing to worry about—and mean it.”
He tugged the towel from under you and wiped the cum off his hand and then cleaned himself up. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, love. I got tested before we started fucking. Relax.”
You let out a breath. “Good.” When you laid back down on the bed, he leaned forward and pinched the skin at your anke.
“Hey! What about you? I’d like a bit of reassurance as well!”
“Before the bartender—he used a condom. I’m fine.”
Harry grimaced at the idea of you fucking that blond prick and hoped you didn’t notice. You pushed yourself off the bed and grabbed the towel from Harry on your way to the bathroom.
“My hair is going to be a mess when it dries.” He heard your complaint from where he was standing, searching his drawer for a pair of boxer briefs.
“It was worth it though, right?”
“Eh…”
Harry marched over to the bathroom, boxers in his fist and poked his head through the door. “Excuse me? I must of misheard. It sounded like you were unsure?”
You smiled when you heard his playful tone. “I’m kidding. It was great.” You leaned in a kissed him quickly. He tried to hide his surprise again. You were apparently full of surprises this morning.
“Stay for breakfast.”
“I really shouldn’t.” Just when he thought he was getting somewhere.
“You don’t want to?”
“It’s not that. I just have a lot of running around to do before Charlotte’s tonight and it’s already, like, twelve.”
“C’mon, stay. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
You smirked. “Awh, you care about my wellbeing.”
He scoffed. “Forget it.” He waved his hand at you before backing away from the door.
Right after he had pulled his briefs up his hips, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. “I can do toast. But only quick toast.”
He dropped his hands over yours. “I can do toast.” You dropped your hands from his waist and he pulled a t-shirt from the stack on top of his dresser and tossed it to you.
He bit back a smile when he saw how it looked on you.
You were confusing him this morning. One second, you seemed to against all of it: the cuddling, the showering, the staying. The next second, you were giving him sweet kisses, moving closer to him, and giving in. He wanted answers, but he knew better than to ask any questions. He was terrified of popping the small bubble the two of you had seemed to create.
He dreaded the idea of thinking about what could happen later that night. Apparently, the two of you didn’t do well around your friends, or around other people at all. He had a feeling something bad would happen, that whatever was going on between the two of you that morning would be erased and you would go back to hating him. It made him feel queasy—and he knew exactly why.
Harry was pretty sure he liked you; liked you in the way that he liked a girl when he was fifteen (meaning most of it was probably to blame on hormones but his feelings most likely had to do with your personality as well). He didn’t think he would label them as feelings, which was a word that held way too much emotional weight, but he definitely wouldn’t say he hated you anymore. Sure, there were moments, like last night, where he wanted to kill you and disliked you more than anything in that moment, but the desire to be cruel to you was gone. He could definitely still hurt you if he tried, but he didn’t exactly want to try anymore.
Once you two were in the kitchen, you took a spot at the island while Harry went straight to his espresso machine. “Coffee? Tea?”
“No thanks. I was going to grab a cappuccino while running errands for Charlotte.”
“I can make you one, if you want.” He glanced back at you quickly as he pulled out four pieces of bread before dropping them into his toaster.
“Nah, it’s fine.” You shook your head and dropped your phone down on the island.
Harry turned to his fridge and whistled as he pulled out anything he could possibly think one could put on toast: avocado, butter, jam, and marmite. He was busy getting you a glass of water when the toaster dinged.
“Plates?” You asked as you stood up from your spot at the counter.
“Right above the toaster.” He placed your water and his self-made americano in front of two seats at the island while you plated up the toast.
You both sat down and began to assemble your lunches. “Have you got everything for your costume?” He asked.
“Yeah, but it took me two and a half weeks to find it all. The amount of time I spent combing through vintage shops both around London and online was ridiculous, but I’ve managed to get it almost exact.”
“I’m excited to see Sarah’s.”
“Charlotte’s really committing. She’s dying her hair red again.” Harry chuckled before taking a bite of his toast. “Are we the only ones doing a group costume?”
He shrugged. “Probably. We’re the only ones annoying enough to pull it off.”
“I think you mean Charlotte’s the only one with friends who’ll do whatever she says.” You had finished your first piece when you caught the time on Harry’s stove. “Fuck, It’s already almost one.”
“I thought you didn’t have to be at Charlotte’s until half six?”
“Yeah, but she requested that we arrive in costume to take pictures before and I have to go to the supermarket, the liquor store, and find somewhere to get huge plastic spiders.”
“She’s really got you two whipped, huh?”
“Like I said, she’s the kind of person you can never say no to. She’s too nice.” You picked up your phone and checked the distance between your apartment and Harry’s house. “Ugh, fuck you for living so far.”
Harry laughed warmly. “My deepest apologies.” He leaned over to make sure that you weren’t exaggerating—and you weren’t. It was a forty-five minute tube ride and a thirty-six minute drive.
“If I go home and change, I’ll be way behind schedule.”
“You’ve got a schedule?”
“Yes, I do. I like being timely.”
He snorted. “You do not, you’re fucking late to everything.”
“I said that I liked being timely, not that I was good at it.”
“You can just wear something of mine.” He offered before taking another bite of his toast. He felt his heart pick up for just a second at the idea of you wearing something of his out in public.
You looked him up and down. “I don’t think that would work out very well.”
“Take a shirt, at least. That was you’re not running around the shops in heels and a bra on a bloody Saturday afternoon.”
You seemed to turn it over in your mind for a moment and he anxiously awaited your response. “I guess you’re right.”
“‘Course, I am.” He got up from the chair and grabbed his coffee. “C’mon, love.”
He lead you upstairs and placed his mug on his night stand before entering his closet. When he saw that you were simply standing in the middle of his room, he waved you in. On your way, you grabbed your trousers, which had thankfully not wrinkled, and your corset. Your blazer was still on the floor of his entryway.
“Keep the t-shirt you’ve got on, but it’s a bit cold so you’re gonna need a jumper.” He talked to himself as he stared at the clothes in front of him. His brow was furrowed and he had his bottom lip pulled between his thumb and forefinger in contemplation. When he found what he was looking for, his expression brightened. He pulled the Marc Jacobs jumper from its hanger and held it up to his chest before turning around and showing it to you. “This is perfect for you.”
“My life is crap.” You sent him a mock-sweet smile. “How sweet of you.” He held it out to you and you pulled it from his hands a little to aggressively. He watched with his hands on his hips as you pulled it over your head. It was big, which he figured would be the case and your hands went missing in the sleeves.
When you went to pull on your pants, his brow furrowed again. “No, knickers.”
You looked up at him as if he was crazy. “Ew, no. Those things are gross.” You tucked the t-shirt into your trousers and fastened the buttons around your waist.
“You’ve got to fix that.” Harry said and pointed to the jumper.
“Thanks, Cap.” You rolled your eyes before tucking the side of the soft material at your right hip.
Harry stepped close to you. “Let me. You don’t roll properly.” He ignored your remark about him being annoying and a liar as he grabbed your arm and started to roll the sleeve up. When he finished the other one, he took a step back and admired his work. “Brilliant.”
“You’re so fucking dramatic.” You said as you walked out of the closet and started making your way down the stairs.
Harry grabbed his coffee, which was now almost cold, and your heels, which you had walked right past, and followed you.
He found you standing at the entryway, throwing your hair up in a ponytail. He held your shoes out to you and you thanked him before putting them down and stepping into them. “Do you mind if I get my blazer and stuff another day? My bag isn’t big enough to fit it all and I don’t feel like carrying it around.”
“‘Course.”
“Great. Okay, I have to go. Thanks for the clothes, I swear I’ll give them back.”
Harry shrugged. “Don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do. This shit is expensive.”
“I could just buy another.”
“Shut up.” You stepped forward and placed a quick kiss to his lips, giving him almost no time to kiss you back. “Bye.”
“Bye, love.” The door was closed before he could get the last word out.
You shoved open the door to your studio and immediately dropped two new tote bags filled with alcohol, snack and decorations on the wood floor with a huff. You hurriedly kicked off your heels and sighed in relief when they relaxed on the cold floor, the aching muscles begging for some sort of relief. You rolled each ankle and cursed the universe because your costume, which you would end up in within the next hour and a half, called for another pair of heels.
After your phone was on the charger, you went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water heated up, you got undressed, leaving your pants on the floor, but carefully laid Harry’s sweatshirt and t-shirt on your bed.
As much as you didn’t want to, you spent your time in the shower thinking about Harry. The whole morning was bizarre, but it also felt weirdly natural—not normal, but effortless. You were definitely comfortable with him and enjoyed every second of it, which was beyond difficult for you to admit. You knew that if you hadn’t had to run a million errands for Charlotte, you would’ve stayed there much longer, because honestly, you didn’t really want to leave.
You were growing to like him and could maybe see the two of you being friends again. Obviously, for that to happen, the two of you would have to stop fucking and you weren’t sure you were ready for it to end yet. You found yourself stuck in this weird place now, but it wasn’t exactly a bad place, just one filled with a lot of uncertainty. You weren’t ready to deal with said uncertainty, so you were going to ignore and pretend like nothing had changed. Harry wasn’t someone you were exactly fond of, but someone that you enjoyed having sex with.
Once you were out of the shower, you threw on your usual men’s button up and sat yourself on the floor in front of your large mirror and curled your hair. You made sure they were all going away from your face and really focused on the bottom since the top of your head would be covered by a beret. Then, you did your makeup, making sure to place some blush pink shadow on your lids and to be a bit heavy handed with the blush.
You pulled on your hot pink, straight leg, high waisted trousers, which you had to hem slightly the day before. The sweater you found wasn’t exact, but the colors were the same. It was a berry red color, with pink, abstract blotches covering the front of it. You also had to cut the sleeves and roll them up so the style matched, but still prided yourself on finding something so similar to the original. You wrapped the pink and red striped, silky scarf around your neck, letting the long pieces rest down the front of your sweater. Lastly, you popped on the pink beret, making sure to bobby pin it in place, and then tacked on a pair of tiny heart earrings. After you shoved your feet into your maroon colored heels boots, you turned and looked in the mirror.
You hummed in satisfaction and smiled. “I think Jackie Burkhart would approve.”
You shivered as Charlotte’s voice came through the intercom. “The door’s open when you get up here.”
When you entered Charlotte’s apartment, her back was to you and she was standing on her coffee table, which she had dragged over to where her bookshelves were. She was spreading fake cobwebs across the wood and trinkets. “Hi!” She called as she turned around to face you.
You jumped when you saw what was on her face. “I had sex?” You started to laugh. “What…why…you have…” You pointed to your own face, which wore a confused yet amused expression.
“Have you not seen that episode?” Her face was completely straight.
“I’m sure I have…just forgot, I guess.” You assumed she was wearing Donna’s outfit from that specific video: bright blue trousers, a magenta shirt, and a blue shawl. You shrugged off your coat and placed it on the bed of the guest room at Charlotte’s direction. You also pulled off your boots since your feet needed some rest before you wore heels again for another few hours.
Afterwards, you went to the kitchen area of the open floor plan apartment and started to unload the tote bags you had brought with you. “Everyone’s coming at 8:30 right?” You asked as you brought a handful of plastic spiders over to where Charlotte was still working on the bookshelves.
“Yeah, a few people might be a little early, though, like the boys.” She said as she pointed to the spiders and then at the fireplace next to her. You already knew where she wanted them to go since she had sent you plenty go pictures of her decor inspo, but she apparently didn’t have much faith in you to remember.
You started to stick the spiders on the protruding wall, around her fireplace and tv which hung over it and then realized that someone was missing. “Where’s Sarah?”
“Oh, she’s probably just running late.” Charlotte’s voice was a little off, it was a little too high, which usually indicated that something with her wasn’t exactly right, but you knew she was stressed and figured Sarah being late wasn’t helping the cause.
Half an hour of decorating later and Sarah still hadn’t arrived. As you spread more web over the hallway where the bathroom was located, you wondered aloud where she could possibly be. “I’m gonna text her.”
“No!” Charlotte’s protest made you jump.
You took a peek around the corner and saw her walked swiftly towards you. “Is there something wrong? Are you and Sarah fighting or something? Is she still coming?”
“No, we’re not fighting.”
“Then what is it?”
Charlotte placed her hands on your shoulders. “I need to say something…and I need you to make it easy and not deny it.”
You were even more confused. “What would I…deny what?”
“I know you and Harry are having sex—and I’m pretty sure it’s just sex considering the way you two still treat one another, but I know.”
You pushed her hands off your shoulders. “We’re not having sex.”
“You promised not to deny it.”
“Uh, no. I didn’t. And I’m going to deny it because it isn’t true.”
Charlotte sighed again, but this time in annoyance. “Look, I know the night he made the roast that you stayed—for a while, like, a long while. And I know that last night you went to his after drinks and you stayed. Like, you stayed until this morning.”
You shook your head and ignored the panic that was beginning to rattle your chest. “No, I didn’t. Why would I? I admit I stayed a little late after dinner that night but it was because he wanted to apologize and last night…I went home.”
“You’re absolutely insufferable.” Charlotte muttered as she pulled her phone from where she had it stuffed in her bra. She tapped and swiped over her screen a few times before holding it in front of your face. You felt your cheeks heat when you saw your contact photo hovering over a specific spot on the map: Charlotte’s building.
“When—h-how did you?” You felt like a fucking idiot.
“A few months ago, the night you and I got drinks and got absolutely blitzed. You insisted on bloody walking home because you’re insane so I made you give me your location for your safety.”
“And now you use it to spy?”
She locked her phone and rolled her eyes before shoving it back into the spot in her bra. “”No. I hadn’t checked it until after Harry’s when neither of us had heard from you. I remembered I had it and I was worried so I checked. Honestly, I didn’t think anything of it until it was an hour later and you were still there. I thought it was a bit odd but didn’t think you two were…doing each other until Sarah brought it up!”
“And?” Your brows raised.
“And nothing.” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t tell her because it’s not really any of my business. If you want her to know, you’ll tell her. Also, I didn’t really know and I don’t gossip about my friends.”
“Well, you don’t really know now. Nothing happened.”
“You’ve been caught, (Y/N). Stop trying to cover it up.” Charlotte placed her hands on her hips and sent you an intimidating stare.
“I’m not—“
“You are! I checked your location last night because I was worried about you again and you were there. I also checked this morning to make sure you were home and not in a ditch somewhere and you were still there! I couldn’t believe it. Then I laughed because it made complete sense! There’s so much…” She gestured her hands wilding in between the two you. “Shit between the two of you, you’ve got to resolve it somehow.”
You sighed in defeat and leaned back onto the wall of the hallway. “Are you mad?”
“God, no.” She waved a hand at you. “I mean, I’m a bit upset that you didn’t feel like you could tell me but I get it. He’s Harry and you’re you and we’re all friends and it could potentially be weird. I always said he was your type, though. I think I always thought something would happen at some point.” She gave a nonchalant shrug and you could see that she genuinely wasn’t angry with you in the slightest. “I’m a bit impressed too. If I didn’t have your location, I probably would’ve never known. The fight last night looked so real.”
“Oh, it was.” Her eyebrows raised. “We just..worked it out after.”
She laughed loudly. “I bet you fucking did. God, I cannot wait to hear about everything. I feel so out of the loop.” She pushed herself off the wall and moved back down the hallway, but stopped short.
“Charlotte, are you—“ Your voice died in your throat when you saw Sarah standing a few feet from the mouth of the hallway—blond wig balancing on her head, blender in her arm, a beyond pissed off expression on her face—with the door still open behind her.
“Sarah, hey! I see you went with drunk Kitty after all! Probably a good choice.” Charlotte tried her best to ease the tension, but it remained beyond thick.
Sarah took a deep breath, a sure sign that she was about to put you in your place. You held up your hand to stop her. “Maybe, I don’t know, just…put the blender down before you start yelling at me. Just in case, you know, you feel like throwing it. I rather you…not.”
Sarah put the blender on the floor very calmly—and then let loose. “I cannot believe you fucking lied to me—more than once! I explicity asked you if there was something going on between the two of you and you looked me dead in the eyes and fucking lied. Why would you do that? Do you not trust me? That’s bullshit. It’s utter bullshit!” She threw her hands up in the air. “All this supposed hatred you had for him—and you’re fucking him? I get once, but twice? And you still treat him like garbage? What is that? Is all this fighting a joke? Have you been making all of us bloody miserable as some kind of game? I don’t understand.” Somehow all of it had become your fault, and then: “I can’t believe you would take advantage of our friendship like that. Are we even friends? Because it doesn’t really feel like it when all you do is lie.”
The shock was evident on your face. You looked over at Charlotte who’s expression mirrored yours, but her brow was furrowed in confusion. “What the fuck are trying to imply right now?” You asked.
Before Sarah could answer, Charlotte stepped in. “How did you even get in? I didn’t buzz you up.”
“What does that even matter right now? Someone was leaving when I got here and you always leave the door unlocked when you have people over.”
“It matters because what kind of person doesn’t even announce their arrival? You were eavesdropping on a conversation that wasn’t meant for you and you’re mad?”
“Yeah, you both fucking lied to me.”
You spoke up. “We didn’t lie. It was none of your business so we didn’t tell you. I’m entitled to my fucking privacy.”
“Not when it comes to dating one of my friends.” She bit back.
“But you and Mitch get all the privacy you want? Is that how the hypocrisy is working here?” Charlotte put on a look of mock confusion and looked between the both of you. “Because we were all friends when you and Mitch started dating. Him and Harry are best friends and as I recall, he respected your privacy as a couple.”
You took a step forward. “We’re not a couple, just to clarify.”
The look on Sarah’s face showed that Charlotte had completely nailed her. A beat passed before Charlotte walked over to the kitchen island, leaving you and Sarah just staring at one another. She grabbed a bag of chips and a bowl before walking back over and stopping in front of Sarah. “Look, you want to be a bitch right now? Fine. But at least fill up some bowls while you do it.”
Sarah silently took the items from her hands. Charlotte patted her on the shoulder before she turned around and motioned you back towards the living room where she was hanging mini witch hats from the ceiling.
As you helped her attach the strings to the top and hang them, you couldn’t stop glancing over at Sarah every few minutes. In all the time the two of you had been friends, you had never had a fight this bad—you had never had a fight at all, actually. Sure, you’ve had petty arguments about being late, cancelling plans last minute, making dumb choices while drunk, but they always ended in laughing. They were always forgotten twenty minutes later because they didn’t really matter. This was the first time that it seemed to matter—and you couldn’t believe it was Harry.
Charlotte had a point; Sarah was kind of being a hypocrite. There seemed to be no issue when they started dating. No one seemed to bat an eye or demand that they share their business. Charlotte was giving you the same courtesy, but Sarah was somewhat of a control freak, which you knew—so were you. It was one of the shared qualities between the two of you that allowed you to understand each other so well. You often knew where each other’s frustrations came from, but it came from the same place for both of you. What surprised you was how entitled she seemed to feel to your private business. Part of you understood that she was angry because she was supposed to be your best friend, and you usually told her about everything—every guy, every date, every hookup, every mistake, but you had kept this from her. That being said, being best friends didn’t mean you were obligated to tell her everything. The whole point of being best friends was wanting to tell that person everything. Sarah hadn’t really done much to make you want to tell her about Harry. She also hadn’t done very much to make you feel as though you could.
She freaked out at just the idea of it. Yes, her freakout was mostly because it meant that you were keeping it from her—and you were, which was why you really couldn’t tell her. She was refusing to acknowledge that she wasn’t exactly being best friend she was supposed to be. Then there was the comment about taking advantage of her friendship, as if you had gotten close to her just to get to Harry, or like sleeping with Harry meant stepping on her. Or the accusation of you lying about not liking Harry. Or the part where she seemed to flip on you completely and accused you of being terrible to Harry, when she knows everything he’s said and done to you. You were almost sure that she didn’t mean any of it and that it was just said in the heat of her anger, but she had a lot to apologize for when the time came. If the time came.
After the hats were hung, you two moved to Charlotte’s overflowing bar cart. “Okay, just the bat garland and the orange fairy lights left and then I think we’re done.” She handed you the garland that was meant to be wrapped around the cart and hung under the island and she took the lights. Before she walked away, she turned around and looked at Sarah who was pouring dips into small bowls. “She’ll get over it once she gets over herself. I think she’s just upset because you didn’t tell her, but she said a lot she shouldn’t have.”
“I can hear you.” Sarah said from the kitchen.
“Don’t really give a shit.” Charlotte said back. She squeezed your shoulder before going to hang the lights.
Forty minutes later, all the preparation was done and the buzzer of Charlotte’s apartment was ringing. She pushed herself up from where she sat on the couch next to you. “Must be the boys.” On her way to answer it, she stopped at the island where Sarah was already sipping on a margarita. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but you’re not going to say a single word about (Y/N) and Harry. Not even to Mitch.” Charlotte didn’t wait for her answer and placed her finger on the button. “Hi!”
“It’s us!” Harry’s voice was clear.
“Come on up! It’s open!”
“I’m going to the bathroom.” Sarah mumbled before disappearing down the hall.
You stood up and walked over the island. You picked a potato chip from one of the bowls and popped in your mouth as Charlotte turned to you and put her hands on her hips.
“She’s so [dramatic].” Charlotte mocked her quietly and you bit back a smile. Thank god Charlotte was on your side, or else the night would have been beyond insufferable.
Charlotte leaned over, turned the knob and opened the door when she heard a bunch of loud male voices tumbling down her hallway. Adam, Harry, and Mitch waltzed right through the doorway, big goofy smiles plastered on all their faces as they talked about some song they had listened to on the way there.
Your eyes immediately caught Mitch’s sunglasses: tan aviators. Your brow furrowed in confusion—then you caught sight of Harry’s hair. The curls hung down across his forehead. You looked back and forth between them and felt as if you had missed something.
Charlotte finally spoke. “Mitch…aren’t you supposed to be Kelso?”
“No, I’m Hyde.” He looked at her like she was an idiot.
“Yes. I can see that. You’re wearing the glasses—but I thought we decided in the group chat that because of your hair…you’d be Kelso.”
“We did.”
“Okay.” She nodded slowly. “But you’re Hyde.”
“Yeah.” Charlotte looked at him expectantly. The boys had obviously pregamed. “[Oh], yeah. Uh, having a couple costume with (Y/N) just felt wrong.” He looked over at you. “No offense. You’d probably make a great girlfriend, but I’m already taken, obviously. So I asked Harry to switch.”
Charlotte looked as though she would burst. “So…(Y/N) is Jackie and Harry’s Kelso.” You both looked Harry up and down. He was wearing blue, flare jeans, converse, and a white long-sleeve top that dipped into a slight “V”. There were striped around the neckline and then embroidered flowers outlining the stripes. He looked very seventies—very Kelso. “I don’t think tonight could get [any] better.”
Of course, that was the moment Sarah reentered the room. She threw her hands up in the air. “Un-bloody-believable.” She went back behind the island and grabbed her drink.
“Well, hello to you too.” Adam waved. He looked like such a nerd in his button up and jeans.
Charlotte pulled Mitch into a hug. “Why don’t you go and put her in a better mood. Bring her back without the stick up her bum, yeah?” Mitch obviously didn’t understand what was going on, but nodded at her before making his way over to his girlfriend. He gave you a high five and a nod on his way.
As Adam and Charlotte greeted one another, you avoided looking at Harry. He was staring at you as if he had expected you to attack him in a hug or worse, kiss him. You obviously couldn’t do either of those things and honestly, with Sarah in the room, you didn’t want to be around him at all. Adam pulled you into a hug before moving to the snacks. When Charlotte wrapped her arms around Harry, you pointed your thumb back in the direction of where her iPad rested on the coffee table. “I’m gonna go over the playlist one last time. Just wan to make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
You saw the disappointed look she gave you, but you ignored it. You turned around and went to sit back on the couch. Everyone’s voices became a hum in the background as you scrolled down the playlist Charlotte had created, but the whole group chat (and you) had contributed to. You were about to add Troye Sivan’s “STUD” when a hand adorned with rings set a glass down in front of you.
“You really hate saying hi to me, don’t you?” Harry asked as he sat down next to you. He sat so close that his thigh was touching yours.
“No…” You searched for one of your favorite Pop Smoke songs and tried to ignore the buzzing in your chest.
“Then what’s with the cold shoulder?”
You glanced up at him. “There’s no cold shoulder.”
“Then why didn’t you say hi?” He nudged his shoulder into yours.
You sighed in slight annoyance. “Why would I?”
He looked a little taken aback. “I don’t know…well, because—“
“Because of last night? This morning?” You scoffed. “C’mon, Harry. You’re not stupid. Not as smart as me, but not stupid.”
“Just because no one knows, doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to me.” He fidgeted in his place.
“I can’t be nice to you because I don’t like.” You pressed shuffle on the playlist and stood up. You grabbed the glass he had brought you. “Thanks for the drink.” As you walked away, you were immediately filled with guilt. You closed your eyes and let out a breath as you walked to where everyone else was around the island. You ignored Sarah’s stare and tried to convince yourself that you couldn’t have hurt Harry’s feelings as much as you were sure you did. You didn’t want to; you didn’t even realize you were doing it until after it had all come out, but your night had already kind of gone to shit and he was nagging you about your lack of greeting. He had chosen the wrong moment to push your buttons. He thought they didn’t know, but you suddenly felt this intense pressure as though Sarah and Charlotte’s attention was laser focused on you—and now, you were terrified that Mitch and Adam could read it all over you. He had simply chosen the wrong moment.
He didn’t understand it. He had a feeling that this would happen, that you would be a completely different person tonight, the version of you he didn’t particularly like, but it was immediate and it had hurt.
As more guests began filing in, he stood up from the couch and figured that she should be sociable, but decided that it would take a bit more alcohol for him to do so. He pulled Charlotte’s boyfriend into a hug when he met him at the bar before he poured a bit more tequila over his ice. Instead of mingling, Harry leaned on the wall next to the cart and immediately started looking for you without even thinking. He found you at the end of the island, closest to the door, next to Charlotte and talking to a friend of their’s named Danny.
You looked gorgeous. Your pants looked great on you and he couldn’t believe he had never seen you in a beret before. He decided that pink was his favorite color on you. Harry wanted to talk to you. He wanted to be [alone] with you, but that wasn’t exactly an option. There were too many people around, your friends were already onto the two of you, and for whatever reason, you wanted nothing to do with him. He hoped that the tequila would warm you up enough to thaw your heart just a little. All he wanted was for you to pay attention to him, for you to acknowledge him. He wanted a smile from across the room, or an arm on his shoulder as you passed him, a wink when no one was paying you two any attention. He wanted to know that the person he spent last night and the morning with was still there.
Harry pushed himself off the wall when he saw Jeff walk in dressed as Red Foreman, bald cap and all. He let out a laugh when he reached him and pulled him into a hug. “You look great, man.”
“You look like yourself.” Jeff commented—and he wasn’t exactly wrong. He lowered his voice. “Have you talked to her yet?”
Harry gave him a look that told him to shut up. “No, I haven’t.” The lie felt better than telling Jeff he got blown off.
“Let me know if she bites your head off when you do.” Jeff hit him in the shoulder before walking around him and going to greet Charlotte.
Harry knew that he probably shouldn’t have said anything to Jeff, but he was going insane earlier after you had left and he needed someone to talk to. He couldn’t talk to Mitch for obvious reasons—he couldn’t talk to anyone in the band, for those same reasons. Gemma would’ve asked for too many details, which if he had to divulge, would end in her calling him an asshole and hanging up on him for the way he treated you. There was no way he was talking about you to his mom.
Jeff wasn’t as surprised as Harry thought he would be. He told Harry that even though he didn’t know you at all, when you came to ask about the interview, he could tell there was something between the two of you. He knew that you guys didn’t get along. Harry had gone on rants about how awful you were before, but Jeff saw how he acted with you at the studio. For a second, Jeff even thought there were two of you because the way Harry talked about you didn’t really match up with the way he was [acting] with you that day. Harry needed his advice on how to handle tonight, since it seemed as though you two were in some indefinable territory, and all Jeff had to offer was: “Just don’t piss her off and you should be fine.”
And yet, somehow, he had managed to do just that.
Harry turned to his left and went to the island where he joined Sarah and Mitch in front of the snack. “There’s gonna be pizza, right?” Mitch asked Harry before popping a pretzel into his mouth.
Harry nodded. “I asked them to deliver it at 9:30. Shouldn’t be too long now.”
“Thank god. If I don’t eat something soon, Sarah’s going to have to drag me home by my feet.”
Harry looked down at Sarah, who had gone full Kitty and started drinking straight from the blender through a straw. “Mate, you might be dragging her home.” He nudged her wish his elbow but she ignored him. “Hey, having fun yet?” There was a playful tone in his voice, but there was nothing playful about the eyeball he received in return. Harry sent Mitch a questioning look and he simply shrugged. “Alright…”
Harry grabbed a chip and tossed it into his mouth. Mitch started talking to Sarah, or trying to at least, and so Harry moved his attention to the party-goers in front of him. He knew most of the people there; the only ones knew to him where Charlotte’s friends from school and some of her boyfriend’s friends, but he had still made an effort to talk to them and get to know them the tiniest bit.
His eyes land on you, where you’re tucked into the corner, drink cradled into your chest, talking to some guy Harry knew to be Charlotte’s mate from school. Just as he was about to look away, your eyes locked on his. For a second, the two of you stood there, staring at one another, neither of your faces revealing anything. When Harry finally sent you a warm smile, you looked away and seemed to tune back into whatever conversation you had been having.
Harry’s shoulders sagged in both disappointment and frustration. He shouldn’t have been letting it bother him. He knew going into tonight that it couldn’t be like this morning, but he didn’t think you two would completely revert back to the beginning—at least he had hoped that wouldn’t happen.
He turned to Sarah. “You alright?”
“I will be when this night is forgotten.” She picked up her blender with two hands and walked away. Him and Mitch watched her settle herself next to Danny and Jeff and join in on their conversation.
“What’s her deal?” Harry asked.
Mitch took a swig of his beer and shrugged again. “I don’t know, she keeps saying ‘nothing’ but she’s lying. All three of them are acting weird tonight.”
“What do you mean? All three?”
“The girls!” Mitch gestured to the room, where the three of you were dispersed throughout. “They’re all being fucking weird.”
“I don’t understand.” Harry was genuinely confused. Apart from Sarah’s pissy mood, everything seemed fine. Charlotte was her usual happy self and you were…well, the version of you that took over whenever Harry was around.
“They won’t go near each other. We’re usually having to pull them apart and they’ve barely spoken two words to one another since we got here.”
“So you’re saying we’ve missed something.” Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked from Sarah to you and then to Charlotte. He realized then that Mitch was right. Usually, the three of you would have picked a spot for the night and ignored everyone else’s existence.
“Yeah, I think we did.”
Harry didn’t like the idea of there being fights between his friends. “Or maybe Sarah’s wig is on just a little too tight.” Harry took a sip of his drink and Mitch laughed.
Suddenly, someone’s arm was on Harry’s shoulder and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red hair. “So, boys, how’s it goin?” Charlotte was definitely tipsy. They could always tell because her smile was immovable and her eyes were bright.
“What’s goin’ on between you and the others?” Mitch asked immediately and Harry shot him a look. If there was some kind of drama, now was definitely not the time to bring it up or hash it out.
Charlotte’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Mitch thinks there’s some kind of drama between the three of you. Like, the girls.”
“There’s no drama. I was just with (Y/N) getting another drink.”
“But you haven’t been with Sarah.” Mitch pointed out.
Sarah smiled at him, but Harry sensed it wasn’t entirely genuine. “Well, that’s on Sarah. She’s more than welcome to hangout with us.”
“So there is something wrong.” Mitch pointed.
“No, someone is wrong.” Charlotte corrected. The took a deep breath and sighed. “On that note, I’ll leave you two to theorize. Seems to be a new theme in this group.” She said the last part under her breath but Harry caught it.
He was sure that Sarah must’ve accused you of lying again, which obviously hadn’t gone over well. She couldn’t have known, because if she did, then Mitch would’ve known—everybody would’ve known—and there probably would’ve been much more drama than there seemed to be. Harry wanted to check on you, though. He wanted to make sure she hadn’t upset you too much, to the point where you weren’t enjoying yourself.
When Mitch mumbled, “They’re all in rare form tonight” before walking away to go find Sarah, he knew that was his chance.
He found you in the corner he last saw you in, but alone, stirring the stick in your glass and mumbling along to Bleachers song that was filling the room. “Hey.” He tapped your elbow when he said it, making sure to get your attention.
“Hi.” You spared him once glance before your eyes seemed to move to the people behind him, scanning for something or someone else.
“Having fun?”
“Yeah, I am. Are you?” Barely a glance.
“Love, are you alright?”
“Fine.”
“Then look at me. You’re not even talking to me.” He could hear himself getting frustrated—and desperate. If he wasn’t so tipsy, he would be embarrassed. When you still wouldn’t look at him, he lifted his hand and grabbed your chin and turned your face to look at him. “Baby, what’s—“
You ripped his hand from your face. “Don’t do that.” You whispered harshly. “What is wrong with you?”
Harry was taken aback. “Me? What’s wrong with me?” He laughed harshly. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what? Normal?”
“No, like your old bitchy self!”
You scoffed and shook your head. “I can’t do this tonight. I’m not doing this tonight.”
You tried to walk away but Harry stopped you with a hand on your arm.“Doing what?”
“Dealing with you and your needy bullshit.” You pulled your arm out of his grasp and walked away, leaving him standing there. You were ruining everything and he had never felt worse.
“Come here, right now.” Charlotte had swooped into your side from the mass of people in her living room. Her hand was pressed firmly into your back and she was guiding you down the hallway. After checking that the bathroom wasn’t occupied, she pushed the door open and shoved you inside. Once the door was locked behind the both of you, she put her drink next to the sink and then her hands on her hips. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You were beyond confused. “What do you mean?”
“What are you doing! With Harry! I saw that whole thing and it did not look good.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t any of your business.” You placed your drink next to hers and crossed your arms over your chest.
“You two…boinking uglies or whatever it’s called—that’s none of my business. You being a massive fucking idiot—absolutely my business.”
You tried to hold in your laugh, because it was clear that she was being dead serious. “You mean…bumping uglies?”
“Fuck off!” She shoved your shoulder before returning to her stance. “What are you doing? You’re hurting Harry’s feelings. Why are you being so cold to him?”
“Because I’m supposed to be?” You knew Charlotte wasn’t an idiot, but you thought she was asking very stupid questions.
“Okay.” Charlotte sighed and rubbed at her temples. “But do you want to be?”
You shook your head and sighed as you put the toilet cover down and took a seat. “No—at least, I don’t think so.”
Charlotte tried to cover her surprise. “Uh, okay, that was easy. Uhm,” she leaned up against the sink and looked down at you. “So why are you doing it?”
You lifted your right hand and waved it around as you searched for an explanation. “I’m just…frustrated and stressed out and annoyed and—I don’t know how I’m supposed to be acting! After last night and this morning, I just don’t don’t know how to act around him and treat him and this whole thing with Sarah—“ You groaned and dropped your head into your hands.
“Wait, what happened that made you so unsure?” Charlotte gasped. “Oh my god, you, like, like him as a person, don’t you? Oh my god, did you guys cuddle?” Your body shook with a laugh but you didn’t answer her. “You did! Why is that so hard to picture? Was it weird?”
You lifted your head and sat up to look at her. “Yeah, I was definitely weird.”
“But something’s changed. I can feel it. I can see it on your face!” You could see the excitement in her eyes.
“Nothing’s changed. We just…didn’t fight. Like, at all and we were nice to one another. I kind of liked it? But then tonight happened and of course, I had to go and fucking ruin it. Not that there’s even anything to ruin?” You sighed in frustration. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I’m…confused, which I know isn’t very helpful.” Charlotte admitted. “But we can talk this through another time. Why don’t you just try to be nice to him. Maybe apologize? I don’t know, maybe get crazy and be honest with him?”
“I said pretty mean shit.”
“Oh, I could tell. I saw the look on his face when he turned around. Fucking devastated.” She shook her head at you.
You grabbed your drink from its spot on the sink and stood up. “Not helping.”
“Just being honest.” She picked up her drink and started towards the door. “Maybe you should try it.”
You had gone missing. You had disappeared with Charlotte and it had been almost fifteen minutes, not that he was counting.
In that time, he had managed to down another tequila on the rocks—probably much quicker than he should’ve—and eaten a slice and a half of pizza. The whole time he was going over your interaction in his mind. Needy? He wasn’t being needy at all. All he wanted was for you to acknowledge that he existed, which he didn’t think was asking for much since he had fucked you last night and that morning. You were being bitchy though and drunk him was growing extremely insecure.
He was in the middle of talking to one of Charlotte’s boyfriend’s friends when you and Charlotte reentered the party. For whatever reason, you looked nervous, but Harry decided that it wasn’t his problem. He turned his attention back to the girl he was talking to. She was pretty. Her hair was dark and cut just above her shoulders. She was dressed as Velma and had bright blue eyes. Harry kept telling himself that she was pretty.
He caught the movement of a bright pink beret through the room and couldn’t stop his eyes from following it. You seemed to be wandering. You didn’t stop to talk to anyone or try to become part of any conversation. You didn’t even seem to be returning smiles—but you weren’t important.
“Sorry, can you say that again? I missed it.” He leaned closer to the girl.
“Uh, yeah. I was just saying that we had a mini halloween party yesterday for the kids I teach and it was a lot of fun.”
“What age did you teach again?” He had obviously completely missed the part where she said she was a teacher. By her face, Harry could see that she knew he wasn’t exactly paying attention.
“They’re seven.”
“That’s a great age.” He didn’t actually know, but it seemed like something he was supposed to say.
“Yeah, it is, actually.” The girl perked up and jumped into another story, just as Harry caught you in his view again. His jaw tightened when he realized that the guy you had been talking to early had stopped you. Harry could tell he was interested in you—who wouldn’t be? But he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He wasn’t going to give in to you tonight. He didn’t want to let you treat him like crap when he was just trying to be nice.
That being said, he was sad—real fucking sad and disappointed. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He didn’t want to be in the same space as you and he didn’t want to have to watch you flirt with someone else right in front of his face.
“Sorry,” he cut the girl off. “I can’t—I’ve got to get something.” He knew it was beyond rude of him to leave her like that, but you were in his direct line of sight and he obviously wasn’t interested in her anyway. He hadn’t listened to a single word she said.
The thing he decided he needed to get was a cupcake. When he got to the island, he picked one with purple frosting and a piped spider on top. As he took down the wrapper, he was hyper aware that the large amount of tequila, the pizza, the chips, and the cupcake probably weren’t going to mix well, but he didn’t care.
The moment you saw Harry alone at the kitchen island, you excused yourself from the conversation with…Ben? Thomas? You had no fucking idea what his name was and you really didn’t care.
When you reached him, you took a deep breath and tapped him on the shoulder since his back was to you. He turned around, cupcake in his mouth and brows raised in surprise.
“Can we talk for a second?” His brow furrowed, then relaxed and he nodded. He picked up another cupcake before following you down the hallway and into the guest room.
Once he was in, you closed and locked the door behind him. “What if someone needs their coat?” He asked before taking another bite of his cupcake.
“Fuck their coats.”
“Good to know I’m not the only one you don’t give a shit about tonight.”
You ignored his remark and walked over to where he stood in the middle of the room. You reached up and wiped away the frosting that was smudged on the tip of his nose.
“Now you want to be nice?”
“Can we sit down please?”
Harry looked around. “Where? All the furniture is covered in coats.”
You dropped yourself down on the wood floor and Harry followed, careful not to drop his cupcakes. He moved himself so that his back was against the side of the bed and his legs were stretched out in front of him. You scooted yourself closer facing him and crossed your legs under you, sitting so close that your knee rested on his thigh.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you actually?” Charlotte was right. He looked devastatingly sad. You had no idea that you could make him feel that way, and you didn’t want to ever do it again.
“I am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, or blew you off, or called you needy when you’re really not. You just wanted me to be nice to you.” You laughed coldly towards yourself. “And I couldn’t even do that.”
“Why then?” He was fiddling with the wrapper of his second cupcake. “Has it got something to do with Sarah?”
You took the cupcake from his hand and gave the orange frosting a lick. “She knows.”
Harry scoffed in disbelief. “No, she doesn’t.”
You looked at him seriously. “Yes, she does.”
“How?” Harry sat up straighter.
“Because Charlotte knows.” You tossed a hand in the air. “She’s known this whole time because I’m a fucking idiot and she had my location! And Sarah just…walked in while we were talking and didn’t tell us she was there and so now she knows.”
Harry dropped his face into his hands and cursed. “So that’s why she’s been acting like that.”
“Yup.” You took another lick of the icing.
“What are we going to do?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. Also, don’t really care about that right now. Charlotte doesn’t care and defended us to Sarah—she also made it clear that Sarah isn’t to tell anyone.” You peeled back part of the wrapper. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you though.”
“You wanted to apologize.”
“Yeah, I did, but I also wanted to tell you—“ You brought the cupcake to your lap and finally looked at him. “I had a really great time with you last night and this morning and I’m really sorry for ruining all of it.”
Harry reached a hand out and squeezed your knee. “You didn’t ruin it.”
“Oh, I for sure did. I was awful to you and that’s not how I should’ve behaved. Sarah just really stressed me out and she yelled at me and put me in such a shitty mood. I needed someone to take it out on—and you kept making me nervous. Every time you came up to me I felt like she was watching, like she was waiting for an excuse to call it out and make it this whole thing and I just couldn’t deal with that.”
“S’alright.”
“It’s not! You were being nice to me and I should’ve just told you what happened instead of being a dick.”
“Did you actually have a good time with me?” His eyes were hopeful.
“I did, really.”
“Do you still hate me?” He started picking at a thread on his jeans.
“I don’t think so.” You had to force the words out even though they were true.
“You don’t think so?”
“I mean, I know I don’t hate you anymore, I guess. But my opinion of you only started to change last night. I’m not like, in love with you or anything.” You laughed lightly. “Imagine.”
Harry returned the laugh, but it was much softer and he still wasn’t looking at you. “Yeah, imagine.”
You tapped the back of his hand and tried to get him to look at you. “Are we okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. As okay as we can be, I guess.”
“That’s not very comforting.” You joked.
“Neither is knowing that you still don’t like me.” His tone was serious.
“Harry, it’s not like that.”
“But it is. You don’t hate me, but you don’t like me.”
“But I’m on my way to liking you. It’s not so black and white, you know. For months I thought you were one person and I’m just now learning that’s not who you are. I feel like I have to get to know you all over again.”
“But I already know I don’t not like you.”
“You don’t not—what?” He wasn’t making sense.
“I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t dislike you either. I thought we were becoming friends.”
“We are—we could be.” You so did not want to be having this conversation right now.
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry, Harry.” You reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Nothing to be sorry about, love.” He sent you a smile.
You stood up and were about to ask him if he was ready to get back to the party when he completely caught you off guard.
“How come you never text me?”
“I-I didn’t know I was supposed to?”
“I text you and you don’t text me back.”
“I didn’t know we were like that.” You admitted.
“You never talk to me.” He looked dejected and you weren’t really sure what to do.
“Do you want me to text you? To talk outside of…fucking and group stuff?”
“Of course I do.”
There was a long silence. You both sat there staring at one another, the hum of voices slowly leaking under the door.
“I’m gonna—I need another drink.” You shook your head before turning quickly and leaving the room.
Harry had completely thrown you. You had no idea that he cared that much. He thought you two were becoming friends? It’s not as if you hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t seen it as a possibility in the future, but it seems much closer for him. It was clear that he had found it much easier to leave his dislike for you behind when you were still holding onto yours—and for good reason. He had still never really apologized, genuinely, for the many awful things he did to you. You weren’t good at simply letting things go.
It was just too much information too fast. You apologized and told him you liked the time spent with him and that you didn’t hate him anymore—he was asking for too much at once. Emotionally, you were exhausted and felt stretched too thin.
Then came the guilt. After all that, how could you just leave him sitting there? What was wrong with you?
He shouldn’t have been surprised. You loved to run. The more time he spent with you, the more he learned that you didn’t like to deal with anything and it was beyond frustrating.
He ran and frustrated hand over his face and sighed. He pushed himself up from the floor and pulled his phone from his pocket when it buzzed.
It was a text from you.
Hi :)
Hey
Harry bit back his smile.
Come have a drink with me?
Instead of answering, he shoved his phone into his pocket and tried to shove his hope back down, just in case.
When he walked around the corner of the hallway, you were already standing at the bar waiting for him. Your hands were behind your back.
“So you’re texting me now?” He scratched the back of his neck.
“Sorry, it was just a lot and I’m drunk.”
“I freaked you out.”
“Only a little…but then I realized that I can’t exactly get to know you again if I don’t try to so...”
“You’re trying.” He finished.
You pulled your hand from behind your back and revealed to him a cupcake. “I am.”
Harry smiled at you. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, if I eat another one of those I’ll be sick.”
“Noted.” You smiled back at him and left the cupcake on the shelf of Charlotte’s fireplace.
“I will take that drink, though.” He winked.
“Great.”
Harry hesitantly brushed his hand beneath your hair and rested it on the back of your neck. He knew his palm was probably cold against your warm skin, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t react at all, actually. He scratched lightly at the skin as you poured the two of you drinks, only removing his hand when you turned to hand him his cup. “Thanks, love.”
“Wanna sit?” He nodded in response, but when you turned around, the couch was full.
Harry’s eyes landed on the space in front of the couch, which had apparently turned into a makeshift dance floor now that everyone was drunk enough. “We could always…” Harry gestured towards the people dancing.
Just then, King Princess’s “Hit the Back” started to play and your hand had clamped around his wrist. “I love this song. Let’s go.”
Harry knew he couldn’t dance with you the way that he wanted to, the way he had danced with you at the fashion week after party, but he would take whatever he could get. Any awkwardness between the two of you from your moment in the guest room had seemed to completely disappear. Your smile was huge and Harry was sure that his was goofy as he watched you sing along to the song.
Again, he as struck by how effortless you made everything look. You were a good dancer and made it look easy, like you weren’t thinking at all—while Harry knew he wasn’t the best and was so focused on not looking stupid in front of you. When he started doing his exaggerated version of the simple “step-and-touch”, you let out a laugh and moved closer to him, letting your hands fall on his shoulders. As you pulled away again, you dragged your hands down his arms and it felt as if you had lit them on fire.
He wanted to kiss you. The urge felt as if it was eating him alive. He wanted to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into him. He wanted to be with you the way he was this morning. He wanted the two of you to be somewhere where not liking one another didn’t seem to be an option.
Just as he was about to move closer to you, Charlotte popped up at your side with her polaroid camera. “I can’t not take a picture of Jackie and Kelso!”
Harry looked at you to make sure it was okay and you smiled happily. Before he could move, you had wrapped your arm around his waist and tucked yourself into his side. He saw the look on Charlotte’s face--it seemed to be a mix of surprise and relief. Harry moved his arm around your waist and slipped his hand into the back pocket of your trousers and pulled you into further into him. When Charlotte counted down, he held up a peace sign and experienced his first genuine smile of the night.
Four songs and three not so subtle thumbs-up from Charlotte later, Harry found himself back at the bar cart. Right when he reached for the tequila, he felt a familiar hand rub over his back.
“Alright, H. I think you’re good.”
He stood up straight and looked at you with curious eyes. “What was that?”
“What?”
“What did you just call me?” He asked through his smile.
“I called you ‘Harry’.”
“No. You called me ‘H’. You’ve never done that before.”
“Sure I have.” You dropped your hand from his back.
“Uh, uh, put that hand back.” He was still smiling and even though you rolled your eyes, you returned your hand to its position. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“Whatever.” You took the cup from his hand. “I still think you’ve had enough.”
Harry rubbed at his eyes. “You’re probably right.”
You put both your hands on your hips. “I know we were just starting to have fun and I really don’t mean to cut it short, but—“
“Don’t say it.”
“I’m so fucking tired and it’s already 11:30 and I have an article to finish tomorrow…”
“You want to go?” He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“Kind of?”
“I’ll take you home.” Harry pulled out his phone and you grabbed onto his arm.
“No, you’re having fun! I’m not going to ruin that.”
“We’ve already determined that I’ve had enough to drink. I should probably go home too.”
“Are you sure?”
“More than sure.” He sent a quick text to his driver. “C’mon, let’s go say goodbye.”
You two made the round separately, not wanting to make it look as though you were leaving together. When Harry said goodbye to Charlotte, she gave him a knowing smile and Mitch seemed a little suspicious at the timing.
He met you at the elevator and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as soon as the doors closed. “You know, despite the shit show at the beginning, I had fun with you tonight.”
“I think I had fun with you too.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You really need to stop doing this whole ‘thinking’ thing.”
You chuckled. “I’ll try.”
He dropped his arm when you got downstairs and you two walked a few feet apart on the way to the car.
Once you were inside, he held his arm back out to you. “C’mere.” Without hesitation you slid over and tucked yourself under his arm for the second time that night. Neither of you said anything the entire ride to yours, just sat and enjoyed the music which was interrupted by the occasional sniffle brought on by the cold October air.
He kept looking down every few moments to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep, but caught your eyes fluttering every so often. Harry couldn’t believe how normal this felt—but knew that if he were to mention it to you, you would tell him it was still weird. He didn’t want to hear that right then. He wanted to sit there and enjoy the comfortable silence with you. He wanted to spend the drive with you cuddled into him and nothing else.
He had a deep feeling in his chest that he was absolutely fucked.
When his driver stopped in front of your building, he kissed you on the top of the head. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
You sat up and Harry opened the door and stepped out of the car. He held out his hand to you and helped you climb out.
“My feel hurt.” You complained as you walked up to the door.
“You’ve been wearing heels for two days straight, I’m not surprised.” He said as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him.
When you got to the door, you pulled out your keys and turned to face him. “Thanks for the ride.” He met you in the middle. The kiss was soft and sweet.
“Anytime, love.”
You stood there staring at him. “Uh..do you—do you want to come up?” He could tell it was hard for you to ask.
“Not tonight, babe.”
“Oh. Okay.” He had embarrassed you, but he couldn’t go up tonight. I needed to think and to figure out what he wanted from you—if he wanted anything from you.
“C’mere.” He tugged on your coat and pulled you in for another kiss. And then another. And then one last one. “Night.”
