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Harry’s voice broke the quiet.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, sharp but low.
Y/N paused, words caught in her throat.
She said nothing.
Instead, she knelt down slightly, leaning forward to carefully press the towel against the dried blood crusted along his cheek and jawline.
Her touch was tentative, almost afraid.
Slowly, she wiped the grime away, careful not to press too hard over the swollen bruises.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy between them.
Then, suddenly, Harry’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist.
His grip was firm but not rough — more like a tether, an unspoken anchor.
He looked down at their joined hands for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
He wasn’t used to being taken care of.
Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the sudden weight of his need and pride mingling in that small gesture.
Neither of them said anything.
But in that quiet moment, the distance between them seemed to shrink just a little.
Harry’s grip on her wrist tightened, and before she could react, he tugged her closer—his hands moving to her waist, anchoring her to him like he couldn’t let go.
Her breath hitched as he stretched his neck upward, eyes dark and heavy with something raw and fierce.
Then, slow and deliberate, she lowered her head, closing the distance between them.
Their lips met—first soft, testing, a spark igniting in the quiet room.
But that spark quickly exploded into something scorching.
Harry’s mouth was insistent, hungry, claiming. His lips crushed against hers with a desperate urgency, as if trying to make up for every moment lost.
She tasted the faint metallic tang of blood on him, the sharp saltiness mixing with the smoky heat of his breath.
Her hands trembled, instinctively reaching up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid heat of him against her.
His tongue slipped between her lips, slow and demanding, exploring, claiming.
Every nerve in her body ignited—her knees weakened, breath tangled in her throat.
The world shrank until it was just them—the rough edges of bruises, the sharp sting of pain, the chaotic rush of emotions swirling between their bodies.
Harry’s hands tightened on her waist, as if to keep her from slipping away.
With a smooth motion, he helped her settle onto his lap, one hand steadying her waist.
She straddled him, the heat of his body seeping through her clothes...
