*Contains Sexual Content, Trigger Warnings will be included individually in the chapter.
Harry Styles and Hera Collins were lovestruck and obsessed with each other, like every early-twenties romance. Going to concerts, travelling the world, doing everything they possibly could in their time together. Harry was obsessed and in love, and could see their future ahead of him - doing all the things they were already doing, but forever. He was writing songs about her and singing them to thousands of people every night, every word sung back to him, and most importantly, his lover was in the audience, supporting and surprising him every night. Hera wanted all that and more, the promise of a future that she was never shown by her own parents, the promise of a loving family that cared for her unconditionally. Hera wanted that, the swear of the future.
Harry, in the midst of the height of his career, and Hera, embarking on the biggest tour of her life, are forced to have a conversation about their future, and how their visions of what’s next aren’t lining up. Unfortunately, that conversation ends in a way that neither of them want.
Going on two and a half years later, a new Harry Styles album approaching, Hera is confronted with a call from the one person she has desperately tried not to think about for the last year and a half, the person she knows part of her heart still belongs to. Hera hears the songs written for her, the love songs she never thought she’d hear, and is forced to make a decision: will she see him again?
Like that, Harry and Hera are sucked into a new romance, although this time, it is much different. And that is because, Hera is now dating someone - someone Harry knows.
Hera is now dating both Harry and Grant, and is forced to make a decision, the hardest decision she’ll ever have to make.
Who does her heart belong to? And will she make the right decision?
One
Two
Three*
Four*
Five
Six*
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten*
Epilogue
MASTERLIST // ASKS // PLAYLIST // TAGS
Word Count: 10.1K
CW: NA
author's note: welcome to harry and hera's world. over the last month or so, i've been creating these characters and their story that mean so much to me, that i understand and relate to, all because of an album that means so much to me, to us. this is my first big story since loving you's the antidote, and i ask that you come into it with an open mind and heart, and give harry and hera a chance. i love these two so deeply, and i promise the rollercoaster you're about to go on will be well worth it. thank you to @gucciwins, @hunflowers, @loversgothumour, and @harryinsweats for listening to me ramble on and on about these characters that have become very real to me. i couldn't do this without your input and thoughts. and lastly, thank you to you, everyone that reads, because you're the reason i'm encouraged to write anything. i appreciate your love and kindness more than anything in this world. please, please leave comments and feedback and reblogs and likes and all the things! it encourages me! okay, enough rambling, welcome to harry (and hera's) house.
May is not necessarily the nicest time of year. Not in London, at least. Hera enjoys the weather in New York City in May much more than London, but it’s where she lives, where she calls home. And for the first time in nearly three months, Hera is home, soaking in the time to relax and take a break from work and travel in the comfort of her own home, with the familiarity of the people she loves around her. Like every other Thursday that Hera has off, her priority has been working on work emails and contracts to be sent out for Monday, residing on the couch with a blanket strewn over her legs, a mindless program airing in the background, and her phone tucked between her thigh and the softened cushion. Grant is at work, today, but he spends the weekends at her apartment in Hampstead Heath more often than not, and she’s expecting a call from him to say that he’s on his way.
Hera’s phone vibrates beneath her thigh, much earlier than when Grant typically calls on his way home, and not usually when Isla calls her to talk about their day. Her hand reaches for the phone, bringing it up to her face to see who’s calling.
And Hera has to look at the screen twice before fully accepting who is calling her. Grant will be arriving any minute, and she’s unsure what he will walk into if she answers the call. Hera tends to get emotional whenever she speaks to who is calling, and after not speaking to them for almost a year, it seems odd that they’re calling, especially when tomorrow is such a big day for them. Hera hesitates another second before deciding to answer, sliding her finger across the screen, and lifting the phone to her ear, clutching the device between her ear and shoulder.
“Hey, H,” is the first thing spoken through the speaker, and the name, the voice, the familiarity of it all feels like home. “It’s been a while. I’m glad you answered. How are you?”
“Hi,” she says smoothly, collecting her thoughts and picking at the fringe of the blanket thrown across her thighs. “I’m okay. I’m fresh off a tour, so I’m enjoying some time at home.” Hera waits a moment, and then says, “I’ll always answer. You know that.” One more moment. “How are you? Congratulations on your tour.”
“Thank you, H. That means a lot.” Hera can hear the ragged breathing through the speaker. He’s nervous, she can hear it. “I’m okay. Gearing up for tour, like you mentioned, and everything that comes along with that. My album comes out tomorrow, too.”
“I know,” she laughs breathily, shaking her head knowingly. The album is everywhere. Absolutely everywhere she turns, there is the album, the face she tries to shy away from, the reminder that he is always around. “I’m happy for you. Isla told me it’s your best work. I’m sure it’ll do amazing on the charts and all that. You always do.”
“I appreciate that, I do.”
Hera doesn’t mean to sound rude or harsh, but she has to ask the inevitable. Hera hasn’t spoken to him in nearly a year … it doesn’t make sense why he’s calling, now. Unless he found out. “Harry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but is everything okay? I’m honestly a bit shocked you’re calling me.”
Harry laughs breathily this time, and Hera can imagine him shaking his head. “I called you about the album, actually. It comes out at midnight, and, after much convincing from Mitch and Sarah and Isla, it seems apparent to me that I should call and give you a heads up.”
Hera knows in her gut what he’s saying, but decides to play innocent, maybe a bit naïve, hoping desperately she’s wrong. “Heads up? For what?”
“I, um, well,” Harry stutters nervously. Hera remembers that he does that when he’s anxious. “I wrote some songs about you, about experiences that involve you, and they made it on the album. I wanted to let you know beforehand before they’re out there and anyone else can tell you.”
Hera gulps and nods her head, although Harry can’t see her. Her suspicions were correct. Gut instinct always true. “Are you going to tell me which ones?”
“I mean, I think you’ll be able to tell with most of them.” Harry takes a breath and hums, almost as if he’s thinking about something in between sentences. “There is one song, though, that I want to send to you, now, if that’s okay, and hear your thoughts on it. I, I wrote it a while ago, back when you had told me about things with your family and friends when we were dating.” Harry pauses, and it feels as though he just reopened a wound Hera thought was stitched tightly closed. “I just, I thought this was the best way to tell you I was listening to you, and I was there for you. I know I should’ve shown that in other ways, but I wrote this, and I wanted you to hear it before the world hears it. It’s for you, Hera.”
“Can you send it through?” Hera asks, her voice going quiet as she sinks into the white, puffy couch, suddenly feeling very small and very seen. Harry hums on the other end. “What’s it called, Harry?”
“Matilda.”
Hera nods silently as a tear slips down her cheek, her hands reaching for her computer and opening her screen, typing in her password, and opening the new message from him. Her heart sinks as she opens the file, the name of the song written in bold, black letters. Hera knows exactly what day this song was inspired by; what happened and what was said, everything that led to the creation of this song. Choosing to block out the memory, Hera presses play on the song, leaving Harry on speaker on her thigh.
It’s strange. Hearing Harry’s voice over the speaker on her computer with him on the phone. Listening to a song written about her trauma and tragedy.
Hera blinks back tears, her heart clenching in her chest as the lyrics settle in, every word written to tell her the thing that her favorite childhood movie and novel always reminded her: you are not alone. Harry lets the words settle in before saying anything. He sighs, ready to speak, when Hera presses play, again. For another four minutes, the two sit in silence, Harry choosing to be oblivious to the streams of tears falling down Hera’s cheeks, because if he acknowledged it, he would be on his way over, closing the short fifteen-minute gap between their homes and rushing to her. He couldn’t do that, now, though. Not now.
“Hera?”
Hera sniffles when the song finishes, sucking in a breath before answering him. “Yes?”
“Is it okay? Do you hate it?”
“Of course, I don’t hate it. How could I? It’s beautiful, Harry,” Hera whispers, wiping her cheeks and closing her computer screen. “I just, thank you. Thank you for listening.”
Hera can’t see that Harry nods, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “I, um, I have a show in London on Monday. I believe Isla is coming. I sent an invitation to Grant, too. Mum and Gemma will be there.” Harry waits a second. “I’d really like it if you came. Come even for a few songs, you know? I, it would mean so much to me.”
Hera, although having fully believed that all her feelings towards Harry were gone, has a very tough time saying no to him. “I’ll see. I’ll try to come.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you Monday, then.”
“I’ll try, yes.”
Hera moves to hang up, hearing the clicking of the lock and the sound of her boyfriend coming through the front door. Grant walks into the living room, seeing the phone clutched between her ear and shoulder and kisses her softly, murmuring a ‘hello’ before walking into the kitchen.
“H?”
Hera freezes. Did he hear Grant? It won’t be good if Harry finds out before she can tell him. Before anyone can tell him. “Yes?”
“Thanks for answering. I’ve missed you. I’ll see you on Monday.” And before Hera could properly respond, Harry’s hung up the phone call.
Hera takes a minute to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes and setting her computer and phone aside on the coffee table. All of that can be collected later before she’s off to bed for the evening. At this moment though, she needs a warm, reassuring hug from her boyfriend that says that everything is going to be okay. Maybe she’ll call Isla before bed and tell her what happened. Maybe she’ll tell Grant. Maybe she won’t tell anyone at all.
Hera stands from her position on the couch and walks into the modernized kitchen – it was remodeled only a few weeks ago and barely looks lived in, with the exception of Grant always making a meal when he’s around – standing in the doorway for a minute and admiring the way Grant is milling about the room knowingly. Grant and Hera have been dating for nearly a year and a half, now, and he’s made himself comfortable in her home, in a space she once shared with someone else. Grant, always the most thoughtful, grabs another glass to pour water into once he notices her waiting at the doorway, a smile picking at his features as neither of them say a word.
Considering how busy their lives are, there aren’t many moments where Hera and Grant get to act like a normal couple, where they can cook dinner together and talk about their days and go to bed together. Hera wants to enjoy this tonight, and not worry about anyone else on her mind.
Grant speaks first. “How was your day, love?” Hera’s heart sinks further into her stomach as the tears well in her eyes. Grant is a good person, someone that’s been pining after her for years and has made the last year and a half as happy as it could be. Grant is good, truly good, someone that deserves to be loved as deeply as he loves her, and the moment he is brought up, it reminds Hera that that’s just not how she feels. “Oh, love, are you okay?”
Hera shakes her head silently, succumbing to her emotions, and walks towards him, laying her head on his chest. Grant cradles her head against his chest and slowly rubs her back as she silently lets the tears fall against his cotton shirt. Grant sets his chin on her head, “I’m sorry you had a bad day. Does it have to do with the call you were on earlier? Would you like to talk about it?”
“I don’t think so,” Hera sighs shakily, lifting her head and pouting out her bottom lip. Now is not the time to tell him that her ex-boyfriend called. Now is especially not the time to tell him that said ex-boyfriend has songs about her on his new album. “I’m happy you’re here with me. Thank you for being here.”
“Always, honey,” he softly smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her mouth. His kiss makes her smile, a half-smile that says, this feels right, and she tightens her arms around his waist. “What do you want to cook, tonight? I think you’ve got a bit of chicken we could stir up into some pasta, or we could make something from scratch if you’d prefer.”
Hera closes her eyes and soaks in the sound of his voice. Comforting, the sound of an old friend, someone she’s known nearly a decade. Loving, someone that loves her so deeply, that he would do anything, give up anything for her. Grant loves her, that much she knows. “Whatever you want, baby. Anything sounds good.”
Grant nods, cupping Hera’s cheeks and giving her another kiss, before loosening his grip and beginning to pull things out of her refrigerator to make for dinner. Hera watches him carefully, and she can see a future where their life is like this every night, not just one or two nights a week. Hera turns on the radio, closing her eyes and soaking in the last bits of sunlight piercing through the window as she washes the vegetables and sings along quietly to the songs playing through the speaker. Grant talks about his day working with the production team for an up-and-coming band on tour throughout the country, talking about how humble and sweet they were – quite the contrast from the usual artists and teams he works with day to day as a sound technician. Hera talks about the contracts that are being sent by a few different artists, saying that she has to choose which one she’s going to settle for by the end of the week. Grant offers to look over the contracts with her later that evening, and Hera smiles gratefully.
Amidst their talks of work and travelling, Hera’s ears perk to the sound of Isla’s name, Grant quickly saying that she mentioned a concert on Monday that they had been invited to. Hera can see that he walks around it as much as he possibly can, but the hurt that passes through Hera’s face at the mere mention of it is evident. Hera had decided before that conversation to not mention it, that she wouldn’t go. Now, however, it seems that it is up for discussion.
“About that,” Hera says, suddenly feeling very full and pushing her plate away from her face. Grant is staring at her intently, and she suddenly feels very sick. “Harry called me earlier. That’s who I was on the phone with.” Grant leans forward, hanging on every word she says. “He, uh, sent me a song that he wrote about me, for me. Asked, Harry asked if I would go on Monday, to the show. I, I’m not so sure I want to go. I don’t want it to be awkward or something for us to be there together, to see his family, to see him. I, I just don’t know.”
“June, my love, I would never force you to go if you don’t want to,” Grant begins, setting his fork down and grabbing her hand from across the table, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles comfortingly. Grant is so good at that, at comforting her. “I just –”
“Conditional statement incoming.”
Grant laughs at that, “However, I do think it may be good for you. Get some closure and all that. It’s okay that you miss him, baby. He was your best friend. Long before you and I were together, or any of us, pretty much. It may be nice to have him in your life again, you know, even if it’s just a little bit.”
“And I’ll have to see him eventually. Isla’s wedding is coming soon. I’ll definitely be seeing him there, you know. Maybe I should just get that initial awkward meeting out of the way,” Hera explains, taking a sip of water and swallowing dryly. All this talk of him has made her throat and mouth gone dry. “Considering we’re the Maid of Honor and Best Man.”
Grant nods, “I think this sounds like a really smart thing to do. I think it’ll be good for you,” he smiles softly, lifting her hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. “I’ll be by your side the whole time. You won’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, now. And Isla and Beau. I’m sure Mitch won’t let him do or say anything stupid, either.”
“I suppose you’re right, yeah.” Hera’s eyes travel everywhere but Grant’s face. All that has transpired in the last few hours feels surreal. Especially knowing that in a few hours, there will be songs about her released to the world, songs she’s never heard, songs she has no idea the context or what they say or how they sound. Hera wants to talk about it, to share her feelings, but how could she possibly do that with her boyfriend? “Harry said that there are songs about me on the album. Like I said, I heard one today, but there’s more. I haven’t listened to anything yet. I’m not sure I want to.”
Grant nods knowingly, “I know, baby.”
Hera’s eyes go wide, and she feels like she should sink further and further into her chair with embarrassment. “You know?”
“Mitch sent me the songs. Kind of like a warning, maybe. I don’t really know, actually. I didn’t ask what he meant by it, or what he wanted me to do with them. He’s the only one of them that knows we’re together besides Isla.”
“Did you listen? Are they, like, I don’t know.”
“I did listen.” Hera gulps, and Grant looks off into the distance for a moment, almost as if he’s searching for the right words to break this to her. His thoughts hurt him, that much she can see, and she wishes it didn’t have to be like this. Hera wishes she wasn’t still in love with another man, at the same time she loves Grant. Hera wishes he wasn’t everywhere they go, every turn a reminder of him. Hera wishes he wasn’t writing songs about her, touring the world singing them with people constantly questioning and blaming her for his heartbreak. “Harry still loves you, June. You know that, don’t you?”
Mixing all those words together in one sentence breaks Hera’s façade. All that she’s worked towards over the last two years, the therapy and talking and going out and finding closure on her own, it all feels like a lost cause with that one, singular statement.
Grant stands from his seat and takes their plates to the trash and then to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher and walking towards Hera. He knows that she likes a moment to collect herself before he says anything.
“Grant, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know that, baby. I do,” Grant says, walking towards her and gently laying his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to turn to face him. Hera leans her face on his abdomen and her eyes flutter shut when his fingers run through her hair the way she likes. “I love you, very much. And I know how hard this is for you. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m making you choose between having me and having him in your life. I’ll always be there for you. I just, I want you to know that I’m not letting you go that easily. If Harry wants you, he’s going to have to win you over fair and square. “Cause I’m here, I’m in this for the long haul. Forever, if you want.”
Hera’s skin prickles with goosebumps at the ‘forever’ comment. Grant seeing a future with her will never not make her react. “I doubt that’s what he wants, Grant.”
“Either way, I just want you to know how I feel,” Grant says calmly, leaning down and kissing Hera’s forehead. He lingers there for a moment, before pulling away and saying, “Do you want to go and run a bath for us? Might be a nice way to end the day.”
“Okay,” Hera murmurs, standing on her feet and tilting her head slightly to bring his mouth to hers. Grant doesn’t hesitate for a second, kissing her deeply and smiling when her hands come to grab his cheeks and hold him there for a moment longer. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
Grabbing her phone from the living room, she makes her way into the master bedroom and ensuite, turning on the water for the tub and shutting the door to let the steam begin to warm the room. Grant can be heard through the house, milling about, and grabbing his things as he shuffles into the bedroom, plugging in his phone and cautiously entering the bathroom. Hera’s eyes flutter shut as Grant places a kiss on the back of her neck, gently massaging her shoulders as she leans into his touch. Hera lays her hands on his, squeezing him, rolling her head back against his shoulder as his hands begin to wander down her body.
Grant doesn’t speak, merely caressing her body and cherishing the way her mouth feels on his. Hera’s words exist in whimpers and quiet moans, as they stumble into the bedroom and find their way to her mattress, her thoughts surrounded by the way she feels with her boyfriend heavy on her chest and her legs wrapped around his waist.
Grant finally decides to share his feelings when they’re in the bath together, when she’s laying on his chest, his hands running over her shoulders and down her sides. Hera is nearly asleep, her eyes fluttered shut with the feeling of his hands on her. He sucks in a deep breath, and Hera’s eyes open, knowing that he’s about to say something.
“Are you okay, Grant?”
Grant shrugs and gently turns her around, her thighs wrapping around his waist and her arms moving around his neck. “I want to be with you, June. I want to be with you and have a future with you. I don’t want to sound selfish, I don’t, but I want you, and I don’t want anything to come between us and what we have going.”
Hera nods understandingly. Hera understands Grant’s position. How could she not? Truthfully, it’s a bit surprising he’s as calm about all of this as he is. Anyone in his position would be angry, pissed, annoyed. And yet, Grant is here, encouraging Hera to find closure with Harry, promising her that he’d fight for her and their future together.
Hera leans forward and kisses Grant softly. “I won’t go on Monday if you don’t want me to. I completely respect your feelings on this.”
“I don’t think that’s the answer to this.” Grant brushes a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I think I should stay back. You and Isla can go. I’m sure you’ll have a good time seeing everyone. I do think you should tell him that we’re seeing each other, though. I think that boundary should be set from the get-go.”
“I understand, and I agree.”
“Okay,” Grant smiles, leaning forward and capturing her mouth in a kiss. His kisses are always gentle and never hurried, never rushed and needy. “I think we should get out, though. My fingers are beginning to prune.”
Hera and Grant laugh together, clambering out of the tub and grabbing their respective towels to dry off and settle into their pajamas and nightly routine. Grant is asleep before Hera, falling asleep almost instantly when his head lays against the pillow. Hera tosses and turns for a while, debating whether or not to send a text to Isla about Monday and whether or not she should go.
All of it seems like a bad decision, a poor choice. How could seeing Harry possibly go well? Hera is sure all of those old emotions will draw up again, will start stirring in her chest. How could she possibly face Grant knowing that she’s still in love with Harry, too? How could she hear all the songs written about her and not feel something? All of it seems like the start of a very big problem.
Hera sighs, tossing over and reaching for her phone and opening her messages with her best friend, typing out what she needs to before turning her phone over and cuddling into Grant’s chest to finally fall asleep.
I’ll be there on Monday. Pick me up at 6.
Grant stayed the night, and then was hurriedly called into work for the weekend for a run of shows that were last minute needing a technician. Hera sighed, disappointed that their weekend would have to be postponed, but she understood, nonetheless.
Out of all people, Hera would understand.
Hera debated on calling Harry all weekend and telling him that she would be there. On the day of the album release, Hera’s social media was flooded with congratulatory statements on the album and the radio was overwhelmed with his music. Like before, Hera couldn’t escape, even if she tried. Ultimately, she made the decision that she would simply show to the concert with her best friend and see what happens. Grant is only a phone call away if she needs to leave.
In the meanwhile, Isla did very little to hide her excitement about Hera joining her on Monday evening. Isla, nearly seconds after receiving the text, flooded Hera’s inbox with texts about what she should wear and what she would say, to which Hera dejectedly replied, “Isla, I don’t even know how I’m going to feel when I see him. Let me have a minute to think about what I’ll say.”
Isla took Grant’s place throughout the weekend, slinging a duffle over her shoulder and showing up at Hera’s house only an hour after she called, inviting her over for the few days that Grant would be gone before the show. Isla’s wedding is in a few short weeks, just under two months away, and Hera knew that she needed the time away from planning and the stress of it all – even if it was only a few blocks over at her best friend’s apartment. Hera and Isla’s days were spent with lounging around the living room and ordering in, cherishing their days off together and getting to talk about things other than the wedding.
Isla doesn’t ignore the elephant in the room, though. Hera knows it’s going to be spoken about eventually, she just, truthfully, doesn’t want to admit how she’s feeling about it.
One part of her, a very strong part, is anxious and very nervous to go. Everything is different, now. Harry and Hera haven’t seen each other in a year and a half, maybe longer, and everyone around them knows the secret she’s been trying to keep. His family will be there, and Hera will have to face two of the people that made her feel so special in the short time they were together, the two people she broke contact with afterwards. Hera will face his friends, the ones that called her after they split and begged her to just talk to him. Quite possibly the hardest one, will be facing Harry, himself, seeing the face of the man she loved so deeply, cared so much for, and risk all those emotions coming back at full force.
Another part of her, an increasingly growing part, is excited to go. Hera hasn’t seen her friends, her family in years. It’ll be a relief to see familiar faces, comforting smiles, and laugh with people she feels like she grew up with. Isla will be by her side, and there will be so many people there that she’s missed dearly. Sarah Jones possibly being the one she misses the most. Meeting new friends on the team, too, is something Hera always looks forward to. Hera has always felt most comfortable on tour, traveling, and meeting new people, and that’s exactly what she’ll get to do, tonight. Hera knows the risks, but she is very aware of the rewards that are waiting on the other end.
And as Hera is wrapped in her thoughts, Isla is in the bedroom simultaneously getting ready, nudging her towards the bodysuit and jeans that Hera had been debating on wearing for a few hours, claiming she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Isla encouraged the outfit, knowing just how Harry would react to it. Hera isn’t blind to Isla’s intentions, and keeps reminding her that she is, in fact, with Grant. Beau is in the living room, waiting patiently for the two to finish getting ready. Hera and Isla made plans to join the after party – Isla made the plans – and they would need a designated driver home, queue the fiancé. Hera doesn’t say much as they get ready, letting Isla do most of the talking about the album and her favorite songs that Hera has yet to listen to and slyly mentioning that she may be joining the tour for the next leg, sharing her excitement for being on the road with their friends, once again.
“Are you excited, at all?” Isla wonders, smacking her lips together as she coats her mouth with gloss, her skin glistening under the lights of her bedroom.
“I mean, yeah, I suppose I am. It’s just, it’s weird. Knowing he’s going to be playing songs about me, with me there. Songs I wouldn’t know about if it wasn’t for Sarah and Mitch and you.”
“He’s excited to see you.” Isla meets Hera’s stare in the mirror. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t tell him? He’s been hounding me for weeks to get you to go.”
“This feels weird,” Hera mutters, pulling on her hair tightly to secure the hair in place, the curls falling loosely around her shoulders. “I feel like I shouldn’t be going.”
“Well, you may have to get over that feeling, my dear friend, because we have to go, otherwise we’re going to hit major traffic and never make it, and Harry will be up my ass about not seeing us before the show. Us, but mainly you.”
Hera sucks in a deep breath and nods, grabbing her purse from her dresser and opening her bedroom door, Isla following closely behind. Beau immediately stands and smiles at his fiancée, grabbing her hand and bringing her in for a kiss. Hera smiles fondly, happy that her best friend found someone that adores her as much as she deserves. Hera, in another life, always imagined that she and Harry would be the first of their friends to get married, to just one day decide and go to the courthouse and do it.
Hera shakes the thoughts from her head and follows her friends out to their car, climbing into the backseat and sending a message to Grant to let him know that she is on her way and wouldn’t be paying too much attention to her messages throughout the night, to call if he needs her. Grant assures her he would be okay and working, too, insisting on her going to have fun with her friends. Grant says he loves her, as he always does, and leaves her be.
Conversations in the car distract her for a while, enough to make it out of their neighborhood and to the venue in what feels like a blink. Hera sighs, getting out of the car and wiping her hands on her knees, the nerves growing every second.
Isla walks up first, smiling at security and giving their names. Hera is on the list.
It’s unusual, this feeling. Familiar but so foreign. Hera’s name has been on plenty of lists, especially in the last few years, but to be on Harry’s list again, it feels different.
Beau leads the way with Isla’s hand in his, walking past all of their equipment and road cases and all the different signages clinging to the rooms scattered through the hallways. Hera is in her own thoughts until she hears a familiar voice, Isla shouting, and Beau laughing. Her chest tightens, and she feels grateful that she’s hidden behind her two friends, in a way that makes her barely noticeable. Hera feels small, unsure, and her eyes dart behind her where she can make a break for it, leave without anyone saying anything. Hera is nearly turning on her heel to leave when Isla and Beau split apart, and the man she’s felt so conflicted on seeing steps between them, facing her head on, wearing the infamous crooked smile that always made her heart beat a little bit faster.
“You made it,” he says, his arms dangling awkwardly at his side, his lips parting in a softened smile. He steps forward and lowers his voice. “Can I hug you?”
Hera can’t find her voice, simply nodding and stepping forward, lifting her heavy arms from her sides, and wrapping them around his midsection, his arms coming around her shoulders and pulling her in tightly. Hera sighs, breathing him in and soaking in the familiarity of the cologne, the freshness of his toothpaste, the tightness of his arms around her body. Hera knows they’re standing there for a minute, maybe two, much longer than his hugs with Beau and Isla. Her voice is lost in her throat, and she wants to say so many things to him, to cry in his arms and say she misses him, but instead she tightens her arms around his waist and allows him to hold her.
“I’ve missed you, H. Missed you so much.”
Hera freezes, unable to say what she’s feeling without feeling guilty, and squeezes him tighter, before gently (and maybe a bit reluctantly) letting go. It’s painfully obvious that there are eyes on them, and if she’s going to say anything to him, she wants it to be private and on their own.
Harry loosens his grip, his hands falling to her arms and then her hands, his eyes travelling across her face, her body, soaking her in as though it’s a hallucination that she’s there, really there. Harry grabs Hera’s hand and intertwines their fingers, earning a smile from Isla and a warning glance from Beau. Harry shakes it off, walking forward and nodding them towards the dressing room where the band and the team were all congregated. The show begins in less than a half hour, and Harry would have to leave to get dressed and ready very soon, meaning Hera would be alone with her friends and she could figure out what she was going to say, when she was going to say it.
“Look who’s here!” Harry cheers as they walk in the room, Hera blushing instantly as their friends all stand and laugh and immediately rush over to greet her. Hera immediately feels at home, smiling brightly as she walks up to Sarah and wraps her in the tightest hug she could muster, willing the tears to go back and not ruin her face or Sarah’s outfit for the show. Mitch stands, holding their baby tightly in his arms and hugs her, smiling his infamous half smile and watching as his best friend admires the interactions from a distance. Mitch looks at her knowingly and she nods shyly, trying to avoid saying anything that will make the interaction uncomfortable for anyone, or say something she’s not ready to address just yet.
“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Sarah gushes, cupping her cheeks and bringing Hera in for another hug, squeezing her tightly and whispering in her ear, “Don’t shut us out, again, June. God, I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you. Very much.”
Hera quickly wipes a tear from her cheek and nods. “God, I have missed you, Sarah Jones. I really have.”
“You and I, we have to get lunch. Make a day of it. Catch up on everything. I want to see my friend. I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re here. Harry mentioned it to me the other day, but I didn’t really believe him.” Sarah looks at Hera for a moment. “I’m sorry for how things turned out. I didn’t want us to stop being friends, though. I want you in my life. You’re my friend.”
“You will. I promise,” Hera swears, smiling and turning over her shoulder, making eye contact with Harry momentarily before he’s looking away and walking towards the hallway, presumably going to get changed for the evening. Hera’s heart drops to her stomach, willing the uneasiness to go away, and she feels the urge to follow him and talk to him privately, to have a few moments where they’re just themselves and there’s no one around to influence what they have to say to each other. Isla quickly draws Hera out of her thoughts to introduce her to the band, everyone giving her a warm hug and greeting and saying that they’ve heard so much about her. Hera smiles and talks for what feels like hours, the comfort of being with people she loves and that love her making her nerves drift away one by one.
“On in five, everyone!” Tommy calls from the hallway, poking his head in the doorway and immediately grinning when he sees Hera’s face in the corner. “Is that June? The June Collins!”
“Hi, Tommy,” Hera smiles, walking over and accepting his arms crushing around her. “Good to see you, my friend.”
“Good to see you, June. Let me take you upstairs. Harry saved the best seats in the house for you,” Tommy grins, linking their arms and gesturing for Isla and Beau to follow behind. He walks through the backstage area and to the stairs where the entrance to the balcony is, looking at Hera intently before saying, “Are you going to be okay? Harry told me he called you about the album.”
“I will be, yeah. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”
Hera, Isla, and Beau climb the stairs to the balcony. Isla squeezes Hera’s hand when they get to the platform, Hera sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore all the whispers that were starting to surround her as she walks through the aisle and gets to their seats. Hera can hear the whispers, “Is that Harry’s ex?”, “Aren’t there songs about her on the album?”, “Next to his family?” and the overwhelming desire to leave is almost too much to ignore or deny. Hera spots her exit, making a plan for leaving in case everything gets to be too much.
And as Hera is navigating her makeshift escape route, her name is called through the balcony by a voice she could never forget. “Hera!”
Gemma immediately stands and is walking towards her, wrapping her in a hug and squeezing her tightly. “Hi, love! How are you? It’s been so long.”
“I know, I know. It’s been forever,” Hera admits, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by the love that washes over her for the women in front of her. Anne and Gemma were nothing but welcoming and warm to her, always, from the moment they met to the moment they left. Anne never let her feel anything short of a daughter, as someone she could go to in times of trouble and lean on when she needed. Gemma was the sister Hera never had, a friend and a companion in the streets of London. And Hera, who admittedly cannot handle losing people, isolated herself when things went wrong, and lost the family that loved her more than her own family had. Hera’s eyes feel wet when she blinks out her thoughts, Gemma still standing in front of her, holding her arms. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you more,” Gemma smiles, reluctantly stepping aside when her mother gently nudges her shoulder.
“Hi, my dear,” Anne says warmly, wrapping her arms around Hera’s shoulders, much like her son, and squeezing her tightly. Hera takes deep breaths, willing herself not to break into sobs at the comfort of a mother’s hug, and her demeanor softens. “It’s so good to see you, here. Harry has not stopped talking about it. Having you here means everything to him. And to us. We’ve missed you.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Come on, you’re sitting next to me.”
Hera, Anne, Gemma, Isla, and Beau all make conversation in the meanwhile, talking about Anne’s travel down to London, Isla and Beau’s wedding, Hera’s most recent tours. Conversation flows easily, and for a moment, Hera forgets about everything that’s happened in the last two years, all the mistakes that were made and the regrets that are there, and she’s with her friends, with her family, and she’s home.
Isla nudges Hera’s side, nodding towards her knee where her phone is lighting up with a message. Hera quickly opens it, trying desperately to hide the smile on her face.
Happy to have you here. Always do better when you’re around. Enjoy the show. I’ll see you after. H x
Hera doesn’t have time to think of a response, because before she could muster up the courage to write anything, the lights are going dark, and the music is beginning to play. Anne and Gemma immediately stand, Isla and Beau following, and Hera shoves her phone in her pocket and follows suit. Everyone around her is screaming and cheering, and Hera can’t hide the smile on her face when Harry walks out and immediately finds her. He’s always done this; from the moment they started dating and she began attending his shows. He would find her first and foremost, everyone else could come after. Hera never doubted that he was in love with her. If there was one thing Hera knew for sure in this life, it was that Harry Styles was in love with her.
And that’s why when Harry begins giving the speech for “Matilda,” Hera has to hold back every emotion she’s feeling. Love. Heartbreak. Jealousy. Anger. Over the last two years, Hera has done everything in her power to accept that their story was a short chapter in her book, a thirty second clip in her movie, a singular song on the album. Hera has fought for her closure and to move on, to find love in other people, places, things. Hera has struggled to find home, to find family. And all of that, everything Hera has worked for, feels like it’s pouring down the drain as he introduces the song that she knows is meant for her.
Hera remembers the conversation like it was yesterday. Hera remembers the frustration pouring from Harry’s voice, his face, the way he was pacing around her apartment. Hera remembers the way he shouted at her, the way he said, “I hate to see you this way. I hate to see you so upset.” Hera remembers sobbing at the kitchen counter, sliding her phone towards him and for the very first time, allowing him to see all the things her mother has been saying to her.
“I just, I don’t understand why you continue to speak to them if they’re so cruel to you all the time,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly. “It’s killing you, Hera. All that they say to you is hurting you, every day. And yet, you still continue to pick up their calls and listen to them! I don’t understand. Make me understand.”
Hera couldn’t respond, she couldn’t tell him or make him understand. Hera couldn’t do anything, because, for a majority of her life, she never believed anything to be wrong. Hera clung to imaginary stories of mothers and daughters, of families that fought for each other instead of against, for films and novels that taught her she wouldn’t be alone forever. Hera cried until there were no more tears left in her body. Hera sat in silence while Harry calmed himself down, turning to her with tears in his eyes.
“Hera, baby, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You deserve to be happy, you know. You deserve to have a family that loves you and cares for you. Family isn’t always blood, okay? Friends, friends can be family. Friends are sometimes the best family you can have. I love you. I’m your family now, okay? Me, my mum, and sister. Our friends. That’s your family. This, this has to stop with your family. You can’t keep doing this to yourself every time you speak to them.”
Isla smiles softly as Anne wraps her arms around Hera’s body, hugging her tightly and laying her cheek against her hair as the song echoes through the venue. Anne kisses her forehead sweetly, whispering, “We’re still your family. Always.” Hera can’t bring herself to say anything, tears falling helplessly down her cheeks. Isla rubs her back sweetly, leaning into her and giving as much silent support as she could muster.
Hera looks to Harry and smiles, listening to everyone in the venue sing the song back to him. Hera can see the friends holding each other, the tears falling down cheeks, the way that everyone in some way seems to understand the pain she was going through in that moment, the pain she still continues to go through every day. Hera wants to give everyone a hug, to tell them that she understands. Hera knows the pain, the suffering that entails when your relationship with your family isn’t what you want it to be, isn’t what it should be. Hera has learned, however, that the friends you make along the way, can sometimes be the family you were always meant to have.
“Are you okay? That was a lot, I know. We can go outside for a minute, if you want,” Isla whispers, leaning towards Hera and squeezing her hand. Beau halfway steps out of the row, one foot in and one foot out, gesturing for the exit, but Hera quickly shakes her head, Isla smiling widely and suspiciously.
“I’m okay. Thank you, though. I want to see the rest of the show. I’m enjoying it,” Hera assures her friends, shaking her head and taking a deep breath to gather her emotions. Hera returns her attention to the stage and Harry grins at her, and when she smiles back, she swears she can see a blush on his cheeks. “Harry looks good. Happy.”
“Of course, he’s happy, Hera. Harry’s singing an album that just released to the person it’s about,” Isla says with a laugh, shaking her head dramatically. Isla was always the one to point out the obvious between Harry and Hera, even when Hera didn’t want to believe it.
“Oh yeah? And who would that be?”
“You.”
Hera goes quiet, unsure of what to say. Could Harry look as happy as he does because Hera is there? Maybe. Could the album be about her? Possibly. All Hera would have to do is ask for Harry to tell her. All of the questions that are swirling around her head suddenly get shoved to the corner of her mind when a security guard walks to the edge of the aisle and motions for the group to follow him, presumably backstage for the party when the show would finish.
Hera can hear Harry bidding his goodbyes to the audience as they walk backstage, her nerves beginning to bundle together and multiply as it gets even closer to the moment that’s been waiting to happen for two years, now. Harry and Hera alone, talking, sharing the things that have happened since they’ve been apart.
Hera has a beer in her hand and is talking to Gemma about the latest tour she’s working on when everyone begins to cheer and congratulate the man of the hour as he walks inside the room. Alcohol is being shoved in a million different directions and the band is beginning to file into the dressing room for everyone to talk and mingle in. Hera turns around and is immediately greeted with a sweaty hug, and she welcomes it, the feeling of his arms around her and the scent of him overwhelming her senses and the way everyone in the room seemingly disappears while they have this moment together, just the two of them. Harry grins at her and kisses her cheek without warning, and Hera can feel her face heating under his stare.
“Hi, H.” Harry’s smile couldn’t get any bigger if he tried. “Can I steal you away from my sister for a minute? I’d like to talk to you alone before everyone is pulling me in a million different directions and I don’t get to see you before you have to leave. Would that be okay with you?”
Hera smiles and nods, purposefully ignoring Isla’s grinning from across the room. Harry leads the way out of the mass of people and towards his dressing room a few doors down the hallway. Hera walks in first and sets her drink on the counter, Harry following behind quickly after shutting the door. Moments pass as the two stand together in the silence, both a bit unsure of what to say first. Hera looks at Harry longingly, and for the first time all night, she’s grateful they’re alone together, that she can say what she has to, and they can start over, as friends, and be in each other’s lives again, because the years that she’s spent without him, without her family, have been awful. Hera misses him, misses him deeply, and she’ll do anything to have him around, even if it’s in a limited capacity.
Hera opens her mouth to speak, to say this, but nothing leaves her tongue when Harry walks forward. He stands in front of her silently, his eyes travelling across her face and trying to gauge her emotions, how she’s feeling. Harry grabs her hands, holding her fingers to his heart, his heart beating erratically against her skin. He stares at her, as though the hallucination of her is going to disappear without a second thought, and he soaks in everything about this moment – that Hera is here, with him, and she’s happy to see him, to talk to him, to be alone with him. Harry has waited far too long for this, for this very moment, and there are so many things that he wants to say to her, to confess and share. He doesn’t know where to start, and by the looks of it, neither does Hera. Harry wants to go first, to get out everything before she can run away and never look back.
“Hera, I,” Harry breathes, struggling to maintain a steady rhythm as the emotions and the feelings of her touch on his skin start to cloud his judgement and his thoughts. “I’ve missed you. I miss you so much, Hera.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Harry. I have. Life hasn’t been the same without you in it.”
Harry’s eyes move from her own to her mouth, tracing over the flesh that he once knew so well. He quickly blinks back tears, breaking his stare and shaking his head, squeezing her hands before letting their hands fall from his chest. Harry sighs, swallowing all the heartbreak in his throat when he says, “You didn’t have to shut me out, H. I could’ve been around, even after everything. I wanted to be around. We all did, Hera. All of us, we all have missed you so much.”
“I couldn’t see you after, Harry. It was too hard for me. I understand that it was hard for you, I know that, but for me, I couldn’t. And that included our friends.”
“And now?”
“I just want to be around. I miss my friends. My family. I miss you.” Harry nods, his tongue poking between his lips, wetting the puffy pink flesh as his green eyes trace over her mouth. “I need to be around you all. It’s the best thing for me. In every sense of the word.”
“I need to be around you, Hera,” Harry whispers, leaning his forehead against hers, his mouth hovering dangerously close to her own.
“Harry, I, I can’t,” Hera sighs, the moment breaking and the realization beginning to hit her. Grant is waiting for her to call. Guilt is eating away at her already for being alone with him and remotely thinking about kissing him. Her emotions are confusing her, and she feels hazy, clouded. Her hands travel from her thighs to his shoulders, gently pushing his away.
“I shouldn’t ask to kiss you, I know, I’m sorry, I just, I need to, Hera. It’s been so long without you. I missed you. Us. Seeing you with Mum and Gemma and our friends and everything. I just, I need to kiss you. I miss you, Hera.”
“That’s not it, Harry. I, I miss you, too. I’m horrible for saying this, I know I am. All of this is so confusing and giving the worst signals to each other. All that I didn’t want to happen when we talked. I wanted to come and talk to you, tonight, to be friends. I just, I can’t kiss you. Not now.”
“Why is that so horrible? What’s wrong with saying that?” Harry can feel his insides churning, the anxiety and the nerves with what she’s about to say. Harry can tell something is off, the way she’s feeling guilty for this. He has a feeling, a gut feeling, and he’s praying that it’s wrong.
“Harry, I, I’m–”
Harry takes a step back, his hands running over his face and through his hair. He knows. Hera can tell that he knows and he’s struggling to say it. “You’re dating someone. Aren’t you? That’s the reason you can’t kiss me.” Hera nods without saying a word. “Is it new?” Hera shakes her head. “How long, Hera?”
“Over a year.”
Harry turns around, not wanting Hera to see the way his mouth begins to tremble, and his eyes are welling with tears. “Over a year. Congratulations.”
“Harry.”
“No, really. I mean that, Hera! That’s great, H! Good for you. Must be going well if it’s been over a year,” Harry says overly enthusiastically, and Hera can tell that he’s hurting. He won’t stare into her eyes, and he’s switching the weight from his feet over and over again. “Such a shame you didn’t bring them to the show tonight, I could’ve met them! Made a good introduction for myself. Could’ve made a new friend in the meanwhile.”
“He couldn’t make it, tonight,” Hera says sadly, wiping away the tears that are beginning to fall from her eyes involuntarily. Her voice lowers with her next statement. “He told you that.”
Harry turns around quickly, his eyes going wide and his lips pursing together in a straight line, everything beginning to make sense in his head as he adds the pieces together. All the conversations that Grant and Harry had about dating someone new and falling in love and moving on. Harry feels a wave of jealousy and anger wash over him. “Grant. As in, my friend Grant. Grant that worked for me. You’ve been dating Grant for a year and a half. And no one thought to tell me?” Harry stands in silence for a moment, stunned. “That is so fucked, Hera.”
“Harry, I’m sorry.” Harry turns around, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his back meeting her stare. He can’t look at her. Not now. Not after what she’s told him. “Harry.”
“You think that’s okay? That you’re dating my friend? Might as well have told me that you’re sleeping with my brother!”
“Harry, I am sorry that it’s Grant and that no one told you. It just happened.” Hera is crying, now, trying to wipe her cheeks and explain herself without losing her voice and her strength. Harry shakes his head. “This happened months after we broke up. Quarantine was happening, you were gone, and I was alone in London. We weren’t talking. Grant was there for me through all of it and asked me out after six months of crying over you and Isla telling me I needed to get out there if I wasn’t going to pick up the phone and call you. News articles were saying that you were already dating someone new. I, I didn’t want to be alone and still crying over someone that was rumored to be already dating someone new! That’s not fair, you know? I just, I am really sorry that no one told you, that I didn’t tell you sooner. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“Have you forgotten that you broke up with me, Hera? Have you forgotten that tiny detail?” Harry asks sarcastically, scoffing as he walks towards her. “I was on dates trying to forget you. Have you ever thought of that? Did you ever think to call me and ask what I was doing?”
“Harry.”
“I have spent every day for the last two years miserable that I am not with you. Miserable. I think about you constantly. I write songs about you. I talk to my mother about you. I stare at your fucking social media just to see pictures of you. And you, you started dating my friend, haven’t spoken a word to me or our friends, and moved on like it didn’t matter. Like I never mattered to you. That is what hurts the most out of this. Not that it’s Grant. Not that I know him. That I didn’t matter to the person that mattered, that matters the most to me.”
“Harry, it is not like that. Out of all people, out of everyone, you mattered the most to me. I just, I wanted different things back then. I still want different things than you. Grant wants the same things as me. Grant and I, we want a future. He understands not having a family and wanting to make one of your own.”
“You never asked me what I wanted. You assumed based on one conversation you overheard. You never asked, Hera.” Harry looks at Hera for the first time in what feels like hours. “I wrote that song for you, to tell you that I listened, and that I wanted to see you make a family. I wanted to be in that family. And you didn’t even give me the chance.”
“Harry, listen to me,” Hera breathes, coming away from the dresser and walking towards him, cautiously bringing her hands to his cheeks, and making him look into her eyes. “I want you in my life. I miss you. I have missed you more than you know. I don’t want to continue not speaking. I don’t. I am very sorry that we didn’t tell you.” Hera looks at Harry softly, her heart breaking when he brings his hands to her wrists and gently pulls her hands from his face. “I am sorry, Harry. I really am.” Harry doesn’t say anything. He can’t. “I’ll go, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your night. I am. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I don’t, I don’t want you to go, Hera.”
Hera looks at Harry, her hand on the doorknob and her heart beating rapidly in her chest, unsure of what to do. “Harry, what do you want me to do, then? I miss having you as my friend. I want you in my life. I don’t want another year, two years, ten years to go by without us speaking.”
“I, I don’t know if I can just be your friend, Hera. I don’t know if I could ever just be your friend.” Hera nods, not knowing what is coming next. Hera tries to brace herself for the idea that she may never see him again, that she may never have the chance of a family with him in it. “Can we meet for coffee, tomorrow? I, I want to talk to you, alone, and we can catch up on everything I’ve missed. I, I need to talk to you about this when I’m calm and not running off adrenaline and all the emotions from seeing you.”
“Okay,” Hera says softly, turning the knob and opening the door, already beginning to walk out into the hallway.
“Are you happy, Hera?” Harry says quickly, running his hands through his hair and trying to catch his breath. All of this is too much at once, too much information and feeling and confusion for the fifteen minutes they’ve been alone. Harry walks forward, grabs her wrist and says, “Like, really happy? You would tell me if you weren’t?”
“I think, yeah, I think I’m getting there.” Harry nods and Hera turns towards the room where everyone is waiting for their return. “I think we should go back. Gemma and Anne are likely looking for you. And Isla is going to look for me soon.”
“Of course, yeah,” Harry says, smiling softly and moving towards the doorway to the room. “Are you coming in?”
“I’ll be in in a minute,” Hera smiles, waving her hand towards the congregation of people in the dressing room and turning on her heel. Hera grabs her phone from her back pocket and dials the number she knows by heart, waiting patiently for it to ring. As long as Hera can remember, it never takes more than a ring or two for the call to be answered, and sure enough, on the first ring there is a voice coming through the other line. “Hey,” she says, immediately feeling washed over with comfort.
MASTERLIST // ASKS // TAGS // PLAYLIST
Word Count: 10.5K
CW: NA
enjoy, my friends! have fun with the drama and the angst. love you all.
Beau is scolding Isla from across the room regarding her poorly given advice, Harry laughing quietly as he begins slipping on each of his rings from the tiny ceramic plate on his bedside table. He hesitates over his favorite ring, one that was given to him years ago with his initial on it, one that he has worn nearly every day since it was placed in his hand. He shakes his head, sliding it over his third finger and adjusting his phone so he can properly see his friends on the screen. Meanwhile, Isla is trying on outfits for her bridal shower in a few days, Beau is trying to give his opinion (although saying that he loves every single outfit isn’t much of an opinion according to his fiancée) and calling for Harry’s input here and there, while Harry gets lost in thought. Isla, although much too busy to be taking the call, refuses to ignore the elephant in the room, making her opinion well known and clear to everyone involved, much to her fiancé’s dismay.
“Harry, don’t listen to Beau, okay? Hera misses you, it’s so easy to see that. Hera would jump at the chance to date you, again, if she knew that was something you wanted and something that would, you know, not just be a short-term thing. All that happened a few years ago, I think that really tainted what she thought you two could have, and that’s why she went searching elsewhere,” Isla waves Beau off as he raises his eyebrows warningly. He can already see where this is going, and it’s not going to be good for either of his friends. “I think you can change her mind, Harry. I know that whatever you said to Mitch during that conversation was just a momentary thing, I know you want to be with her. I think you need to show her that you’re serious, that you see a future, a future that aligns with what she wants, you know?” Isla sighs, raising the phone to her face and staring at him solemnly. “I just think, in my opinion, the only way you’re ever going to know if you two could ever be together again is if you try and ask, now. Grant is serious about her. Like, really serious. Looking at rings, serious.” Harry sucks in a breath and Isla can see the way his demeanor shifts. “Look, I’m not saying this to scare you or something, I just think you need to do something. Obviously, Hera wants to talk to you, too, otherwise, she wouldn’t have agreed to today. Don’t hide what you really feel just to be the better person. At the end of the day, if you want Hera, you need to go after her.”
“And you think this is what I should do? Ask Hera to date her boyfriend and me?” Harry shakes his head. “Grant is my friend, though, too, Isla. I, if they’re happy, I don’t want to ruin that for H. I want Hera to be happy. I really do. I’ve always wanted that. Over anything else, Hera’s happiness always meant the most to me.”
“And that’s why I think you should do it, Harry, because you still love her like you did three years ago, you still care for her the way you always have.”
Harry purses his lips in a tight line and sighs, trying to find the words to convey the way he is feeling inside. Over the last twenty-four hours, his emotions have been overwhelming, to the point where he isn’t quite sure how to properly express how he’s feeling. And right now, all Harry is feeling is nervous and unsure. Harry wants Hera. More than anything, Harry wants to be with Hera, to be loving her, to have her in his arms and spending his life with her. He would do anything to do that. Invading on her joy to get that, though, is not something he is sure he is willing to do. Harry tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll see how things go when I see her. I will test the waters before I say anything, okay?”
“That sounds like a much better idea, Harry,” Beau smiles in the background, Isla’s disgruntled murmur making Harry laugh.
“May the best man win, Harry Styles,” Isla says, shrugging her shoulders and taking a moment to stare at her friend.
Isla remembers the day that Hera called her crying, hysterically sobbing over the fact that Harry had just taken his things from her and left without a fight, without an argument or reason to stay. Isla held Hera in her arms, promising her that everything would work out the way it was supposed to, that she would always have her, that they would always be family. Isla knew, though, in that very moment, that the family Hera envisioned with Harry didn’t necessarily have her in it. Hera saw a life with Harry that was far beyond a life with their friends and their yearly holidays out of the country. Hera saw a life with Harry that involved what Isla is finding with Beau, marriage and buying a house and seeing the world. Isla was there when Harry called in a panic, unsure what to do and where to go, tears staining his cheeks because he left without a fight. Isla was there when Harry couldn’t go on stage knowing Hera wouldn’t be in the crowd. Isla was there, watching her best friends suffer in silence as a new day came and went without uttering a single word to each other. Isla watched her best friends try to move on from each other. Isla watched her best friends hide their love for each other for years. Isla has been there, through thick and thin, watching from the background. And now? Isla refuses to do so.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Between you and me?” she sighs, smiling softly and lowering her voice to a mere whisper, stepping a bit further away to ensure that her fiancé isn’t around to hear what she has to say. Harry nods and leans in towards the screen. “I really hope you win Hera back.”
“Me too, Isla. Me too.”
Hera anxiously waits a few yards away from the entrance, staring at Harry through the glass window opening up the shop, her phone clutched between her shoulder and her ear. Grant is on the other line, telling her that he’s only a few minutes away if she needs to leave early. Hera nods, although no one can see her, and she swallows the nerves that are bubbling in her stomach and her chest, sucking in a deep breath, and trying to gather the courage she needs to have this conversation. Harry is staring at her though the window, his finger tracing around the rim of his coffee, and Hera wonders how long he’s been sitting there waiting for her to show.
“I love you, June. I’m here if you need me, okay? Don’t hesitate to call,” Grant assures her, sitting back in his couch and sighing audibly. “It’s all going to be okay, June. I know it.”
“You’re right,” Hera sighs, shrugging her shoulders and taking two strides forward. One more step and she’ll be able to open the door. “I’m going to go inside. I’ll call you if I need you. Love you.”
Grant hangs up the call for her, Hera quickly stashing her phone in her pocket and walking towards the front door, the chimes alerting everyone in the tiny shop that someone has arrived. Hera finds Harry immediately, a tug at her heart when she notices where he’s sitting, at the table he’s claimed as their own for the day. Harry’s taken to the table they used to call their own, the table they somehow thought to be theirs when their morning walks for coffee became routine when they were nearly living together a few years ago. That felt like such a distant memory until now. Until Harry was there, standing in front of her, a coffee in his hand held out for her.
“Hey, H,” Harry smiles, standing from his seat and awkwardly holding out his hand for her to take. Hera instinctively embraces him, breathing in the scents she knows quite well, even in memory, and trying to silence all the thoughts running around her head. “Thank you for meeting with me. I, uh, I really appreciate you giving me the time to see you, to talk.”
“I’ll always have the time to see you, Harry. Always,” Hera smiles, silently thanking him for the coffee sitting on the table in front of her seat. “Thank you for inviting me to the show, last night. I really enjoyed it. I missed everyone so much, I didn’t even realize. I’m going to call Anne and Gemma and try to get together with them. Only if that’s alright with you, of course. And you, you’re just magnetic on stage. I’ll always love watching you perform.”
“Thank you. I mean that. I always do better when you’re around,” Harry says, his eyes travelling over her face, soaking in every detail. His chest is tight, and there is this lingering feeling that this may be the last time he sees her alone, that he’s able to share his feelings towards her. Harry wants nothing more than to lean over the table and kiss her, to bring her in his arms and tell her that he made the biggest mistake of his life, that he should’ve never left. “Call my mum and Gemma. I know that they would love that. Gemma, especially,” is what he says instead.
Overwhelming silence takes over the two, neither very sure on what to say and where to go from there. Over the last two years, so much has happened, so much has changed. How are they ever going to get to be friends again, to be in each other’s lives, if they can’t sit and have a conversation? Hera swallows her fears and her emotions, trying to gather her voice and make herself sound sure of what she’s saying. Harry taps his fingers against the table, working the courage to say everything that he needs to, to tell Hera exactly how he’s feeling, exactly what he wants from this conversation, from every conversation going forward.
Awful. That’s how Hera would describe the way she feels, in this very moment. Unable to talk to the person that she once told everything to, that knew her better than anyone in the whole world. On the nights that Hera would fight with her mother, on the nights where Hera cried herself to sleep over missing her grandparents, Harry would hold her, and they would talk about all the ways she would change her life when she was older, when she had a family of her own. Hera would lay on Harry’s chest and listen to all the ways she would be better than her parents, all the ways that she would change her life, with Harry, Isla, and their friends in it. And now, as they sit across from each other at this table that they once knew so well, it feels like everything that was said to her in those pillow talk conversations is a far-off dream, a distant memory. And Hera feels awful about it.
And Harry understands, although neither of them would admit it. Harry also feels terrible, because how could someone that you once loved so much feel so far away, so distant, that you have to physically portray to them how much you once loved them, how much they meant to you? Harry has never felt so far away from Hera, and they used to be thousands of miles apart on the daily. Harry and Hera share their silence, each of them trying to find the words to say what they mean without hurting the other, without causing the other any more heartache.
Hera, in the midst of her thoughts, stares at the rings on Harry’s hands, all the different shapes and metals covering his fingers. On his third finger is a ring that she gave him years ago on his birthday, the first birthday they spent together. Harry’s eyes follow Hera’s stare. “I never take it off, you know. It’s my favorite ring. I got the ‘S’ a little bit after, you know, everything. I think I would be devastated if I ever lost it.”
“I would be, too. I spent a lot of money on that ring,” Hera laughs lightly, Harry laughing alongside her. Memories flood back of that night, of the evening that gift was shared. “And now, you’ll always have a piece of me, wherever you go, we’re always together,” she says softly, the memory of his birthday and the intimacy of the moment they shared at the very front of her mind. Honey eyes meet an emerald stare sitting across from her, and she struggles to find the words for what she wants to say. Emotions are flooding through her, much like they did the night before. Love. Heartbreak. Longing. Desire. Hera has so many things that she wants to say, that she wants to do, but all she can muster is the courage to say one barely a sentence, “Harry, I think that maybe–”
Harry reaches forward and grabs Hera’s hands, too impatient to wait or hear her say something that will break his heart, “I’m still in love with you, Hera. God, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to throw you off guard and I didn’t want to spring this on you like this, but there’s no other way to say it. I am in love with you. I am saying it to you, to your face. Out there and in person. I am in love with you, and I want you. I want to be with you.” Hera blinks rapidly, speechless and unsure what to say or how to react. Harry takes the opportunity to continue. “Grant is in the picture now, I know that. And, and I know you’re happy. I can see it in your eyes, H. Grant makes you happy,” Harry’s eyes well with tears, one slipping down his cheek. “God, and the very last thing I want to do is put you in a situation where you’re uncomfortable and don’t know what to do, or to take you away from your happiness, but I just, I need to know if there’s nothing left, if I don’t have a chance with you.” Hera swallows thickly, eyes washing over with tears. “I need to know if I’m the only one that thinks there’s still something between us. If I am, if you feel nothing, I will let you go. I’ll move on from you, even though that might be the worst thing I’ll ever have to do.” Hera breaks their eye contact, staring intently at their hands. “Hera, I will do whatever it takes, if you just give me a chance. I know, I know I should have fought for you years ago, but I was selfish. You were right, Hera. I was selfish, and I have suffered the consequences of that. My selfishness cost me the most important thing in my life.” Hera looks at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to finish his thought, the sentence. “You.”
“How can you say this, now? Years later? Years later when I’m finally happy, again?” Hera, with tears in her eyes and a heaviness on her chest, sighs, unsure of what to say, of how to react, although the wetness coating her lashes tell her otherwise. “It’s selfish, Harry. You’re still being selfish with me. You know that Grant makes me happy, that I love him. And Grant loves me. He wants all the same things as me. I don’t know why you’d tell me this, now.”
“I just, I thought that maybe if I told you–”
“That I’d change my mind? That I’d say, ‘Okay, Harry. I’ll go break up with Grant and we can live happily ever after, we can forget all the things that happened between us, all the ways we hurt each other’.” Hera slowly pulls her hands away from Harry and sets them on her thighs. “That’s not real life, Harry. That’s not how things work. That was something I used to tell you all the time.”
“I know, I know that and I’m sorry,” Harry mutters, taking his hands and mimicking her actions, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Harry is the only one to blame for the way this conversation is going, for the reason Hera is upset with him, right now. “I just, I need to know, H. Am I too late? Am I too late to ask for a second chance with you? If I am, if you tell me to leave you alone, I will. I will respect your wishes and I won’t involve myself in your life anymore. I’ll just, I’ll be your friend, if that’s what you want. I just, I need to know, Hera.”
“Harry, you know, you know it’s really not that simple. Grant’s feelings are at play, too. Forget my feelings about this. There is another party involved, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Hera, think about what you want, for once.”
Hera can feel her heart splinter in her chest at his words. Harry always said that to her, to think about what she wants. It was never something Hera could really do. It was always about what would make others’ happy, about what would make others’ lives easier. Harry was really the only one, well before Grant, that wanted her, and encouraged her to put herself first.
“I, I don’t know what to do about this. I really don’t. I wish, I wish you would’ve said all these things years ago.”
“I know, H. I know.” Harry struggles to come to terms with what he’s about to say. Hera loves Grant. And Harry is asking her to do the most selfish thing she could ever possibly do, for him. “Hera, this may be the most selfish thing I ever ask of you, and I know, I know I shouldn’t, but I am asking, I have to. Could I have one date with you? One chance to see if there’s something between us. I swear on my life, I am not giving up on you until it’s clear that you don’t have feelings for me. Giving up on you, on us, that’s just not something I can do, Hera.”
“Harry, I,” Hera whispers, hurriedly wiping the tears away from her cheeks and refocusing her stare out the window. All of this is too much. All the emotions, all the feelings that are resurfacing at full force. Hera’s brain is screaming, ‘Don’t do it. Grant is around the corner. Grant loves you!’ all while her heart is shouting, ‘Do it. Harry loves you. You love Harry. Give it one more chance!’ How is Hera ever going to decide what’s right for her when her brain and heart are conflicting so adamantly. “I don’t know what to say. I think I need to go.”
Hera gathers her things hurriedly, shoving all of her things in her tote and turning on her heel to walk outside, willing the tears to not fall from her eyes and her strength and composure to stay until she’s reached the street and can cry quietly on her walk home. Harry follows her quickly, nearly smacking himself in the face with the door as he follows her to the entryway and reaches for her arm, holding her forearm gently and encouraging her to spin around and face him.
“Hera, I am so sorry if I’ve made things awkward and uncomfortable. I, I really pictured that conversation going vastly differently,” Harry sighs, his hands rubbing the back of his neck nervously, his eyes not daring to meet hers. “I have put you in a tough position, I know that, and I don’t want to rush you, or pressure you into making a decision just because I’m here.”
Hera makes an outline of her shoes in the gravel with her stare, her chin against her chest as she takes deep breaths and wills her voice to stabilize. Emotions are running rampant and there is no way she can make a decision right now, right here in this entryway. “Can I have some time to think about it? Time alone to think about it?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, nodding quickly and taking his hand away from her skin. Harry shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels, turning his head to eye his pathway to his home. He doesn’t want to leave, not now, not when things are left so unresolved, but there is nothing he can really do. “Of course, H.”
Hera sighs and lifts her head, her eyelashes wet as she quietly says, “Just so you know, Harry, I, I don’t regret anything between us. I really, really need you to know and understand that, too.” Harry’s heart clenches in his chest because it feels like a goodbye. This feels like an ending. An ending to a story he wasn’t quite ready to finish reading. “Harry, you taught me what it means to be loved, really loved. And I never, ever doubted that you loved me. Not for a second. And I will always cherish that and those memories that we made.” Harry’s eyes wash over, again, and he knows that this is it. That Hera made her decision standing in front of him and there will never be a time of Harry and Hera, again. “Harry, you were my first real love. And I will always love you, I will,” she whispers, her heart cracking in her chest as Harry’s hand bravely lifts to her face to dry the tears on her cheeks. “I just, I wish you would’ve said these things sooner.”
“I know,” Harry sympathizes, a half-smile pulling at his mouth to try and alleviate the awkwardness between the two. Hera is figuratively gone, far away from him and where he could reach, and knowing that, well, knowing that makes Harry feel like his heart has just been crushed by the weight of the world. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I know, I know you are,” she whispers, sucking in a breath and taking a step away, drying her eyes and reaching for her phone in her bag. “Thank you for the coffee. I have to get going. I’ll give your mum and sister a call soon. I, I’ll get back to you about everything. I’ll see you around, Harry.”
Harry nods, waiting until Hera is turning on her heel and walking away from him to blink and allow the tears welling in his eyes to fall. He hurriedly wipes his cheeks and turns around, throwing his hood over his head and beginning his walk home, willing himself not to turn back willing himself not to stare at the woman he loves as she walks further and further away from him. All of it is too much, knowing who she’s going home to, who she’s going to talk to when she leaves. Knowing all of that, that he isn’t the one she can confide in anymore, it hurts. More than anything has ever hurt before.
“God damn it. Fuck!” Harry swears under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face and giving in to the relentless begging of his brain to turn around, to see her one more time. He turns on his heel, staring in the direction that she walked away in, his heart sinking into his stomach when he sees nothing but strolling people with interlocked hands and trotting dogs along the sidewalk. Harry reaches for his phone, picking it out of his pocket and dialing the one person he knows will be waiting to hear from him.
“Hey! How did it go?” Isla chirps as soon as she answers, her voice light and airy and Harry knows she’s likely been waiting all morning to hear what happened, to know if the news is good or bad. Hera hadn’t spoken to her about what she would say beforehand, so Isla was going in just as blind as Harry. When Harry doesn’t speak for a minute or two, Isla lowers her voice, growing quiet as she says, “Hey, what happened? Is everything okay?”
Harry swallows the shakiness in his voice and mutters wetly, “Isla, I messed up. I messed it all up. Again.”
Hera knocks on the front door quietly, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Truthfully, she isn’t sure how she got here, how she managed to find herself at her front door. It was as though her mind went into flight mode, resiliency necessary, and she sought out the first person she could think of that might have a better idea of what to do than her best friend (who for all intents and purposes would simply tell her to go on the date). Hera wanted advice from someone that would use their brain and not their heart, even if it meant the answer was hard to hear. And so, here she is, standing at her front door, afraid of what might happen when it swings open. Hera shakes her head to herself, thinking about how she promised herself she would call, that she would reach out and make an effort to see her and her mother, to reconnect after all the time they lost over the last two years. And yet, somehow, Hera found herself at her front door, in this very moment, seeking the comfort of a friend that she had longed to disconnect from.
“Oh my god! Hi!” she says excitedly, immediately opening her arms and wrapping her in a hug, holding her tightly and rocking back and forth as they stand together, arms held around each other. “I wasn’t sure if I would hear from you after everything, last night. I didn’t want to overwhelm you or anything by reaching out too soon. Mum said I should, but you know me.”
“Uh, yeah, no, I very much understand,” Hera says quietly, taking in a breath and slowly taking a step away from her, still lingering in the middle of the foyer and the doorway, unsure if she’ll need to leave sooner rather than later. “I’m so sorry for dropping in like this. I should’ve called.”
“No! Never say that! You’re welcome anytime.” Hera can see the similarities between them now more than ever, the likeness of their facial expressions and the warmness of their tones radiating through their interactions with others. Hera swallows back her nerves and steps further inside, taking off her sweater and laying it over her arm. “I’m so happy to see you, Hera. I was so happy to see you, last night. And Mum was, too. Harry, of course, as well. I have missed you a whole lot.” Gemma nods towards the kitchen and ushers them further inside, eyeing up the kettle and quirking her eyebrows suggestively. Hera nods without saying a word. “Harry said you had to get going pretty early but didn’t say why, just said that you two were meeting up today to talk.”
“Yeah, yeah. Harry and I talked,” Hera says quietly, staring at her hands as she takes a seat at the kitchen table, picking at the corners of her nails as a way to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Hera feels like she’s been crying for hours. “Can I, can I ask your advice? As a friend? And a big sister?”
Gemma’s heart warms at the sentiment, smiling softly at Hera and walking away from the kettle to take a seat beside her, reaching for her hands (much like her brother had earlier in the day) and rubbing her knuckles comfortingly. “Of course, Hera. I’m always here for you. Are you okay? Just because Harry’s my brother doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, too, you know. You’re like my sister, I’ve always said that.” Hera, with wet lashes and glossy eyes, lifts her head from her chest, meeting Gemma’s stare for the first time since they reached the kitchen. Gemma’s softened stare immediately sends her into tears, breaking the façade she was trying to build so harshly on her way here. “Oh, Hera.”
“I just, I don’t know what to do, Gem. I, I don’t know if Harry told you, I don’t know if he said anything after we talked, and I left. Grant and I are dating, and it’s been for over a year, now. I, I made everyone promise not to tell Harry until I could, until I could tell him myself. And I thought, I swore I thought all those feelings for him were gone. I thought I was over everything with Harry. I thought all that was in the past and everything. I thought that once I could tell Harry, I could move on and be with Grant and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything with us,” Hera says, all the words spilling out in a hurry in between shallow breaths, Gemma’s eyes never leaving her.
“Harry did seem a little thrown off when he came back into the party, but he didn’t say anything to me. Not to Mum, either. He looked a bit angry after talking to Mitch, but I left it be. I didn’t want to assume anything.” Gemma shrugs and then continues, “Are you worrying about things with Harry, now?”
“God, I hate that I hurt him. I really do.” Gemma stays silent, waiting for Hera to continue and say all that she needs to without interruption. “I just, Gemma, right when we saw each other, as soon as he walked in the room and his arms were around me, it all came back to me. All of it came back. All the love and the warmth and the butterflies and the way he makes me feel. And the look on his face when I told him about Grant, the face he made when he realized why he couldn’t kiss me.” Hera shakes her head and blinks away the tears in her eyes. “That hurt Harry, I saw it. And I feel terrible about it. And that’s not even the worst of this, Gem.”
“Hera, it’s been two years since you stopped dating each other. Harry was upset that you told him you were dating someone, yes. However, Harry also couldn’t have expected you to stay single for all that time. That’s not fair to you.”
“No, I know that, I do. I just, the worst part of all of this?” Hera quickly wipes her cheeks as Gemma waits for her to continue. “I wanted to kiss Harry, Gemma. I wanted to. I love Grant, I do, but I wanted Harry to kiss me. I wanted all those emotions to rush through me and I wanted to feel the way I did when we were together. I wanted Harry, in that moment, not anyone else.” Hera returns to staring at her arms shamefully. “How horrible am I?”
Gemma shakes her head and looks at Hera, very seriously. “Hera, you are far from horrible. Believe me. I wouldn’t just say that. You’re not horrible.”
“No, I am, Gemma. I am, because today, Harry was sitting at our table at the coffee shop between our houses that we used to go to all the time. Harry was sitting at our table, in our spots, waiting for me, waiting to tell me that he still loves me and wants to be with me. Harry was saying that I was right, that he was selfish and shouldn’t have agreed to leave.” Hera shakes her head and leans her head against her forearms on the table. “And, you know what else? He asked me to go on a date with him. Only one date. Harry said that he needs to know if there’s nothing between us, that I don’t feel anything anymore, before he finally gives up on me. If I don’t feel anything, Harry said he’ll leave me be.” Hera sucks in a breath between her teeth and looks to Gemma. “And you know what makes all this so very bad? Do you want to know why I think I’m so horrible?” Gemma nods, waiting for an answer. “Gemma, I want to see Harry, again. I want to see what I feel, what would happen. I want to know if it was just the first moment or if something is still there. And more than anything, I don’t want Harry to give up on me.”
“Oh, Hera,” is all she can say.
“Harry, he,” Hera mumbles, bringing her hands together and twisting at the ring on her finger, the ring Grant gifted her on her birthday. “Harry was the very first person I let love me. Harry was my first for a lot of things, in a lot of ways, and I think I will always love him in a way that I can’t love anyone else. And that, that is a terrifying thing, Gemma.”
“Harry never actually told Mum and I why you broke up, you know,” Gemma says, standing from her chair and walking to the whistling kettle. Taking two mugs from her cupboard, Gemma pours their tea and brings it over to the table, watching as Hera smiles faintly and wraps her hand around the body. “Why did you? You two were so wrapped up in each other, especially around us. It really never made sense to Mum and I.”
“I, uh, I always told Harry, you know, I want to get married and have a family, one day. I really decided that I wanted that in my early twenties, and as I get older, and the less I speak to my family, I feel really stable and happy with that choice.” Hera looks to Gemma for permission to continue. “And after a night where Harry and I were talking about marriage and things, I noticed that he was a bit avoidant of it, of talking about it. I didn’t think much of it, you know, because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to admit that I was feeling like my boyfriend didn’t want to commit to me.” Gemma nods understandingly, continue to sip her tea delicately. “And later that day, Harry was with Mitch in the studio in his house, and they were talking, and I walked towards the door to offer a snack, and I overheard Harry saying to Mitch that he couldn’t commit to anything with me with his career skyrocketing the way it was, and he didn’t want to think much of it at the minute. Mitch asked what he meant, and Harry said that the future was too uncertain.” Hera takes a sip of her tea, letting the liquid soothe her throat as she swallows. “And I understood that, you know. I totally understood not wanting to focus on the future when your whole career and life is ahead of you.” Hera bites her bottom lip to stop the quivering. “I just, I don’t have a family to support me, to love me, the way Harry does. My family are my friends. And, as selfish as it sounds, I want a family that’s my own. I want the guarantee of that in the future. And I couldn’t bring myself to take what he wanted from his life away from him, I couldn’t get in the way of that. Harry wanted his career and success, and I respect that more than anything. I want that for him. And that’s why I waited to tell him about Grant, because I didn’t want to get in the way of what he was doing. I wanted Harry to be happy. I, though, I want more than just my career.”
“Hera,” Gemma hums, setting her mug on the table and reaching for her hand, “I hope you know, that even in your ‘selfish’ moments, you are still one of the most selfless people I have ever met.” Hera shakes her head in disagreement. “No, Hera. Your ‘selfishness’ was motivated by the idea that you didn’t want to take away my brother’s chance at happiness in his career, at his chance at success. Hera, you didn’t tell Harry about Grant because you didn’t want to ruin anything for him, to get in the way. All that you have done, whether you believe it or not, has been out of your love for my brother, out of your care for him. And that, my dear friend, whether you want to believe it or not, is not selfish behavior.” Gemma’s face softens as she says, “Hera, I know that it’s difficult, right now, to make a decision, to know how to feel. I know that Harry coming to you and asking you out when you’re dating someone has put you in a very awkward position, and it must be so hard to try and figure out what to do. No one can take that away, and every feeling that you have is so very valid and true. Can I tell you something, though?” Hera nods, watching her intently from behind the rim of the mug. “Hera, you deserve to see what makes you happy in life. All that you have gone through, what I know and what I don’t know, all that you have done to put other people in your life ahead of yourself, and how much you care for other people, you deserve and need someone to tell you to put yourself first. And I am willing to do that for you.” Gemma smiles warmly. “Hera, you need to put your happiness first.”
“Gemma, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I really don’t. I won’t be able to live with myself if I hurt Harry or Grant.”
“Hera, if I know anything about you, it’s that the only one that you’ll hurt is yourself. You’d never let anyone get hurt because of you,” Gemma says, leaning over the table and grabbing Hera’s hands to hold, once again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Hera.”
Hera smiles softly, taking their empty teacups to the sink and standing idly and awkwardly by the hallway to the front door. Gemma links their arms together and walks her to the entryway, turning around and wrapping her in a tight hug, gripping her so tightly that she can’t properly move. Hera looks at Gemma, and for the first time in two years, she feels like part of her family has come together, a missing piece has been found. “Gemma, don’t let me disappear, again.”
“Believe me, my friend, I will not. You’re not going away again. Not on my watch. Not on Mum’s. And certainly not on Harry’s.”
Hera looks towards her feet, her sweater hanging over her arm to wear once she walks outside. Her heart feels heavy and light, an impossible feeling to properly describe to anyone in words. Quietly, Hera confesses, “I don’t like being alone, Gemma. I never have. It’s my weakness.”
“Never a weakness, Hera. Never. And, for your information, you’re not alone. Not anymore. Not ever. Mum is here. I’m here. Isla and Beau. Mitch and Sarah. All of us, we’re here for you.” Gemma grabs Hera’s cheeks and smiles, “Hera, you’re our family, and family never gives up on each other. It’s you who taught us that.”
Grant is waiting in the kitchen when Hera returns from Gemma’s house. His eyes are cast onto his hands, folded together, waiting patiently for her arrival back. He looks nervous, maybe even a bit scared of what she might say, and her heart sinks into her stomach. Although Gemma was right about finding her own happiness, it hurts her to think it may be at the expense of the people she cares about. More so with the people she loves with her whole heart.
Closing the front door behind her, tossing her things on the table, and toeing off her shoes, Hera walks into the kitchen with a softened stare. Grant looks away from his hands when she enters, and immediately stands, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her hair. “You didn’t call, June. You know it worries me when you don’t call. Isla said she hadn’t heard from you, and I didn’t know where you’d be, so I just came back here to wait for you, and then you didn’t show for,” Grant looks at the clock, “two hours. I hate when you don’t call. You know that.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Hera whispers, soaking in the warmth of his embrace and the feeling of his lips in her hair. He’s gentle with her, always soft and loving, and she’s appreciative of the care that he gives her. Grant is good, a really good person for her to be with. Everyone acknowledges that, and has made their opinions clear. “I didn’t want to talk about everything over the phone and I made my way to Gemma’s somehow, and we talked for a while.”
Grant tries to hide his surprise, but it’s painfully evident in his voice. “Oh? How was that?”
“Good, you know, it was really good to talk and see her. Gemma always treated me like I was just as much her sister and I felt like I could ask her for advice on everything,” Hera says into Grant’s chest, refusing to stare into his eyes. “Unbiased advice, you know?”
Grant takes the initiative and gently pulls away, nodding towards the kitchen table and motioning for Hera to sit and talk with him. “Are you okay, June? I feel like you want to tell me something that you’re not saying. And you know, you can always come to me with things. I won’t judge you. I understand.”
“No, I know that, Grant. I do,” Hera sighs, sitting in her chair and staring at her fingertips, unsure of where to go from here. “I, um, I saw Harry, this morning. Things went, well, pretty much as I expected things to go, I suppose. I went there with the intention of getting closure with everything, of telling him that I’m happy with you and this is a good thing for me, and well–”
“Harry told you that he loves you.” Grant says it so surely and easily that it almost knocks Hera breathless. “Kind of figured that would happen once he saw you. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it with the album. Not to mention, everyone we know was posting about you being there.”
“Grant, look–”
“Are we,” Grant hesitates, taking a seat at the table and folding his hands together, trying to piece together his thoughts and everything he’s feeling. He can anticipate what’s coming, what Hera is about to say to him. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“No. No, I don’t think so,” Hera says hurriedly, shaking her head and gently prying his hands apart, taking the seat across from him and holding his hands tightly in hers. “Grant, I love you. I just, Harry asked me to go out with him, just one time, to see if there’s anything left. And, in a way, I think I owe it to myself to see how things go, to see what happens. Grant, you make me happy, you do, but I think there’s unfinished, well, unresolved feelings between Harry and me and if you and I are ever going to have a future, the kind that we talk about all the time, I need to sort those out. It’s not fair of me to still have feelings for someone else while being with you.”
Grant rubs his hands over his face, pulling them from Hera’s grasp. Hera looks at her fingertips, picking at the polish coating her fingernails. His rejection stings, even though it’s justified. He doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours, although likely only a minute or two. He’s always been so calculated and cautious of his words. Maybe it’s because he knows their impact, the way they influence someone. His family may not be around anymore, but they surely taught him that. Hera has always appreciated that, the way that he cares how he speaks to people, but that doesn’t mean the lack of action when it comes to certain things hasn’t hurt her either.
Grant sighs, shaking his head and nipping at the inside of his cheek, the confusion and frustration evident on his features. Hera doesn’t dare to make eye contact with him, because she fears that if she does, she may start crying out of anger with herself. Hera had done the one thing she didn’t want to do – hurt someone she loves. Grant clears his throat and Hera lifts her chin, her eyes meeting his cautiously. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ve always known that you still had feelings for Harry, from the moment we started seeing each other, it was obvious that there were unresolved feelings between you two. Anyone can see the way you tense up whenever someone mentions his name or when a song comes on the radio, June. Quarantining together, right after you two had broken up, it led to this, it led to something I didn’t know I could have with you, and I am very grateful that we did it, that we’re here. And I love you, June. I want to spend my life with you,” Grant says quietly, reaching forward and laying his hands on the table, palms open for her to grab. Hera does. “And I know that you, that we can’t move forward with our plans if those feelings aren’t resolved. That makes sense.” Hera nods, waiting for Grant to continue. “If you need to go on this date with Harry, to sort out your feelings and say all you have to say, then you should. I trust you. I don’t necessarily trust Harry, right now, but I trust you, and I trust that you’ll communicate how you’re feeling and what you want to do, with me. I don’t want to lose you, June, especially not because I’m jealous or feeling threatened by someone you used to date.”
Hera can feel her heart twist with his words, with the way he says each one. Grant, although well-spoken and thoughtful, certainly holds a bitterness in his tone that Hera can’t ignore, and it hurts that she’s caused this, that she is the reason behind it. “I love you, Grant. I do.”
“I know,” Grant smiles, taking her hand and kissing the back of it sweetly. “You love Harry, too, though, and as much as I try to deny it, there’s something between you two that you have to sort through, that I have to just accept and move on from.”
“You’re too good for me,” Hera whispers, turning her face slightly and wiping her cheeks. Hera has cried so many tears over the last twenty-four hours, it’s nearly too much to handle. “I’m sorry for all that I’m putting you through.”
“Don’t be sorry, June. Just, all I ask is that you’re honest with me. Most importantly, that you’re honest with yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Grant stands from the table and walks around to Hera’s seat, kissing her head sweetly. He grabs her hand and slowly drags her away from the table, grabbing all of his things and shoving everything into his pockets. He lays his hands on her shoulders and she tilts her chin to meet his eyes, his ocean eyes that she’s found herself swimming in more than a handful of times. “One more thing, June?”
“Anything, yeah.”
“Don’t do anything for me. Don’t do anything for Harry.” Grant brushes a stray curl away from her forehead and runs his finger across her nose. “Do what makes you happy. Follow your heart, June. All I want is for you to be happy. I’m sure Harry feels the same way. You, out of all people, deserve to be unconditionally happy.”
“I will try, okay?”
“Okay. Goodnight. I love you.”
Hera leans onto her toes and kisses Grant’s cheek, muttering her love back to him and following him to the stairs, watching as he slowly descends down and makes his way into his car and out of the parking lot. Her body leans on the back of her door when she walks inside, her hands covering her face as she releases a pent-up cry, a shallow sob wracking through her body. Emotions race through her at the speed of light, almost too much to ever comprehend. It seems to be an impossible feat, what Grant has asked of her.
How will Hera ever be happy when she has to make a decision between the two people in her life that have made her the happiest?
Hera thinks she has mastered the art of a fake smile. Over the last fifteen or so years, the fake smile has become something she’s perfected, something that no one would ever second guess. If Hera is smiling, she must surely mean it. That’s always what everyone has said. Especially Hera’s family. Only three people were ever really able to see past the crooked edges on her features and the blankness behind her eyes. Only three people really knew when to ask her how she really was, not the pretty version, and one of the three people is in the room, right now.
Isla looks stunning, beyond beautiful. Hera assisted in steaming the silky white dress she’s currently wearing, early this morning, listening to her talk about all the finalized details that Beau’s made for their honeymoon, which would be coming sooner than they thought. Isla went on about how nervous she is to hear the speeches and the toasts, but how she trusts that Hera and Harry will save the day from embarrassment. Hera hummed along quietly, straightening, and retying the bow on the wrap of her dress two or three times before settling with it. Her tanned skin accentuated against the baby blue color of the dress, and for a moment, Hera thought of herself as beautiful. Isla stands beside her in the mirror, wrapping her arms around her waist and hugging her tightly, telling her how happy she is that she’s there, celebrating with her. Hera squeezes her tighter, not saying a word but sharing her love the best way she knows how – by being there. And so, there she is, standing beside Isla as her Maid of Honor, greeting every guest that walks in and listening to all the praises and words of wisdom given to her as she’s handed gifts and cards and warm embraces. Isla’s mother hugs Hera tightly, thanking her for being such an important part of Isla’s life, to which Hera shakes her head and assures her that she wouldn’t know what to do without her other half, without the person that has been there for her more than anyone ever before. Hera would be there for everything, no matter what. Hera and Isla, through thick and thin.
And so, it makes sense why Isla pulls Hera aside in the bathroom halfway through the shower, scanning over her face before cautiously saying, “Hera, what’s going on?” Isla could tell the whole day that something was off, something was wrong. Isla assumed it had to do with Harry, with what had happened and the startling call he made to her after they had gone their separate ways, but she wasn’t certain. “Is this because of what happened with Harry?”
Hera gnaws at the inside of her cheek and looks away. Out of all people, Isla is not the person to lie to. If anyone is going to find out, it will be Isla Fischer. “Kind of, yeah.” Hera shakes her head and sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I don’t want to talk about that, here, though. This is your day, Isla. I want you to have a good time. I don’t want you worrying about me.”
“I’ll always worry about you, Hera. You’re my best friend. You’ve been with me for ten years, and you’ll be with me for sixty more,” Isla says sternly, grabbing Hera’s hands and squeezing her. “Harry told me that he royally screwed the conversation. Called me very upset over it. I don’t think he really said all that he wanted to, or maybe he didn’t say it the way he wanted to. Either way, Harry was heartbroken over it. He’s been beating himself up thinking that he hurt you and put you in a bad position.” Hera nods and doesn’t say anything, leaving Isla with a moment more to speak. “I have to take responsibility for my part in this, you know. I am the one that encouraged Harry to be honest with you, to tell you how he was feeling before it’s too late and you’re in a different position with Grant. I told him, against Beau’s judgment, to ask you for a second chance, that if it was never brought to your attention, he would never know what you would say.” Isla looks over Hera’s face for any sign of anger or hatred, and instead it met with watery eyes and a heartbroken smile. “I just, I want you to be happy, Hera. And I know that Harry makes you happy in a way you’ve never been happy before. I want that Hera back again. And I selfishly want my friends back together. I know that it’s selfish of me. And I’m sorry.”
Hera takes her hands from Isla’s grasp and wraps her arms around her shoulders, bringing her into the tightest hug she could muster. Isla’s always been around, from the moment Hera moved into their shared flat in the middle of the city when they were freshly eighteen to now, when they’re off getting married, and their careers are on their way. Isla and Hera have always been together. Isla was there for the death of Hera’s grandparents, for the arguments and fights with Hera’s parents (mainly her mother), for the tears that spilled over Hera’s cheeks as she fought to make everyone happy when she was so unhappy with herself. Isla took Hera in as a sister, as a best friend, and made it a priority to be around. Hera has always cherished that, the way that Isla cares for her, because until Harry, Isla was the only one to do it.
“I love you, Lala,” Hera laughs wetly, pulling away from Isla and staring into her eyes. Isla’s cheeks are wet, and she quickly goes to wipe the tears from her skin. “And I appreciate you always looking out for my happiness. I swear I’ll always do the same.”
“I know you will, June Bug,” Isla grins, pulling Hera into her chest for a tightly squeezed embrace, the two giggling and swaying back and forth in the tiny corner of the bathroom as they dry their eyes. “My real question is,” she says with a twinge of excitement to her voice, anticipation growing with her words, “are you going to go? Out with Harry, I mean. He thought you were done with him when you left the café. He was sure of it.”
“I think I am, yeah,” Hera says quietly, leaning against the counter while Isla washes her hands and cleans the mascara under her eyes. “I talked to Grant about it. He thinks I should do whatever will make me happy and settle the unresolved feelings with Harry. Grant wants a future with me, you know? He wants me to do what I have to so we can have that. He’s definitely hurt by it, I think. I mean, realistically speaking, who would be okay with their girlfriend going out with their ex-boyfriend after he’s just publicly and privately confessed his love for her? I sure as hell wouldn’t be.”
“Grant is better than all of us, in that regard,” is all Isla has to say.
“I agree,” Hera agrees, turning around slightly and staring at herself in the mirror. Her tightly wound curls fall perfectly around her face, her skin glistening under the shining lights. Her mouth reflects with the shiny gloss she’s tucked in her wallet, and the glitter on her eyes flashes the slight pigment to the liner around her lashes. I look pretty, Hera thinks to herself, and she wonders what Harry would say if he saw her like this, put together for the first time in forever. And that’s when she knows what Isla said is true. Grant is better than she is. “I’m going to go, Isla. On the date with Harry. I think I owe it to myself to say everything that I have to and see what’s left of us, if anything is left. I want him in my life. I don’t know how, just yet, but I want him in it, and I’ll make it work. I can’t deny the love I have for him. And the impact that Harry made on my life.”
“And you shouldn’t, Hera.” Isla twists her engagement ring and smiles to herself, the memory of the night she met her fiancé so fondly reentering her mind, it was a night that changed her life and Hera’s life, alike. “Do you remember when Harry invited us to the Casamigos Halloween party? Our flight back home got cancelled for whatever reason and we were in Los Angeles for a few extra days.” Isla pulls the engagement ring off and slides it back onto her finger. “Harry asked you if you were in costume and you laughed a laugh I’d never heard before, saying that we weren’t given enough notice for a proper costume.”
“Harry made me nervous! I didn’t want him to think any kind of way about me, you know? And for everyone’s information, I thought our costumes were great. Very original.”
“Impersonating Mick Jagger and David Bowie for Halloween is not original, June Bug,” Isla laughs, shaking her head. “You and Harry were getting on so perfectly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before. Harry was making you laugh, and you were naturally so flirtatious with him, and you just looked so comfortable. I never wanted to interrupt you.”
“Until Harry leaned over too far and spilled his draft all over you,” Hera giggles, hiding her face in her hands. Hera can remember the way her cheeks immediately flushed bright red, and she was hurrying to offer her assistance in the bathroom. Isla encouraged the two to continue and she would be right back, until a few minutes turned into twenty, turned into thirty, and Harry and Hera were holding hands, searching the crowd for Isla. “And we found you with Beau. Making out pretty hard in the corner.”
“Man has the mouth of an angel,” Isla shrugs, earning a playfully disgusted groan from Hera. “That night changed our lives forever. A stupid night in Los Angeles.”
“And that’s why I’m going to say yes to Harry. Cause if one night could do all that for you, who’s to say it can’t do that for me?”
Isla grins brightly at Hera, linking their arms together and unlocking the bathroom door, walking out hand in hand and greeting everyone as they walk through. Hera leaves Isla to talk and enjoy her day, the warm air outside calling her name. Isla’s shower would be ending soon, which means that everyone would be beginning to leave, and the boys would be coming by to grab all the gifts and flowers and decorations to bring back to Isla’s house. Harry, included.
Hera takes a seat on a hidden bench in the corner of the garden, her eyes closed tightly as she soaks in the sunlight and the breeze hitting her cheeks. Muffled goodbyes and well wishes are heard through the open windows, and she’s nearly reached a state of tranquility, when she hears a voice all too familiar to her and her heart starts beating a bit too fast for her liking.
“Knew I’d find you out here.”
Hera smirks, although she internally wishes she could have hidden how easily the smile came to her features. “Hush, I’m soaking in the three days a year I get to see the sun. I need it.”
“Okay.”
Hera can feel the bench’s weight shift slightly, the weight distributed more to her right. Hera doesn’t open her eyes, refusing to look at him, although she can feel his eyes staring at her. “Quit staring at me, or I’m going to tell Isla that you’re avoiding your duties and she’ll yell at you.”
“Fine.”
Hera turns her head and opens her eye ever so slightly, grunting when she sees him continuing to stare at her. He laughs loudly and turns his head, leaning back to stare into the sky. Hera slowly opens her eyes and begins tracing the outlines of the clouds. “I made my choice, by the way.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll go.” Hera can see the corners of his mouth twitch as he stares at the sky nonchalantly, trying desperately to contain his smile. Her heart is racing, the feeling of his body so close to her and his hand so dangerously near to hers. All of it is so tempting, the mere thought of it.
And so, to avoid doing anything they’ll regret in that very moment, the two stay shoulder to shoulder, staring at the clouds, avoiding looking into each other’s eyes and saying too many words.
“You’ll go on a date with me?”
“One date. That’s the deal.” Hera gives in and looks over. Harry’s grinning ear to ear. Hera can’t help it, suddenly she’s smiling, too.
“Make it two.”
“Don’t push your luck, Harry.”
Harry laughs and releases a breath that Hera hadn’t realized he was holding inside. His mouth is spread into an unbreakable smile, and it makes Hera’s stomach swirl with butterflies. His hand suddenly sets on her knee, patting her twice before standing and beginning to walk towards the entryway to the shower. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. Be ready by ten.”
Hera straightens her back and immediately stands on her feet, “Wait, what?”
Harry narrows his eyes, as though he doesn’t believe she’s really asking the question. “Not sure what you’re confused about.”
“Our date – you’ve already sorted it out?” Hera must look so shocked. Harry laughs and his smile grows wider as he slowly nods his head, although she can’t really see much from behind him. “And it’s tomorrow?”
Harry turns on his heel and waits by the door, leaning against the frame with a light behind his eyes that she hasn’t seen in a very long time. “Oh, Hera, you should know me by now. I always have a date ready. I was just waiting on the day you’d say yes.”
a little harry and amélie piece for you lot. harry and amélie love you. i love you. here's a little angst to get you through your day.
send your feedback and thoughts! it means everything to me.
Harry is in a mood all night and everyone, especially his daughter, can tell. He’s not his usual self, the happy and charming version of her father that uses silly voices to read her books or play with the dolls in the dollhouse. He isn’t making funny faces when he feeds her little sister at the dinner table or making sound effects when the two girls are in the bath together. He’s quite quiet, thinking carefully about something that is much too perplexing for her six-year-old mind. Certainly, though, they all miss Amélie.
Amélie’s only been gone a few hours, maybe four at most. Hensley watched on their unmade bed as she got ready for the evening, Harry taking to taking care of Stevie Jayne and taking a business call in the other room while she does her makeup and hair. Hensley watches carefully, saying to her mother, “Je veux être belle comme toi quand je serai grande, Mama,” in a hushed whisper, as though it would be shameful for anyone to hear.
“Hensley Grace, you are already so beautiful,” Amélie says, setting the curling iron down and walking into the bedroom, lifting her daughter’s chin to meet her eyes. “My most beautiful girl. Hensley, you look just like Papa when you give me those eyes, you know that?”
Hensley giggles and shrugs, puckering her lips for a kiss and kissing her mother sweetly before allowing her to return to her hair in the bathroom. Quietly, she pays close attention to the details that her mother puts into her look, the way her hair is tightly curled, and her makeup is barely noticeable beyond her signature pink lip. Amélie looks beautiful, and anyone in a mile’s distance would stop and stare. Hensley admires the way her mother looks, for she hasn’t seen her dressed like this in a while, since her baby sister was born, most likely.
“Cherry, are you almost ready? There’s a car outside waiting for you.”
“I am, I am!” Amélie shouts from the bathroom, smacking her lips together once more and giving herself a quick spritz of her favorite perfume. Harry is staring at her with Stevie on his waist from the doorway of the bedroom, and he feels a twinge of jealousy rush through his body. He selfishly wishes he was getting to take her out looking like this, seeing her fashionably done and well-manicured for the evening. He shakes it off quickly and smiles at her reassuringly, saying, “Can’t believe I married you.”
“Not too much, is it? His assistant made reservations for a fancy restaurant, so I don’t want to show up underdressed.”
“You look stunning, my love. It’s all just enough,” Harry says, forcing a smile and adjusting their daughter onto his other hip. “Kiss before you go.”
Amélie blushes beneath the layer of makeup coating her skin and slides her engagement and wedding ring on her finger before walking over to their daughter on the bed, saying, “Be good for Papa, Hensley Grace,” before walking towards him and grabbing his cheeks with a smile, pecking his lips lightly before kissing their infant’s forehead and turning to walk out the room.
Harry wants to say, “That’s it? That’s all I get? A little peck?” and convince her to come back and give him a real kiss, one that turns into three, that turns into her not leaving the house, but instead he says, “Have a good time. I’ll wait up for you.”
Amélie shouts a quick, “Love you!”, before hurrying out the door and into the waiting car at their driveway.
And then there were three.
Harry handles dinner and bath time and stories quite well, he believes. Usually, he and Amélie do everything together when they’re home, but having to do it alone makes him realize how hard Amélie has it when she’s alone. Certainly, it wasn’t that he didn’t realize it before, but having to do it yourself changes everything. He realizes that all the moments he’s left for a film or a studio session in the middle of the day, leaving her to tend to their children by herself without any helping hands is much, much harder to do with a walking infant and a rambunctious six-year-old.
Harry’s quiet the whole night. Hensley notices fairly quickly, and when she asks what’s wrong, he merely shakes his head and says ‘nothing, butterfly’ with a fake smile that only he could muster. Hensley knows though, she’s smart, and she decides to say something that only her father would understand when he’s tucking her in later that night, when the lights are about to turn off and he’s about to leave her room for the last time until the morning.
“Papa, is Mama going to give me a kiss goodnight, like she always does, when she gets home from her dinner?”
“Of course, she is, baby,” Harry sighs, the weight of her words weighing on his chest and his mind. “I’ll make sure Mama comes in here first thing, okay?” He turns towards the door once more to leave; whimpering being heard through the monitor in his hand, which means that their youngest is starting to stir. He sighs in frustration – she just fell asleep.
“I don’t like that Mama has to leave for work, too. Makes me have the icky feelings in my belly, Papa. I wish you and Mama could be home with me and Stevie all the time.”
Harry’s shoulders sink and his chest caves in slightly with the defeated breath that parts through his lips. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. Mama and Papa have jobs that makes us leave sometimes, but we’ll always come back to you. I promise you that.”
“And to each other?”
Harry doesn’t know how to answer that to a six-year-old. He’s upset, right now. Unbelievably upset. He feels neglected and lost and like their marriage is a secondary or tertiary priority amongst their lives. Children come first, obviously, they knew that would be the case as soon as Hensley was born, but he doesn’t think that either of them should be so far down on the list. Considering all that they’ve been through, it feels like they’ve lost each other in the mix of everything, in the midst of it all. He suddenly can’t remember the last time they were intimate with each other. Months ago, maybe one month if he was lucky – no pun intended. His eyes well up and he sucks in a breath and is ready to leave without answering the question when Hensley says his name.
“Papa?”
“I’ll always go back to Mama, baby. Mama is,” Harry finds himself choking up at his words, at the sentiment, he hasn’t said something so meaningful about his wife in so long, that maybe even she forgot what she meant to him. “Mama is my whole life, just like you and your baby sister are.”
Hensley seems satisfied with that answer and takes a deep breath, cuddling her blanket closer to her chest and rolling on her side. Harry believes that she’s going to sleep, so he turns the sound machine on and walks towards the door once more.
“Papa?”
Harry puffs out a breath between his lips and looks over his shoulder at his baby, the little girl tucked away in the bed much too big for her, and sighs, “Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.”
“I love you to Jupiter and Pluto, my little butterfly.”
Hensley smiles to herself and closes her eyes, listening to the sound of the noise machine that Harry turns on and gently drifting away as sleep takes over her. Harry walks quietly into the nursery, furrowing his brows at the door already slightly ajar. He cautiously walks in, nearly jumping back at the sight of his wife nursing their youngest in the rocking chair with barely a light on. “Jesus Christ, Ames. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” she says halfheartedly, gently drawing along their daughter’s head as she nurses. Harry can finally see how beautiful she looks, makeup and hair perfectly done, her outfit certainly professional but stunning. He realizes then, in that moment, that it’s been nearly a year since he’s brought her out on a date. “How was your night?”
“Good,” Harry says, sadness and maybe even despair filling his veins and his tone. He can’t seem to shake the jealousy that’s wafting over him, although he knows he has no right to be, and it’s eating away at him. He wants to say something. He wants to address the elephant in the room, the one sitting on his chest. “How was dinner with your director?”
“Went really well,” Amélie smiles brightly, and Harry feels his chest cave in at the thought. Is Amélie asking for more responsibility? Is Amélie asking to be away more than she is? “Everything I was asking for worked out.” Harry nods halfheartedly and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll talk to you more about it tomorrow, I’m kind of tired.”
“Haven’t seen you all night and you don’t want to talk to me?” Harry wonders, knowing that he’s picking an argument and starting a fight for no valid reason. He doesn’t really care, in that moment though. “That’s wonderful.”
Amelie furrows her brows in confusion and gently walks their daughter to her crib, laying her down softly and kissing her forehead before adjusting her shirt and walking towards the doorway, where Harry is waiting rather impatiently to turn the light off and shut the door. “Where is this coming from? I thought you’d be tired, too.”
“I am, I just,” Harry sighs, rubbing his hands against his cheeks as he walks into their bedroom and shakes his head, waiting to say anything until the bedroom door is shut and Amélie is taking off her shoes and setting them in the closet. “I missed you, I want to spend time with you.”
“I missed you, too, baby,” Amélie smiles, walking over and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning on her toes slightly and capturing his lips in a kiss.
Harry kisses Amélie sweetly, softly, as though one wrong move will make her pull away and leave him. He isn’t sure why he feels this way, why everything feels so fragile, but it does, and it’s breaking him. “Think we should watch our wedding video, tonight? It’s been a while.”
“It’s been more than a while,” she says with a laugh, kissing his cheek and trying to read his expression – something is off, that much she knows. “Why do you want to watch that?”
“’Cause,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing her hands along her back soothingly. “I wanted to hear your vows, again. Makes me feel good.”
Amélie knows something is certainly wrong when Harry says that. “Mind if I shower, first? I’ll take all my makeup off, and we can watch our wedding, if you really want to.”
Harry nods and walks towards his nightstand, peeling off his jewelry one ring at a time, the only ring left being his wedding band that has been plastered on his left hand for nearly seven years. He stares at it solemnly, listening to the sputtering of the shower and the hum of his wife as she steps inside the warm water. He contemplates getting in with her, just to be close to her.
And so, Harry does.
He walks into the bathroom quietly, taking a moment to admire Amélie through the foggy glass and appreciate her body from afar. He steps in and lays a hand on her lower back, nearly startling her in the process. He kisses her neck sweetly, pressing little kisses all over her shoulder and spine and along her arms, stopping just at her left hand and kissing over her third finger, the finger adorning the jewelry that says she’s in love and happily married.
“Harry, I vow to be your best friend, your lover, your midnight driver, your inspiration, your partner, your Cherry, your angel, every day of always.”
Harry quirks his eyebrows and smiles at Amélie. He knows exactly what she’s doing in that very moment. “Keep going, Cherry.”
“I’ll do everything with you, forever. I love you. I adore you. Always and forever.”
“Meant that?” he whispers against her forehead, closing his eyes and soaking in the way the water falls over their bodies, breathing in the scent of the oils filling the air. “Mean it now, too?”
“Of course, I meant it,” she says, grabbing his cheeks and tilting his head slightly, encouraging him to open his eyes and meet her stare. “Harry, what’s wrong?”
“Miss you, that’s all.” Amélie stays silent after that, simply washing her hair and her body and maneuvering around Harry’s body every so often to rinse off. Her arms circle around his abdomen, her fingers drawing along his collarbone and her mouth pressing tiny kisses to his shoulders. Harry grabs her hands and kisses her fingers softly. “I love you, Amélie Fay.”
“And I love you.” Amélie turns the shower off and Harry turns around and kisses her forehead. “Harry, you know that, right?”
Harry nods quietly and steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist, holding his hand out for his wife and carefully helping her out. Amélie looks at him inquisitively, concerned and confused by his reaction to all that she’s saying. “I know, baby.”
“Go on and tell me what’s bothering you, then. C’mon, Harry, I’ve known you for over a decade, I know when something is bothering you and you won’t tell me,” she says softly, taking her favorite silk robe and wrapping it around her body, watching as he presses his lips together in thought and contemplates sharing how he’s feeling. “I’m all yours, baby. I just want to know what’s wrong.”
Harry slides a clean pair of boxers up his thighs and sighs audibly, nodding towards their bedroom and shutting the bathroom light behind them. Amélie watches Harry carefully, taking a seat on their bed and pulling their duvet down for him to get in next to her. He does so without saying a word, only a couple audible breaths and a few stolen glances – all met by her eyes. Amélie reaches into her bedside table and grabs her favorite nightshirt, and old tattered shirt that Harry used to wear during their dating days. It's one of the few things that she’s kept it all this time, years later, for memories sake. She slips it over her head easily and lays her robe at the end of the bed, waiting for Harry to finish setting up the computer and their television for them to watch.
He presses play, walking back to the bed and climbing under the covers, opening his arms, and waiting for his wife to assume her usual position in his arms. Amélie does so without waiting, wrapping her arms around his midsection, and slipping her legs between his, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as her cold feet meet his calves. He doesn’t say a word, simply kissing her forehead and leaning back against his pillows, watching the video quietly.
“You looked so handsome on our wedding day,” Amélie smiles, looking up at him and admiring the tiniest of details on his face. He’s in his thirties, now. He’s caring for two young children and a wife. Certainly, that shows, but Amélie still finds him to be the most beautiful creature to ever walk the planet. “Not that you don’t look handsome every day, but I did appreciate you a lot that day.”
“Nice save, Cherry.” Harry runs his fingers through her hair softly, kissing her forehead and breathing in her scent as they watch their vows get spoken on the screen, specifically Amélie’s.
Harry, you are my best friend, my love, my whole heart. Absolutely, positively, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, that has graced my life and made me change for the better. All because of you, I am a better person. I am more forgiving; I am more compassionate. I am kinder; I am wiser. I am the very best version of Amélie Fay because of you, Harry, because of the way you love, and you care for me. Never did I ever think I would find someone that would understand my mental health, that would care for me in the way you do. None of this is easy for you, and yet, every single day, you take my hand and face the day with me, never against me. There are some things that are by chance, but meeting you was not chance. Meeting you was a working of the Universe, of Pluto and Jupiter and the Moon, because they all knew that I needed you.
“We look so in love,” she says sadly, and the realization hits her. Harry and Amélie have been dancing around each other for weeks, months even. It’s been ages since they’ve been intimate – longer than Amélie can remember – and it’s like they’ve been walking on eggshells with each other, unsure of what to say and how to go about anything.
Much like when they were filming Don’t Worry Darling, work has gotten to the heads once again, and they’re back in the rut they promised themselves they wouldn’t be in again. It must’ve hurt seeing her leave all gussied up for something other than an evening with him, especially when it’s been so long, and she didn’t think twice. That’s when it all hits her. Everything that Harry hasn’t been saying. Amélie knows exactly how he’s feeling – because even if she hadn’t admitted it to herself, she’s been feeling it, too.
“I think I love you more, now. If that’s even possible. Even though I haven’t been showing you that nearly enough,” Harry says, looking down at her and wiping a tear from her cheek. Amélie hadn’t even realized it slipped out or that she started crying. “I’m going to be better, Ames.”
“I know.” Amélie sucks in a deep breath and nods, wiping her eyes quickly. Tears are coming faster than she can properly wipe them away. All of the words she’s saying are spilling out, now, before she can even think properly about what she’s saying. “I miss you, Harry. I miss us. I miss everything we had, so badly. I feel lost. I feel like I don’t have you anymore. Ever since Stevie was born and I started this movie, everything has been so chaotic and it’s like we’re not even married. All we’re doing is existing.” Her voice cracks. “Look at us in that video. We’re just two kids in love. We didn’t think this far ahead.”
“Hey, hey. Amélie Fay, look at me, baby.” Amélie tilts her head slightly and allows Harry to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t need to think. I just wanted you by my side, forever. I still do.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Amélie whispers, swallowing back another round of tears. “Are you?”
“Never in a million years.”
Amélie immediately maneuvers her body around and straddles Harry’s waist, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and squeezing him to her chest, his face tucking into her neck and his arms holding her midsection tightly. “I’m taking a break after this movie is over.”
“What?”
“That’s what I told my director, tonight, at dinner. I said that I appreciated the offer to work on the next movie, but I need more time with my family. I need to be with you, Harry, and our girls. I could care less about the other stuff. That’s just work. This, you, are what matters to me.” Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pulls his head back from her neck, meeting her long stare and kisses her deeply, feeling electrified the way their bodies light with this ignition that could only be described as true love. He didn’t want to pull away, for it to end. Instead, Harry leans his forehead against hers and sucks in a breath between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut when her hands slowly dance down his abdomen. “Let’s go to France for a little while. Get away from all this once our contracts are over. Have some time as a family. No obligations. Just us.”
“Let’s move there.”
“Where?”
“France. Neuilly. You. Me. Our kids. Make a life for ourselves there.”
Amélie immediately stops what she’s doing, “You’re only saying that because I’m about to put my hands in your pants for the first time in over a month.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Just haven’t said anything. Wasn’t sure of the right time to bring it up. Figured now’s a good a time as any.”
“Baby, don’t tease me like this.”
“It’s not teasing if I’m being serious,” Harry says seriously, his hands rubbing her thighs softly as she lays her hands flat on his stomach. “You’ve always wanted to move there. Henry left us the house. Tell me, Ames, what’s stopping us from packing up and going, tomorrow?”
“Your family is here. I couldn’t ask you to leave them.”
“Your family is in Malibu, and you left them to move here with me.” Harry looks at Amélie with the utmost seriousness. “Let me do this for our family. For you.”
And that is the sentence that makes Amélie know she’s married the person that is her other half, that would do anything to make her happy. “Harry Styles, I am so in love with you.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, simply leans forward and presses his mouth to hers, kissing her and breathing for what felt like the first time in weeks. Amélie smiles against his mouth, moving her hands down his chest and soaking in the way his hands feel against her skin. Harry and Amélie missed this, this intimacy, and the feeling of being close. They needed this. Badly.
“I love you. I’ll never stop.”
Amélie doesn’t say a word because she knows. She knows this. She feels the same.
MASTERLIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST // ASKS // LYTA // AIEK
like and reblog and leave commentary and send messages! do all the things! it makes writing so much more fun!
author’s note: i can’t believe how requested this was! genuinely half my inbox is this request, lol. i love you all for caring so much about their story and wanting more of it. continue sending ideas for blurbs in so i can write more! i love seeing ames and harry as parents. okay, send your thoughts to my inbox and i’ll respond later! logging off for now. love you!
Harry didn’t notice it at first, and maybe that’s his fault. Maybe he’s to blame for that. Maybe he and Amélie are to blame for not realizing sooner that Hensley was feeling neglected and lost amidst her siblings. He feels horribly for that, naturally he does, because how could he have missed such blatant signs from his baby, his little butterfly. His focus has been on his youngest two (the two under two), with moving and settling into their new life, all while working on a new album and trying to maintain his marriage. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he was making a year and a half ago. Things were good, now. So good. Or so he thought.
Harry began noticing the shift in her behavior after school one day. Hensley wasn’t really interested in talking to him on the car ride home, instead playing with her figurines that she brought with her to class and staying quiet in the backseat. Stevie was babbling happily to herself, or maybe to him, reaching over for her blanket and pacifier and falling asleep in the backseat before they’ve even gotten home. Once they arrive home, it’s the same routine as it is every day. Unbuckle the children and get the two (or three on busy days) inside, snack, homework, play, dinner, bath, story, bed, repeat. Usually, this goes smoothly and Harry and Amélie don’t have to worry about Hensley in the meanwhile, but today is just not a day without emotions and tears and lots of big feelings.
Hensley mumbles something under her breath as Harry goes to unbuckle her seatbelt, kissing her cheek and getting ready to leave her side of the car. He asks her to repeat herself, listening carefully as she says, “Papa, porte-moi, s’il vous plait?”
Harry looks between the sleeping toddler in the seat next to hers and the way his eldest’s eyes are brimming with tears and decides to tackle the double hold for the walk to the house. He sighs with a smile, says, “Of course, my little butterfly,” and lifts her onto his hip, noticing for certain the way she’s clinging a little bit tighter and snuggling into him. He says yes because he knows it won’t be like this forever, where she wants him to hold her and comfort her, and he’ll take these days and never take them for granted. “Have to get Stevie, now. Okay, Hen?” Hensley nods without saying a word. Harry strategically unbuckles the toddler and lifts her onto his other hip, managing to carry the two girls on him and into the house without a misstep. He’s seasoned, now, a practiced father of three, this is easy.
“Mama, we’re home!” Harry shouts into the kitchen, setting his keys in the tiny bowl next to the door and kicking off his shoes. He can hear Amélie singing in the kitchen, and he assumes she’s soothing their six-month-old before getting back to work. Amélie is working on east coast time, and it’s making her days long and tiresome. “C’mon, Henny, let’s get your shoes off and go have a snack.” Harry tries to set Hensley on the ground, only to be firmly rejected by her hands gripping tighter to his shoulders. Her eighth birthday is just around the corner, and she’s getting to be a bit too big to hold this way, but he grunts and ignores the twinge in his back and sighs, accepting that she simply doesn’t want to let go.
Stevie pats Harry’s shoulders silently to be let on the ground, taking her pacifier and blanket, and toddling into the kitchen to find her mother, babbling, “Mama, Mama, Mama” over again.
Harry sets Hensley on the bottom step of the stairs, untying her shoes and smiling at her as she sits quietly. Harry can tell that something is off, something’s not right, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. “Is something wrong, Hen?” Hensley sighs and shakes her head. “Hensley Grace, tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”
“Papa, you can’t fix it! That’s why I can’t tell you! Je veux Mama!”
Harry nods without saying a word, setting her shoes to the side, sighing when she immediately rushes around him and runs to her mother in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around her midsection and crying into her stomach. He walks into the kitchen, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders when his wife gives him a questioning look, his attention immediately going towards their infant in the swing next to the table.
Amélie notices, then, the way the attention shifts, and everything is different, and she knows exactly what’s wrong.
“Hensley Grace,” she says, sliding her hands under her arms and lifting her onto her waist, setting her on the kitchen counter to properly look at her, “why are you crying, my love?”
“J'ai besoin d'un câlin, Mama.”
Amélie immediately wraps her arms around their daughter, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead. Harry turns his attention away from their infant and leans against the counter, sighing when his wife blinks away tears. He realizes then, what’s going on, much to his dismay, and how much of it is his own fault. “Are you feeling jealous, Hensley? Are Mama and Papa not spending enough time with you?”
“All my friends get to have special days with their mamas and their papas. I don’t get that, Mama,” Hensley sniffles, hiccupping as she tries to swallow back her tears. Amélie wipes her eyes gently and sets her hands on the counter beside their daughter, looking at her properly. “Mama, you and Papa are always busy with Stevie and Jude, or you’re working on your movies, and no one wants to play with me anymore. Je suis exclu, Mama. I miss when Papa and I used to go out just us and get our nails done and when you would take baths with me, Mama. It’s all about Stevie and Jude, now! Makes me sad, Mama. Did I do something wrong? Was I bad?”
“Oh, baby,” Amélie sighs, brushing their daughter’s hair behind her ear and wrapping her arms around her body, hugging her tightly and nodding towards her husband to say something.
“Hensley, Mama and I don’t mean to make it seem like it’s always about Stevie and Jude. You’re just such a big girl and can do so much independently that we’ve thought we should spend more time helping the little ones who can’t do things on their own.”
“Papa, I’m only seven! I’m little, too!”
“Harry,” Amélie says warningly, shaking her head and gently bringing Hensley’s face to meet hers. “Hensley Grace, you are still our baby, even when you are seven years old, and we haven’t been giving you enough attention, but that’s not because you did something wrong or you’re bad, sweetheart. You’re the best girl, my little butterfly. You’re so smart and beautiful and you’re the best big sister in the whole world. Papa and I are so lucky we have a daughter like you.”
Hensley sniffles and nods at her mother’s words, but Amélie knows that she’ll need more than words to feel better. Hensley is like her in that sense – words aren’t simply enough. Amélie looks to Harry and shakes her head as she scoops their daughter into her arms and holds her tightly. “Mama, je peux dormir avec toi?”
“Of course, you can, my love,” Amélie smiles sadly, looking at Harry and nodding towards where their son is beginning to stir and fuss. Harry quickly gets him and soothes him, preventing an interruption to their conversation. “How about I help you with your homework, today? Once you’re all finished, you can help Papa make dinner. Just you two.”
Hensley hiccups and wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, “Okay, Mama.”
Amélie and Harry don’t really mention the conversation much throughout the rest of the night, simply sharing looks with each other as Hensley goes about her night as usual with their family. Hensley slowly becomes less upset and angry, staying close to Harry as they make dinner together, talking about her day at school and her friends, and playing with her younger sister and brother after dinner. Amélie keeps an eye on her closely, trying to make sure that she’s not hiding her feelings from them, again. Hensley, however, is back to her usual self, happy and healthy and enjoying the little moments. Friday nights are always the best nights because Hensley gets to say up a bit later and watch a movie before bed with Mama and Papa, it's their only time together, and it seems now more than ever it’s necessary to have.
Harry and Amélie hold to their promise, having Hensley staying in their room after her shower and cuddling into their comforter, her teddy bear tucked beneath her arm and her head laying in between her mother and father as they lay against the headboard, Amélie reading silently as Harry watches Hensley watch the movie. Harry’s staring doesn’t go unnoticed by her, earning a “Papa, why are you staring at me?” from Hensley.
“I’m sorry that you’ve felt left out lately, Hensley Grace. I’ve been paying so much attention to your sister and brother and not spending enough time with you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want to be with you. I always want to spend time with you.”
“Papa?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Am I still your best friend? I know Mama is your best friend, but am I still your best friend, too?” Hensley says curiously, looking away from the screen and towards her father. “Can’t have four best friends, Papa.”
“And who said I can’t have four best friends, huh?” Harry looks at her fondly, a smile spreading across his lips as he kisses her forehead. “Of course, my little butterfly. You and Mama are my best friends in the whole world. Best friends I’ve ever had. Along with Stevie and Jude, of course.”
Hensley nods and then, quietly, almost nervously, admits, “Papa, I want to spend more time with you and Mama. Just us. Juste nous.”
“That can be arranged, Hensley Grace,” he says confidently, wrapping his arm around her and bringing her into his chest, hugging her tightly and kissing her hair, breathing in the familiar scent that all his children seem to have. “Mama and I love you more than anything in this whole world, you know that, right?”
“To Jupiter and Pluto, around the moon and the stars, and all the way back to wherever you are.”
“That’s right, my love.”
Hensley falls asleep halfway into the movie, turning to face Amélie and cuddling into her side as she slowly caresses her hair and cheeks. Harry’s quiet, much too quiet for her liking, and she wants to pick his brain about what he’s thinking, about what’s going through his mind as he’s lying on his back with his eyes wide open, very evidently contemplating something very heavy.
“Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours,” Amélie whispers to Harry, carefully avoiding waking the sleeping seven-year-old beside her and staring over at him in the darkness. “You’ve not said a word since we turned off the movie and Hensley fell asleep.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” Harry says after thinking for a few minutes, after contemplating his thoughts and what he should say. Amélie knows him better than anyone in this world, and there’s nothing he can hide from her, no matter how hard he really tries to keep his thoughts sane and without worrying her. “That’s my baby, Cherry, I should’ve noticed she was feeling excluded sooner. It shouldn’t have gotten this far. It shouldn’t have made her cry.”
“Harry.”
“I just, I’m the one that’s been home. I’m the one that’s been delegating my time to our children and trying to make sure all their needs are met. I am the one that wasn’t meeting our daughter’s need for attention. I assumed she was okay and kept going.”
“Baby,” Amélie whispers, gently maneuvering around their daughter and climbing out of bed and shuffling towards his side, sitting on the edge, and laying her hands on his cheeks, trying to make him meet her stare, “this isn’t all on you. I am just as guilty as you for doing this.”
“Hensley wanted you, Ames,” Harry sighs, shaking his head but holding her hands on his cheeks for comfort. “Hensley couldn’t even tell me what was wrong. All she wanted was you to make her feel better. I couldn’t even do that for her. What kind of father does that make me?”
“Harry, you’re the best kind of father, because you care so much that your little girl was upset that you’re up in bed thinking about everything you could’ve done differently. All Hensley wanted was a little alone time with us. Giving her that, tonight, and we’ll do it more often than we have been, already helped change her mood drastically. Did you see the smile on her face when she fell asleep? She was just happy to be alone with us, taking our whole attention.”
“I just never thought she’d be jealous because she’s always been so happy to be a big sister.”
“My love, it would be naïve of us to think that Hensley wouldn’t get jealous eventually. She’s still a child, a baby that needs our attention. Our baby, who isn't a grown adult that can everything on her own, still needs us. Our attention has been to the toddlers that need our attention, yes, but that doesn’t mean she can’t need us, too. Our time should be better delegated between the three. That’s all, I think. It doesn’t make us terrible parents, Harry, please know that.”
Harry looks at Amélie with softened eyes and a worried pout written across his lips, although now the lines in his forehead are decreasing and his cheeks release a breath that’s been pent up between them. “I love you, Amélie Fay. Always know exactly what to say.”
“Comes with the territory,” she shrugs off nonchalantly, as though she’s not the most considerate person he's ever met and the person that he loves most in the world. "Mothers have a magic book that tells us how to make everything better, didn’t you know that?”
“Had no idea,” Harry laughs quietly, shaking his head and leaning forward, puckering his lips for a kiss, and smiling when Amélie immediately leans into him and returns the gesture. “Must’ve got left out of that package as a father. All I have is the ‘Make More Babies with Your Hot Wife’ pamphlet. Think I did my fair research on that one.”
