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Right so I was thinking like Harry x reader and reader is having a tough time with her friends (they suck!) And constantly make her feel bad so she's distancing herself from Harry a d it's all fluffy him trying to make her see she's perfect.

- Xx

"I got you, babe."

Harry 'Wroetoshaw' Lewis x fem!reader (angst and fluff) A/N: reader's friends do, in fact, suck - like they are bullies. reader uses she/her pronouns, no specific physical descriptors apart from the fact that she has hair and is shorter than Harry. i dont know if this is exactly aligning with what you wanted, but i tried!!! again, reader's friends are BULLIES (they bodyshame reader and make generally not nice comments)! reader has a degree in an unspecified subject, and alcohol is mentioned (but reader doesn't drink it). use of y/n throughout. this is long, i fear. mentions of throwing up but that doesn't actually happen. not proofread at all #sorry I got into a flow state and you can tell because the tone with which i write really changes sometimes, dialogue is not my specialty WORD COUNT: 5518

“You realise he’s just going to leave you eventually, right?” Your friend Poppy asks you, not even looking up from her phone. Across the table, Margot laughs, taking a sip from her wine.

You look between them, confused. “I’m sorry?” Silence had been blanketing the room since you’d arrived, not even a hello from either of them, only a quick hug from the host, Becca, who then shuffled back into the kitchen.

Margot and Poppy exchange a glance. Margot shakes her head, “You have nothing to be sorry for, babe. It’s just- I mean, c’mon. What’ve you got going for you? Like really? You’re what, 28? And you look like that. We’ve all seen the girls he likes on Instagram, and- well. You’re nothing like them.”

You ball your hands up in your lap, “I don’t think you know anything about my relationship, Margot-”

Poppy sighs, interrupting you. “How long have you been together? 4 years? No ring? That’s a sign of something, y/n. Jordan proposed to me after 6 months, because he knew from the start that he was sure about me.”

“I have a list of reasons as to why he hasn’t proposed yet right here. Wanna hear?” Margot doesn’t wait for your response. “You talk too much about your boring little life. You think you’re funny when spoiler alert! You’re not. I don’t even want to talk about the way you dress because it’ll just make me angry. You’re far too willing to divulge us with all your innermost thoughts and feelings, all your little vulnerabilities. The way you carry yourself is just horrible-”

“Which is why I didn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid.” Poppy interrupts, still scrolling.

Margot nods, before continuing. “Your time management is terrible, you never make decisions, you’re a clingy little bitch- like seriously, you message us like everyday even when we don’t reply, you-”

You begin to tune them out, feeling like you’ve just been dunked in an ocean full of ice cold water. You watch Margot’s mouth move, Poppy nod in false sympathy, and see Becca move in and out of the room, too focused on playing the perfect host whilst you’re being ripped to shreds in her dining room. You blink hard a few times, trying to repress the sudden wave of tears rising in your body.

“Oh my God, Jesus. You’re not seriously about to cry?” Poppy scoffs, raising an eyebrow in disgust, before raising her voice to yell into the kitchen. “Becca, can you get a fucking glass of milk for y/n? She’s acting like a fucking baby.” The massive diamond of her engagement ring sparkles cruelly in the candlelit dining room, and from the kitchen, you hear Becca sigh, before appearing in the doorway.

“Guys, c’mon. Let’s all just be friends. Margot, Poppy, lay off of y/n. y/n, can you just- not do your ‘y/n’ thing tonight? It’s our girls night, so just relax. Okay?” She smiles, but you can see the fakeness of it. On the table, your phone buzzes with a text from Harry, away on a Sidemen shoot, telling you goodnight and that he loves you. Poppy glances at you with disdain as Becca disappears back into the kitchen.

She lowers her voice, leaning into you, even though Margot can definitely hear her. “I think it’s charming that he puts up with you. And honestly, you should count your days with him because we all know that there are other people out there who are more attractive, more interesting, and just- more suited to him. There is nothing about you that would ever make people want to be around you. I’m telling you this as your friend of 10 years- we studied the same degree, we lived together during uni, and you’re like a sister to me- but I’m doing so much better than you. How did you fuck it all up so badly, y/n?”

Margot takes another sip of her wine, swilling it around in her glass. “We’re telling you this because you’re our friend, and we love you. But we don’t really like you. We invite you out because… well, we have to. And we’re worried that you being so… you in the privacy of your home will condemn you to a lifetime and loneliness. Apart from us and Harry, you don’t really have anyone else. So we invite you out to try and negate that! You get it, right? Can you really blame us?”

You don’t say anything. You feel disgusted, at yourself but, more importantly, at them. As you thought about it, a lot of things began to make sense.

Obviously, there was Poppy not inviting you to be a bridesmaid when she’d asked Becca, Margot, and basically all of your wider friend group (even Tara, which was fucked because she never even liked Tara!). But there was how sometimes all of you would be out, and one of them would type something and the other two would laugh, which led you to believe they had a groupchat without you. Or how, when Poppy’s fiancé met you for the first time, he said “You’re just like how Poppy described you!” and then they both laughed.

And what about your birthday? How Harry had gone all out, and arranged a surprise party for you, giving them invitations and them agreeing enthusiastically and- not showing up. Not even sending you a message or posting an Instagram story, and then posting a photo of them all at brunch.

You felt like an idiot. The growing pit in the bottom of your stomach felt all-consuming, and when combined with the heat in your face from embarrassment and rage and- loneliness, you knew you had to leave. You abruptly stood, grabbing your phone from the table, whilst Margot and Poppy shared a look, Poppy seemingly stifling a smile.

“Something the matter, babe?” Margot asked, her tone a mix of annoyance and pride, “Did our honesty actually upset you? Jesus, you have to learn to take criticism. I literally said that we love you.”

You couldn’t even look at either of them, instead opening your Uber app and ordering yourself a car.

“y/n, come on! We’re trying to open your eyes to the truth.” Poppy snickered. As you looked up from your phone, you saw Margot mouthing ‘shut up!’ at her. You pursed your lips. Becca came out from the kitchen, holding two plates of pasta.

She sighed at you, “y/n, just sit down. They’re just trying to give you some advice! I spent all day making this, you’re just gonna let it go to waste?” You heard Poppy murmur, ‘if she eats it, it’ll just go to her waist!’ Becca shoots her and Margot (both of them laughing) a dirty look, but doesn’t say anything to stop them.

“No. No. No! I don’t- I don’t have to do this. I think you’re cruel, you’re all just fucking- cruel! You won’t let me be happy in my relationship! You won’t let me be happy at my job- Poppy, I got fired because I ‘had to’ help you! I can’t even BREATHE without one of you jumping down my neck!” Becca goes to speak, but you interrupt her. “I could not fucking care less about your pasta, right now Becca. I’ve already got myself a lift, and I’m leaving and I- I can’t do this. I never want to speak to any of you again. I don’t even want to wish you guys well in life, because you all have made me hate mine.”

You go to the door, grabbing your coat and handbag from the hook and slam the door behind you. You stand in the hallway for a second, chest heaving with the force of your breath. You feel light-headed, the adrenaline coursing through your veins feels overwhelming. You hear nothing from the inside of the flat, and then- they’re laughing.

Your jaw clenches, and you take off towards the staircase, flying down the steps two at a time until you exit the building. It’s dark outside, and you can barely see the stars because of the harsh street lamps, but the wind is whipping your face and you suddenly feel every nerve in your body. You stay standing there until you see the car pull up.

—

In the lift back up to the flat you share with Harry, you have to lean against the wall for support. The adrenaline has worn off, and you feel like you might throw up. You checked your phone once in the car, and there was nothing. No messages chewing you out, no voicemails, no texts from your other friends asking what happened, which was both expected and unexpected.

You hadn’t even answered Harry’s text from earlier, but he would definitely be asleep by now. Fuck. As you arrived at your floor, you realised just how alone you were. You didn’t want to wake him up to talk about this - and maybe, Margot had a point about you. She was a lot of things- a bitch for one- but she wasn’t really a liar. Maybe you did talk too much. Maybe this was something you just had to deal with… alone.

As soon as you got back to the flat, you shed your shoes and coat, dropping your handbag on the coffee table in the living room. You stand in the dark for a few minutes, just looking at your hands. You don’t feel anything. You feel everything. You suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to shower, and scrub your skin until it feels raw.

—

You wake up the next day in somewhat of a fugue state. Checking your phone in the dark bedroom, you see it’s well into the afternoon and you’ve received no messages from anyone. Not even Harry. Which was to be expected. Again, he’s away, he’s busy which is-

Fine.

It's all fine. Everything is fine! You can deal with this alone. Even if you’ve overslept and you don’t feel like you can move, and you just want the ground to swallow you whole so you never have to face anyone ever again. You thank whatever entity inspired you to take the day off of work weeks ago, having known about your girl’s night and expecting it to get rowdy- just not in the way it had.

You don’t even sit up in your bed, instead, you run a hand over your face, throw your phone back on the night stand, and close your eyes, hoping to go back to sleep. You were holding Harry's pillow close to you, because even with his shirt draped across your body (after scorching your skin in the shower, you needed some kind of comfort), it doesn't feel like enough. What you really need is Harry.

But he's not here.

The words of your ‘friends’ are tolling in your mind like a bell. Admitting that you need him to make you feel better feels like acknowledging that they're right.

You're too needy, you're too much, he can (and will) do better than you. There is nothing likable about you. Your friends fucking hate you and always have. So does he.

It's relentless, and you are five seconds away from bashing your head against your pillow to try and shut them off. You’re not even tired, really. Sleeping just feels easier than facing the world.

—

You’re not even sure when you actually fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, but what feels like five days later (but is more like 10 hours), you awaken to dim sunlight stretching across the bedroom, and the feeling of someone’s hand stroking your hair. You slowly began to realise that your head is no longer on your pillow, and you’re no longer hugging Harry’s.

Instead, Harry is sitting against the headboard of the bed, scrolling on his phone with your head in his lap. How he situated you here without waking you up, you have no clue. His hand remains in your hair, which makes you realise he doesn’t know you’re up. You blink your bleary eyes, trying to regain your senses, having been sleeping in a blacked out room for basically a day. As you slightly shake your head, his hand stills.

“Good morning, lovely.” He says softly, a bit of a laugh in his tone. You squint at him, trying to figure out when he got back. Harry can see the question on your face, “We got back earlier than expected. I called, but no reply. Figures though, you were fully wiiiped out.”

The words of your friends flash through your mind again. He saw you holding his pillow, which means he saw you needing him. You sit up next to him, rubbing a hand over your face, feeling exhausted but not tired. “What time is it?” It comes out slightly slurred, but Harry understands you well. He flashes you his phone, which reads ‘07:43AM’.

You stretch your weary arms above your head, and move to the edge of the bed. You can feel Harry’s eyes on you, drinking in your figure. The bed moves as he reaches for you, but you stand before he can touch you, and shuffle to the adjoining bathroom.

Behind you, Harry’s protests fill the air: “Wha- y/n! Where do you think you’re going?!” The pout in his words is evident.

You don’t think you can look at him, and your skin burns with embarrassment, “I hav- I have to shower. I’m working today, so. Yeah.”

“Oooo! Cheeky shower? All by yourself?”

You imagine that if he was able to, he’d be wiggling his eyebrows at you. You turn around to face him, smiling lightly in spite of yourself. “Some of us actually have to do work today. I can’t have you in there distracting me.”

“But-”

“Maybe later! If you’re lucky.”

Harry shakes his head, but returns to his phone. Closing the door to the bathroom, you rest your head upon the cool wall, taking a deep breath before running your shower. You do all your typical morning stuff, and by the time you’re out of the bathroom, Harry is fast asleep snoring incredibly loudly. You put on your work outfit, and still before leaving the bedroom.

You look back over at Harry, and quietly sneak over to his side of the bed. He’s got his face smushed into his pillow, and you realise he’s holding your pillow, just like how you were holding his. Your heart warms slightly, at the idea of him needing you as much as you need him. You’re about to leave him with a kiss on the cheek, when your phone buzzes.

7 NEW MESSAGES FROM: Margot😇 Hey babe😗 Just wanted to check in on you after your breakdown the other night xx You know we meant nothing bad by it We’re just looking out for you Plus you deserved the wake up call It’s cruel that people lie to you Especially when they sleep in your bed next to you😉 xx

Okay, fuck that. You swipe away the notifications, but it doesn’t stop that same horrible feeling of nausea beginning to encroach upon you. You straighten up, and without looking back, you leave the room. You need to get out of the flat, and- and you have 15 minutes to walk to work. Your shoes, slipped on before the front door, pinch at your feet slightly. It’s uncomfortable, but welcome, helping bring you back into your body.

—

Having been in a relationship for four years, and having loved you for seven (and counting!), Harry Lewis liked to say that he knew you well enough to know when something was wrong. And something felt, to put it lightly, fucking wrong.

When you didn't answer his message on Sunday, he kind of expected it? Like, it was your girl’s night, and he knew that they tended to drag on, so it was fine (even if he felt slightly stressed), but then on Monday, when he still hadn't heard anything…

Yeah, the alarm bells were starting to ring.

He even went as far as to message Becca, just to check in, but found himself left on read. Suffice to say, he was even more confused than before. Arriving home at 4AM on Tuesday morning, Harry made sure to open the door as silently as possible, creeping his way into the flat. He dragged his suitcase in after him, and frowned slightly. Your handbag was still on the coffee table, your coat was slung over the sofa, which was weird to Harry. One thing you always did was make sure that your coat hung up. You liked to be able to grab it easily before leaving, and he liked the sense of normalcy it gave - the fact that something so domestic made things just a bit easier. He liked that.

What he also liked was walking into the bedroom and seeing you in bed. You’d been living together for 2 years, but still, seeing you so relaxed in the bed you shared gave him butterflies (not that he’d ever admit it). As quietly and cautiously as he possibly could, Harry pushed the door open to the bedroom. The scene he was met with warmed his heart, but also made him a bit more concerned.

You were in the bed, obviously, holding something Harry recognised as his pillow and wearing his shirt which made him just want to squeal. But, of course, that would’ve woken you up, so he didn’t. Harry approached you. Although half of your face was smushed, he could tell that your brows were furrowed and you were frowning, as though you were having a bad dream. A matching frown spread across his face. Obviously, he couldn’t jump into your mind as you slept and see what was troubling you, but by God did he want to.

Instead, he settled for trying to provide you at least some kind of comfort whilst you slept.

Harry first opened the curtains slightly, knowing that you would appreciate the feeling of the sun’s warmth as you woke up. The sun was beginning to rise, and although the lighting was very, very dim, he took a photo of you, finding himself in need of some memento of this. Immediately setting it as his lock screen, Harry then stripped his clothes off, standing only in his boxers. He felt like he was playing a very important game of Operation. Obviously, he appreciated you finding comfort in other him-adjacent items. But, the real thing was here now!

He didn’t even feel particularly tired, having slept on the flight back from Kos, but he just wanted to be close to you - and he’d read somewhere that physical contact was good for nightmares and bad dreams. He tries to recall what specifically, and hopes that it meant it was good for stopping them. The last thing Harry wanted to do was give you more bad dreams with the assistance of his nearly nude body.

He slid under the duvet on his side of the bed, leaning against the headboard, and for a moment, he just watched you. Your hair had fallen into your face, and he reached a large hand in order to move it. Your nose wrinkled as he did so, and you cracked an eye open at him. He knew you weren’t awake fully, but he took the opportunity to pull you over to him, feeling less guilty than if he were to be waking you from a REM cycle. You let go of the pillow and immediately latch onto him, before falling fully into sleep again. Harry swears his heart skips a beat, and he takes another photo of you. He’s not obsessed, or anything. But when he’s away, he likes to have these as a memento of what’s waiting for him when he gets back.

—

Harry wakes up disorientated several hours later, and realises that you aren’t in bed anymore. He shakes his head to nobody, remembering the conversation you had before you left. Even then, something about your energy felt off. You had smiled at him, but it didn’t reach your eyes, and- and!! He wasn’t allowed in the bathroom whilst you showered. It wasn’t even a sexual thing in the moment (not really, anyway). He just likes to sit on the counter, or on the toilet whilst you shower, so that he can tell you about all of the gossip and funniest bits from his day- and maybe so he can watch you shower.

He checks his phone before slipping out of the bed. No messages from you, not even something to say you left- which hurts a little bit, he doesn’t want to lie. It wasn't like he needed to be in contact with you all the time, but he'd been gone for nearly a week, and before Sunday, you'd been messaging him with random updates about your day (something he loves!)- and now… nothing.

Harry's worst fears had been affirmed: something was wrong. And he had no clue what. It wasn’t anything that he did, was it? He scrolled through the messages he'd sent you since Saturday. All remarkably inoffensive inquiries into your day, the trading of pictures you thought the other would like to see- there was no indication of anything being wrong.

Until, of course… the girl's night with your friends.

If Harry was being completely honest, he didn’t even really like your closest friends that much. The first time he'd ever met Maggot (No- her name is Margot!), she'd started talking about the differences between him and your exes, and then promptly went to the bathroom, coming back with a deep-dive into who he followed on Instagram, accusing him of having wandering eyes. Again, this was his first time meeting her, and both you and Becca had been at the bar, ordering drinks, whilst Poppy scrolled mindlessly on her phone.

He had just sat there gobsmacked until you and Becca returned, seemingly numb to the brewing tension between Harry and Margot (or, as Ethan had started to call her after Harry recounted the evening, “Maggot”- the nickname which, since then, has infested his vocabulary, leading to Harry having to be extra careful when talking to you about your friends).

But, because they were your friends, he never said anything. He would sit there and nod whilst you spoke about them, hold you whilst you cried about them being horrible to you, and even got their numbers so that he could invite them to your birthday, because he knew you’d want them there. They didn’t even show up, and although you were smiling, Harry saw it never fully reached your eyes, as you kept checking your phone. He held you as you cried last night, and as their fake apologies rolled in and you forgave them.

Harry wanted to believe that they were good friends under it all, but he knew deep in his heart: they were vile, horrible people, and they were terrible to you, despite what you believed.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

2 NEW MESSAGES FROM: Big Behz✊✊💦 Oi Harold you are late to filming Come on big boy😍

He swore softly under his breath, rubbing his eyes and throwing on a hoodie with a pair of trackie bottoms. Duty calls, of course. Strutting off to the guest bedroom where his recording equipment is, Harry begins to hatch a plan. Obviously, yeah, he can’t make you tell him what happened in detail. But he wants to be able to be there for you.

—

It’s nearing 9PM when you leave work. You never usually stay that late, but you needed something to keep your mind off of things. It has always been like that, for you. There was no need to talk about your feelings if there was something you could be doing. And! And, it also lets you work through it alone. By doing a repetitive task for a few hours, you usually found yourself replaying events that had happened, coming to conclusions upon them, and deciding what to do. Although, this one had royally and truly fucked you up.

You knew it wasn’t your fault. You knew that if there really were any issues, your friends should’ve come to you when it first started to be a problem, and discussed it like adults instead of jumping you during dinner. But it’s the same thing, over and over again. What if it’s true? It got to the point where the sound of your own mind is annoying you. You turned your phone fully off at lunch, after Becca had messaged you, acting as though nothing had happened, and you couldn’t be bothered to turn it back on again.

Which is why you hadn’t seen the messages from Harry, asking when you were coming home because he had a surprise for you.

Or any of his calls from the past two hours, each one slightly more concerned than the last.

So when you gather all your belongings from your desk, saying goodbye to your remaining coworkers, you’re quite surprised to see Harry waiting outside the building. He’s not facing in your direction, but you can see the anxious tapping of his foot, the way he keeps checking his phone, and the bouquet of tulips hanging limply in his other hand.

You still for a second, just watching him. Your boyfriend is a beautiful man. The setting sun catches itself on him, illuminating his blond hair and making it look like spun gold. You know he’s handsome, of course, and you know others think so too. You’d seen enough edits, alongside having read fanfiction with him for a video. But you know who he is under the famous hot guy from the Sidemen. He has a very large heart, and is endlessly patient with you. Seeing him standing there, all you wanted to do was run and throw your arms around his neck, but something was holding you back.

“y/n!” He called out to you, slowly approaching. Shit. You hadn’t even realised he’d seen you. “There you are, my girl.” He smiles at you with a nervous grin you haven’t seen since your first date. You feel a bit nauseous at the thought that you made him nervous, because it didn’t feel like it was in a good way.

“Harry! Hey!” You said, a bit louder than you probably should have. He was in front of you now, phone slipped into his pocket, still holding the bouquet. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

He went to give you a hug, but pulled back at the last second, “These- these are for you. Obviously. Erm, I thought you- I thought you’d like ‘em. You know? Er. Yeah. Do you? Like them?” He practically shoves the flowers in your direction, before stuffing his hands into his pockets, scrutinising you for your reaction. A weak smile spreads across your face.

“I love them. Thank you, Harry.” Your words come out clipped, but the smile grows as you look down at the bouquet, and Harry feels his heart grow three sizes.

Without realising it, you’d begun to walk the route home. Harry kept looking at you from the corner of his eye, but you didn’t look at him once. You kept your gaze down on the pavement in front of you, the bouquet tucked into the crook of your elbow. You were quiet and Harry didn’t want to disrupt you when you were so clearly deep in thought. He hoped you were thinking about telling him what was the matter when you got home. He needed to know.

It’s 15 minutes of silence before the pair of you reach your building and step into the lift, and the silence persists to the flat. Harry unlocks the door for you, and again, that same weak smile from you. You bustle into the flat, past the living room and into the kitchen, grabbing a vase from one of the cabinets and filling it with water for the flowers. Harry looks at you walk past the dining table. He never considered himself a particularly good chef, but Harry would like to argue the smell of the stir fry he’d made would make anyone salivate!

“Er- y/n! I made dinner, if you want any? It’s stir fry, and like, I know you like it so if you want any, absolutely have some because I will be indulging as welllll!” He rambles loudly, hoping you hear him. It’s then he realises that the sound of running water has stopped.

He goes into the kitchen to find the vase with the tulips on the island, and you by the sink, body shaking with poorly concealed sobs.

Harry’s eyes widen, and he quickly scurries to your side. “Hey, y/n, y/n.”

You shake your head as he repeats your name, hand clamped over your mouth, eyes screwed shut in a way that seems painful. Harry moves behind you. He wraps his arms around you, and gently begins rocking back-and-forth. The repetitive movement is soothing, and you find it taking your mind off of the overwhelming feeling of utter despair. Harry doesn’t try to talk, and you don’t either, instead you turn around and bury your face in his chest. He remains rocking, but also gently runs a hand through your hair. This makes you cry harder.

You don’t know how long you’re there, but eventually breathing becomes easier, and you move your head from Harry’s chest to look at him. He raises a hand to wipe the tears from your face, doing it gently enough that it tickles slightly, causing you to huff out a small laugh. He smiles toothily at that. Hope is not lost yet.

His eyes search yours for several moments. It’s times like these where Harry wishes he could read your mind, and make everything better for you.

Exhaling shakily, you disentangle yourself from him. You lean your back against the kitchen counter. You look over Harry’s shoulder at the tulips, and you begin to explain the events of your girl’s night. It’s easier to not look at him when you talk about things like this. You’re sure if you saw his eyes, and the amount of love he held for you in them, you’d break down in tears again.

Harry’s jaw clenches from where he’s stood, but he makes sure to not interrupt you. At the end of your explanation, he pulls you back in for a hug. He rests his chin on your head, and you let yourself go limp against him.

“I’m so fucked up, Harry. I’m so sorry. I- I know I should be able to deal with this. And I am, I am, I promise. But I just- I can’t-” Your words catch in your throat, and Harry gently grabs your shoulders and makes you face him.

“y/n, I promise you, you aren’t fucked up. Nothing that you’re feeling right now is- is a problem for me, okay? I’m your boyfriend, I can deal with some of your fuckin’- fuckin’ emotional baggage! You’re my y/n, right? We do this together.” You huff when he says emotional baggage, but he can tell it’s jokingly. You open your mouth to say something, but he shakes his head. “I love you so fuckin’ much, y/n. I don’t think you actually grasp that. You’re my best friend in this entire world, pleasedon’ttellBehzorVik, and hearing you repeat the shit that your so-called ‘friends’ said actually makes me so mad. We can find you new friends, Faith’s been harassing me for ages about you two having a one-on-one date! I don’t want you to listen to a word they say about you, and I know that’ll be incredibly hard for you, so listen to me instead: I love you. I love everything about you. You are the person I want to spread the rest of my life with. So who in the world gives a fuck about what they say?!”

“Only some of my emotional baggage?” You laugh lightly. You’re smiling at him, and for Harry it feels like the sun has risen again.

“y/n, don’t be a dick!” He squeezes your shoulders lightly. “I am being serious, though. I love you, y/n. I never want to see you cry like that again, because it makes my heart hurt. The only thing you should do is be yourself. You are not responsible at all for that lot and their problems. You’re perfect for me, y/n. You’re it for me, you know that.”

You kiss him gently, and he responds with gusto.

“I think I love you more than you could ever know.” You murmur against his lips, “Thank you, Harry. Really. I love you.” You pull away from him. He’s looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky, and a full smile spreads across your face. “So… stir fry, huh?”

“It’ll be fuckin’ cold now, but yes. Stir fry.”

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