A/N: Hi! Sorry for the delay… this part contains smut, 18+ only please.
Also, like last time, this piece is very long, so if you can’t open it on the app I suggest reading on Wattpad.
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ] / [ read ‘timeless ] / [ story tag ] / [ talk to me ]
Harry shifts the squirming bundle in his arms as he fumbles with getting his keys out of his pocket. His nose scrunches when he feels a cold sensation against his chin and he lifts his head upwards, trying to escape it, but to no avail.
“Stop it,” he murmurs, smiling as he gets the key into the door. The cold sensation tingles across the skin of his neck now, accompanied by another even colder one.
A/N: Thank you for loving Rhea and Harry. Welcome back to their world. This part contains smut, 18+ only please.
Also, this is very long, so if you can't open it on the app I suggest reading on Wattpad. And Tumblr only lets me add 10 images to a post so I couldn't use all my scene dividers SORRY!!!!
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ] / [ read 'timeless ] / [ story tag ] / [ talk to me ]
December 2015
It's fitting, Rhea thinks, to be finishing where they all first started.
It's been a few years since she's been here, at the studio, the stage where it all began. Some things are different. The master control station for lights, sound, and picture is no longer directly off to the right of the famous X-Factor stage. They've expanded both the size and extent of backstage dressing rooms for the contestants. They've become much better at tucking any wires out of the way, away from stumbling, fledging pop-stars to be.
But it's also the same in many ways.
[[MORE]]
The way Simon runs the show, even if he rarely steps foot back here. The silent command and efficient skill of all of those behind-the-scenes who help make each and every show run. Most of all, though, Rhea recognizes the persistent buzz — the anticipation gliding through each and every person she passes backstage. Maybe she's imagining it, this golden aura she can see around everyone as they rush to make this the best finale yet.
It won't be hard, considering who is performing, but today is not just a welcome back trip to the show that formed One Direction all those years ago. It's a goodbye. It's a the end. It's a... a precarious pause of sorts.
It was here, on this stage, amongst these halls and in the company of some of the same, original people that the world's biggest boyband in recent years was formed. 5 boys — now 4 — all young, all hungry for a shot at following their dreams. They all defined what it meant to have the X-Factor.
And it's here, on this stage, where they'll bid the world farewell.
Rhea smiles at familiar faces that she passes on the way to the main dressing room, her heart hammering in her chest more furiously than it ever has before. If she trusted herself to not get misty, she'd stop, maybe chat with them. Reminisce with people on how far not only the boys have come — but she has too.
She's thought about it a lot — how much she has changed — even with the whirlwind of the decision to go on hiatus, between the final album and all the work that came with it. The last time she was here, she was young too. A different person entirely. Working for this show gave her a shot, but more than that, it gave her a found family.
For 5 years now, she's grown alongside the boys, alongside the phenomenon that is One Direction. And now, it's all coming to an end.
No longer will her days consist of working with these boys, with this team. She'll not have to worry about them fooling around too close to when they have to go on stage, or making sure their mics are working, or guiding and booking and scheduling.
It'll all stop, after tonight.
All of it.
Her nights will no longer be filled with drinking and playing card games in hotel rooms, making Louis swear like a sailor when he loses. Or talking with Liam, when he's desperately missing his family. Spending every waking moment laughing with Niall, the very best friend she has ever had.
As she rounds the corner into the hallway that leads to the dressing room, Rhea lets her mind drift to him.
After tonight, they'll no longer be able to use their proximity as an excuse for their arrangement. She won't wake up early, when it's still dark outside in whatever city they are in, to see him slipping back into his clothes from the night before to sneak back to his room. There will be no more stolen backstage kisses, or longing stares, or the heart-wrenching need to be with him, near him. No more stolen photos between the sheets, for their eyes only. No more knowing his tattooed skin better than her own.
No more Harry.
Rhea stops in front of the shut dressing room door for a moment. She can hear the lads inside, talking away at their usual loud volume. Niall's laugh echoes around the room and it makes her smile, a tiny bit.
Ever since they had the meeting, and the resulting meetings to follow after Harry suggested the hiatus, she's been running from this truth. Clinging to the late nights, the familiar, if not toxic routine she's established with him.
She's not ready to say goodbye to any of it. To him. For so long, it's been go, go, go. Onto the next show, next hotel, next event. And now it's all going to come to an abrupt, screeching end and they'll all part ways. For the first time in half a decade, she and Harry will be apart for more than a couple of weeks.
And really, it shouldn't matter. They've never put a label on this — this situation — of theirs. He's not been shy to meet other people. And she's never had the guts to ask him for more. She's been willing to love him halfway for so long now, she doesn't know any other way how to.
How much of their relationship was based on convenience? Of being near each other? Will he think about her as much as she'll think about him?
For so long, she's been afraid to acknowledge that maybe she and Harry were never meant to be. At least, not in the way she wanted them to be. She's not meant for that kind of love. And she knows it's pathetic, but so many of her formative years have been spent in his company. He's grown around her and she him; their roots intertwined so messily that pulling them apart now is akin to pure torture.
She loves Harry so thoroughly, if she lets herself think about it in depth, she gets embarrassed. It's never easy to be the one who is more into the other person.
And as much as she hates to admit it, a part of her is relieved. Playing this game for years has been exhausting, and though she's scared to be without him, she knows it's time. If she doesn't make a clean break now, she never will.
The moment she opens that dressing room door, it's the first domino in the row. It'll trigger the rest of the downfall. The performance. The after party. Saying goodbyes.
This is it, she thinks, lifting her hand and letting it hover a few inches away from the door. This is the motion that sets it all into action. This is the beginning of the end.
For some reason, it feels like her heart is dangling from her own fingers. It's in her hands to save it, or let it fall to the floor and shatter. Rhea looks down, her hair cascading around her face. She takes a deep breath, blinks back the water in her eyes, and raps her fist against the door.
It's Louis who yells a "come in" and when Rhea steps inside, shutting the door behind her, she leans her back against it, taking in the room. Lou is packing away her supplies at the vanity, tucking hairbrushes and products into the case she's had for years. She turns toward the door and meets Rhea's eyes, her own misty. Cal is sitting on one of the couches, tinkering with his beloved camera.
Niall and Louis are standing in front of the mirror, fixing their hair. Liam is scrolling through his phone, leaning against the wall across from Rhea. Harry is seated on the other couch, bent over and tying the laces on the black dress shoes he's wearing. No boots tonight, it seems.
There's an empty presence in the room, lingering as it has been since Zayn left, but still, Rhea stands there looking around at them and she's transported back to the last time they were at an X-Factor finale. She can remember how young they were, more energetic, less tarnished by the harsh conditions of stardom. Full of dreams, ecstatic for what was to come.
It knocks the wind out of her, the comparison, the realization of how far they've come. They've been so busy these past few years, there's rarely been a moment for them to stop and simply take it all in.
"Lou's threatened to kill us if we cry and that applies to you too," Niall says, breaking the silence and pulling Rhea out of her head. She glances over at him, his reflection in the mirror giving her a knowing look.
"Because every time someone cries, I cry, and I've already redone my makeup three times," the woman grumbles. "I'm just wasting product now."
Rhea laughs softly under her breath, leaning away from the door and stepping further into the room. "No tears from me," she promises, half-heartedly. She can feel Harry's eyes on her from where he is on the couch. She's been trying to force herself not to be so attuned to him, to his presence, these past few weeks. It takes everything in her not to turn her entire attention to him. "You boys ready then?"
"According to Lousie, yes," Louis rumbles, stepping towards her. "Will you help me with this mic? Forgot how much I hated these." He takes a seat on one of the makeup chairs as Rhea accepts the mic and steps closer.
"We should've used your tour ones," she mumbles, helping him pin it securely onto the lapel of his jacket and hiding it at much as she can. "They've always used clunky equipment here."
"The earpieces used to fall out of my ears," Liam adds with a nostalgic laugh.
Lou has packed all her things up, and she's headed toward the doorway now. "I'll see you lot after," she says, opening the door. Harry opens his mouth and she shoots him a glare, "No speeches, Styles. It's not goodbye yet."
With that, she leaves, and Cal shuffles out after her a few moments later. Letting the room fall into silence.
Rhea bites the inside of her cheek as she helps Niall with his mic. The silence is odd. In all the years she's known these boys, really, these men, they've never been silent. But today is different. And she'd bet that the weird, sinking feeling she has going on inside her is something they all have too. It's the end of an era.
When she's done with Niall, she takes a step back and clasps her hands together. They're all ready to go. She glances at each of them, her heart a stone in her chest. Over her headset, she can hear them asking for the boys to come to stage, almost ready to have them on stage for their final performance.
"They're asking for you guys," she says, quietly, leaning back against the edge of the makeup table. It's all she can manage.
"Right," Harry says, standing up from the couch. His voice sends a shiver up Rhea's spine, but she forces herself to remain still. "Where'd you lads put it?"
"Back here," Liam says, walking around the room to a small closet. He opens it and pulls out two wrapped packages and heads back.
"From all of us," Niall adds as the four boys gather around her.
Rhea frowns, her brows pulling together, scanning each of their faces. "Guys... you didn't have to get me anything."
"We wanted to," Louis insists as Liam hands her the gifts. "Wouldn't be here without you, love."
Rhea touches his arm with her free hand, setting down one of the packages. She tears away the wrapping on the first and it reveals a navy blue embossed notebook with her initials on it. RTW.
"For all your notes on all your clients at the firm who are going to drive you crazy," Niall offers with a grin. "But you better not forget we were the first to do that."
"Shut up," Rhea bites back with a grin, running her fingers across the embossed initials. She's due on a flight to New York tomorrow morning. Her recently launched firm kicks off next week. Her apartment is half furnished, boxes everywhere. She sets the notebook aside and starts opening the other package.
It's a photo frame, she realizes. But when she sees the photo, her hands fall still. Inside it is a picture of all 5 of the lads and her on the first night of WWA tour. She's squashed between Niall and Harry with Liam and Zayn on the right and Louis on the left. It's backstage, right before they ran outside to put on the show.
Her fingers glide over the glass, ever so gently. This time, when tears rush to her eyes, she doesn't blink them back. "Oh, guys..." she trails off, her voice faint. She finally looks up at them, "It's perfect."
"Don't cry," Harry says, shaking his head. For the first time since she walked into the room, she lets herself look at him. He's wearing a red floral patterned suit with a simple black dress shirt inside. His hair is so long these days. His eyes, a piercing green she'll never be able to forget. He's giving her a soft smile and Rhea blinks and tears are slipping down her cheek.
"Aw, Rhe," Niall groans, closest to her side he steps to her, swinging an arm around her neck, pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head. "Come on now, it's alright."
"I'm sorry," she blubbers, rubbing at her cheek with her free hand. She's hugging the frame to her chest now as Liam slips in on her other side. She's squished in a hug between the two of them. "I just... it's all ending."
"We'll still talk, love, just won't be annoying each other each and every day," Louis says, giving her a grin.
Rhea nods, her face resting against Niall's chest. She wipes at her cheeks again and takes a deep breath. "Alright, enough of that. Thank you for these," she says quietly, taking time to look at each of the boys. Harry is still watching her with those caring, inquisitive eyes and it makes her stomach flip. "Thank you for... for everything. You've all changed my life." She pauses, and adds, "We're a family."
"Reckon that justifies a group hug then," Liam says, opening his arm and gesturing Louis closer. Harry squeezes in on Niall's side, and suddenly, Rhea finds herself actually squished between all four of them.
"All your cologne is suffocating me," she whines, and after a few moments the boys are stepping away, grabbing their phones and heading to the door. Liam and Louis head out first, but Harry lingers close to Rhea's side.
Niall pauses in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two of them. "I'll... tell them you two are coming." Rhea swears, he shoots Harry a narrow-eyed look before he leaves and closes the door behind him.
Harry's stepping closer to her before the door even shuts, his hand settling on her elbow. "Alright?" He murmurs, reaching his free hand up and using his thumb to wipe away the wet tracks her tears have left on her cheek.
She nods her head, still hugging the frame to her body. "Yeah," she murmurs, watching him with hesitant eyes. He looks so much older in this moment. Suddenly, she's recalling the first time Zayn had all the boys over. She'd been so nervous. Harry had made her feel... normal, safe. Even in his outrageous purple trainers and wild mop of chestnut curls.
Harry watches her right back for a moment before swallowing. He reaches for the edge of the frame, and reluctantly, Rhea lets him take it. He stares down at the photo, "Niall and Louis picked it. Liam and I got the notebook."
"They're wonderful," Rhea says, watching Harry step to the side to set her frame away. She takes off her headset and Harry takes it from her, setting it on the table.
When he comes back, he reaches for her, and she steps to him like they're magnets. His hands land on her waist, and hers settle against his chest, holding onto the lapels of his suit jacket.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little," he admits, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He brushes her hair away from her face and Rhea's eyes flutter shut at the contact. "It's weird, being here for this."
She hums in agreement, and a steady quiet falls between them. She's waiting for him to say it, to make a move. To ask what comes next. Part of her is waiting for her to do it herself, to take the leap. To add some sort of definition here. Because after tonight, everything will change.
"Look at me," Harry says, quietly. "My love."
The pet name stings, more than usual, but Rhea opens her eyes. Harry looks conflicted, and maybe she's projecting, but it almost seems like he can't decide what exactly he wants to say. Finally, he sighs, and pulls her impossibly closer to him. He leans down and rests his forehead against hers. "I..." he begins, "I can't believe all of this brought me you."
In that moment, Rhea knows. Without a doubt, she knows this is the closest either of them will ever get to admitting anything real. She's a coward, and Harry... well, he may not love her like she loves him. But somehow, it's enough, a bittersweet but fitting ending to this saga. She has no doubt that in the coming months, in the darkness of her apartment, in the unfamiliarity of the new era of her life, she will miss him terribly. So much so that it might make her question everything.
"Technically, I think Simon Cowell brought me you," she says with a laugh. "And my internship application."
Harry laughs, and both of them still when they hear Rhea's headset beep from the table. "You have to go," she whispers, as she has so many times before to him.
"I know," Harry says. "Gonna give me a hug before I do?"
It's a tradition, after all, and who knows if Rhea will ever get to see Harry like this again? To be backstage with him before a show.
So she nods her head, and she pushes up on her toes, and throws her arms around his neck and he brings her body tight against his. One arm anchors her waist, the other wrapped around her shoulder. She buries her face in his neck, taking a deep breath. They'll hug again tonight — there will be many hugs from everyone, but this is the last one, just for them. For good luck.
Neither one of them seems to want to let go, but ultimately, it's Rhea who forces herself to pull away. Harry doesn't let her get far, though, his face ducking down over hers. "Rhe..." his hand is on her cheek and Rhea is leaning towards him, meeting him halfway and pressing her lips to his.
It's not a goodbye kiss, but it feels like one, and she puts her entire self into it. His fingers are in her hair, matching her intensity, and she feels like the world is being pulled out from under her and all she wants to do is stop time, or rewind it, because she doesn't want to lose this, lose him-
And there's a knock on the door, startling them both, and Harry is glaring over his shoulder at the door. When he turns back to her, the moment is gone, and Rhea is pulling herself away from him, from his warmth. She gathers her gifts and puts her headset back on. "We should go," she offers quietly.
Harry clears his throat, and nods, running his fingers through his hair. "You're coming tonight, yeah? To the party?"
"Of course," Rhea says, giving him a smile as she heads toward the door.
Harry lets out a sigh of relief and after a final look around the room, follows after her.
Harry's been swimming in nostalgia, and a little bit of regret all day.
It's been a lot, coping with his decision to ask the others to hit pause on the band. They've done so much, in so little time. And while he's excited to have a break, to explore new things for himself, he'll never deny how much this experience has changed him. It's shaped who he is, and who he will be, and that's something that isn't easy to part with.
He knew he'd be emotional today, everyone is, but even then... there are so many people he wants to thank, to spend time with before it all comes to an end.
And this helps the fact that he's been trying so hard to distance himself from Rhea.
Rhea, his sweet, beautiful girl who is across the room laughing at something Niall's mum has said, her face full of joy, eyes bright and smile shining. Harry wonders, absentmindedly, if he'll ever be able to be in the same room as her and not be immediately drawn to her presence. He wonders if this magnetic pull between them will ever dim. If it will ever become easier.
Maybe, the distance will help. If he isn't around her all day, every day, then he won't have to think about her all the time. Maybe he'll finally be able to set her free, and let go of his selfish need to keep her safe and all to himself.
Part of him regrets getting involved with her — not in a bad way, because he wants her with every fiber of being in his body, but because he's put her through hell. He's pushed and pulled and hurt her when all he's ever wanted was to keep her safe. And it's taken until tonight for him to realize that the best way to do that is to let her go once and for all.
It's hard for him to imagine his life without Rhea. In all the change he's gone through these past few years, she has been one of the only constants. She's always been there. Every misstep, every triumph, every bad day. Harry's become too used to ending his days with her, he's not sure how he'll cope with not doing it.
But he's older now, and so is she, and in a weird way, he realizes that she's grown up right in front of his eyes. He's been a part of her growth; and she his, and now... now they're supposed to separate and learn how to be without one another.
And if he weren't a coward, he'd march across that room and ask her to be his — completely, fully — but he can't do that to her. He won't. Maybe, if he's lucky, after this break, his life will calm down just enough for him to be able to take that step. But until then, he can't fight his gut instinct to want to keep her out of harm's way.
That's the thing about Rhea. She's the one pure thing left in his life; untouched by the blemishes of being in such a bright, everlasting spotlight. He knows a single walk together, a glimpse of them being intimate, of him doing the bare minimum that a boyfriend should do to let his girlfriend know he loves her — the public and the press alike will latch onto it.
And that pure, unfiltered, untarnished thing will vanish. It will become the focus of another dozen rag articles. And Rhea doesn't deserve to have to deal with those things just because this is the life Harry has chosen for himself.
Even with all this swimming in his mind, with the drinks he's had coursing through his veins, he can't help but wonder what if? What if he took a chance? Would she say yes? Would she be her stubborn self and tell him that she could handle it, all the things he wants to protect her from, that they'd figure it out together?
Or would she put him out of his misery and tell him goodbye first?
Harry takes a sip of his drink, nodding along at whatever it is Simon is droning on about and has been for the past few minutes. Rhea meets his eyes from across the room, her smile fading a bit, but not entirely. She raises her brows at him in question as Harry lowers his glass from his lips.
The night is winding down now. The after party is still roaring away, but that's to be expected of a 'goodbye, One Direction' one. He and the lads have already said their goodbyes, made vows to stay in touch. He's had a pointed conversation with Niall who told him he has to make a clean break after tonight. For his sake, and for Rhea's.
And now, all that's left is saying goodbye to her.
Harry's eyes drift up her figure, one that he has memorized, that he can bring to his mind the moment he closes his eyes. She's wearing a navy blue dress for the party, and under the warmth of the lights in this party venue, she looks more stunning than ever before.
Maybe it's the panic talking — because this goodbye will be the hardest for Harry. The one that will take everything out of him. This is the one he's been avoiding as much as he's been trying to avoid her — to get himself used to the idea that they will no longer orbit around each other on a daily basis.
If he's going to let Rhea Trivedi-Williams go, he has to do so completely, irrevocably.
Because this — this he can't do halfway.
And so he makes a polite exit from his conversation with Simon, promising to stay in touch about what he's working on next, and Harry sets his glass down on a tray. He runs his fingers through his hair, and hopes that nobody stops him as he starts walking across the room.
Rhea's watching his every move, her own eyes drifting over the red suit he's donned for tonight. When he stops in front of her, his voice is low, meant only for her ears.
"Ready t'go?"
For a moment, Harry senses hesitation in her features. Features that he adores. In her brown eyes, he's seen every emotion. He's pressed his lips against her own so many times now, but he feels as if he still has yet to memorize the exact shape. The slope of her nose. The sharpness of her gaze. How is he ever supposed to move on?
But then, she smiles, and takes a step closer to her, inclining her head in a silent nod.
And perhaps in a game of risk, Harry reaches for her hand with abandon, and when Rhea places her palm in his, he squeezes, tight and begins to lead them out of the room and toward the elevators that lead up to everyone's hotel rooms.
When they make it into the hotel room, Rhea's starting to lose her nerve. She's the one who swipes the key card, so Harry doesn't get to see how her hands are shaking ever so slightly. When he files past her into the room and begins taking his shoes off on the other side of the bed, she watches every one of his movements, mesmerized by it.
Because this is the last time. The last hotel room. The last... everything.
And she's had that knowledge with her for some time now, she's known that this was coming for ages. But now that it's here, she's not ready to let go. She wants to cling to this until her fingers are raw and bleeding from how tight her grip is.
After tonight, Harry will leave. And so will she. And as this chapter of their lives closes, she realizes that the chapter about them is over too.
Harry lifts his head and catches her staring, cocking his head to the side, but before he can say anything, Rhea turns around. She drops the keycard on the table. She moves methodically away from him, putting space between them in the vast hotel room.
It's an interesting scene for their final act. It's better than some of the hotels they've been at before, but not the best. It's comfortable and unnerving all at once. She'll remember every inch of this room in her memories, despite her best attempt not to.
Rhea stands in front of the mirror on the wall outside the bathroom, looking at herself for a moment. She should say something, anything to break the silence in this room. But perhaps for the first time, she doesn't know what exactly to say in Harry's presence.
How is she supposed to start this, their last night together?
She doesn't trust herself enough to do that, to be able to open her mouth and not burst into tears. All night, the urge has been building. She wants it to be perfect, a crystal clear memory that she can turn to whenever she wants. But that means acknowledging that... that this is the last memory, the last bit of time she'll get to spend with Harry.
His hands are pressing on either side of her hips, making Rhea jump a bit. She lifts her face to see Harry behind her, staring at her face in the mirror with concern. He bends his head and presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Didn't mean t'scare you."
"You didn't," she replies in a soft voice, one barely above a whisper. She lets him pull her body back against his and Rhea lets her eyes close when Harry's head dips close to the side of hers, his lips against her temple now.
It's all too much, because this is it, the final domino of the night. And she feels a tsunami of emotion rushing through her. She's turning in his arms and burying her face in his chest.
Harry's body reacts a second too late at her sudden movement, but he's slipping his arms around her again, burying his face into the top of her head and hugging her tight.
"I don't want to talk," she says, finally, the words muffled yet audible to him in the quiet of the hotel room.
He knows exactly what she means.
He doesn't want to say goodbye either. He doesn't have the words. He didn't on the elevator ride up, or when she was watching him take off his shoes. He's been thinking about what he'll say to her during this moment for weeks now.
But it's not possible, saying goodbye to someone you love in a way that doesn't completely and utterly destroy you both in the process.
So he closes his eyes, and kisses the top of her head, and he gets a whiff of that coconut shampoo scent he's smelled for years. "Okay. Okay. We don't have to talk."
This seems to relax her, because the small amount of hesitancy in her muscles ebbs away and her body is completely sinking into his. Harry holds her up with ease against him, falling quiet again.
He's thinking of all the time they've spent together in hotel rooms over the years. Of all the memories, the firsts she's shared with him, and how important that is to him. He's thinking about how every time he had to pull himself away from her to wake up early and sneak back to his own room. He's thinking about how much he loves her and how much it kills him that he can't express this to her.
He's thinking, wishing, willing that he deserved her. Forever.
He's not sure how long they stand there like that, him, holding her in the foyer of the hotel room. But when she finally extricates herself from his neck, Harry can spot a familiar look in her eyes. Rhea's sliding her hands down from where they were clasped behind his neck, down his chest, under the lapels of his jacket.
He watches her face as she slowly opens the first button of his dress shirt, then the next, and so on until it's billowing open and his butterfly tattoo is peeking out in greeting. Her eyes flicker up to his as she brushes her hands against his skin, under the fabric of his shirt, untucking it and trailing her fingers across the width of his shoulder blades. The shirt falls back a little, and the suit jacket too, and then Rhea is bending her head, trailing kissing down his skin in a line that's identical to where the shirt buttons were before.
He closes his eyes, tipping his head back and bringing one hand to rest gently on the back of her head. He can feel his eyes stinging and fuck, fuck, fuck he's going to miss this; miss her. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to say goodbye. He doesn't want to lose her.
Rhea's in front of him now, almost on her knees, her fingers dipping just below the waistband of his trousers. He helps her tug them off, just barely over the thick of his thighs, and she's kissing the skin there, lips soft. When her lips press close to where he's hardening, his head snaps up, looking down at her with his chest rising and falling.
"No," he says, shaking his head. He bends down and reaches for her, bringing her back up, "No, love."
She frowns at him as he pushes her hair out of her face, "But-"
Harry pulls her flush to him, laying a heavy kiss on her mouth. She melts into it and he takes advantage of it, gripping the backs of her thighs, urging her to jump. He guides her legs to wrap around his waist, turning them, walking back to the bed and laying her down on it.
Her dark hair is spread across the white hotel sheets, and she props up on her elbows to watch him when he backs up to step completely out of his pants. "Later," he promises her, swooping down to press a kiss to her pouty lips. "Can get your mouth on me later, I promise, but right now..."
Harry straightens up, kicking his trousers aside, walking back to the bed. He wraps his fingers around one of Rhea's ankles, dragging her down the bed and closer to him in one swift movement. He leans his body over hers, hand brushing over the top of her head. "Right now, let me take care of you, yeah?"
It's spoken like a prayer, a plea even and he stares into her eyes for a few seconds before kissing her. Rhea's fingers glide into his curls, holding him close to her. His right-hand presses against her leg, sliding up, under the hem of her dress.
His suit jacket strains against his shoulders, and he pulls his lips away from Rhea's reluctantly, mumbling a "for fucks sake" under his breath as he pulls back, stripping one arm out of his jacket.
"No," Rhea cries, scrambling up onto her knees. "Let me," she murmurs, pushing the fabric off his shoulder, helping him take it off. The shirt is easier, since it's already open. It falls to the floor and Rhea's kissing along his chest again.
Harry reaches around her, pulling down the zipper of her dress. It falls away, pooling around her knees. He brings his hand down her body, from her shoulder, trailing down her arm, brushing the fabric of her dress aside to make room. His hand settles on her thigh, fingers dancing across the impossibly soft skin as Rhea's lips find the spot on his neck that makes his eyes roll back.
There are no rules tonight. No worry of someone spotting hickies the next day. No need to be careful.
He has to angle his hand a certain way to brush against her heat from how she's kneeling, but he's able to do so, to feel the wet patch against her panties. He presses his index and middle finger against her, savoring the gasp that falls out of her mouth from the action. "Wet for me?"
It's a rhetorical question, because he's slipping his fingers under the lace, and he has the answer in seconds. "That's my girl," he says, smirking as he trails his fingers up and down her slit. He slips one inside after teasing her for a bit, and then another, and Rhea's clinging to his neck, panting warmly against his skin as he curls his fingers just how he knows she likes it.
He knows her body so well, all the tell-tale signs. What each moan means, how to get her to cling to him tighter, how to get the exact reaction he's craving. How to make her feel good, better than anyone else ever will.
Harry's wrist begins to ache from the angle he has it at, his fingers no longer pushing as far as he'd like them to, but Rhea's clinging to his shoulders, and from the way she's clenching around him he knows she's getting close.
He turns his head, kissing the top of hers, wincing as he pulls his fingers out. The arm that's wrapped around her, helping keep her propped up squeezes her body to his. "Baby," he murmurs, fingers lifting, brushing through her soft hair. "Lie back for me," he says, coaxing Rhea out of the hiding place she's made in his neck. "I'm not done with you yet," he promises when she whines under her breath.
He tosses her dress to the floor, bracing himself on one hand as he leans over her body. Rhea watches him with quiet admiration, meeting his lips when he offers a quick kiss. Harry's hands slide around the sides of her hips, fingers dipping under the waistband of her panties. He meets her eyes, the question silent but clear. He asks every time. No matter how many times they've done this. Even if this is the last time.
Rhea's eyes soften and she nods and Harry slides the panties off her legs, and tosses them over his shoulder before spreading her thighs. He brushes open-mouthed, hot kisses against the inside of them as her hands settle in his curls. He spends time loving on that birthmark of hers, the one on the inside of her thigh that only he knows about. "Keep watching me," he instructs, keeping his eyes on her as he lowers his mouth to her.
It doesn't take long for Rhea to come all over his tongue, but even then, Harry keeps one of his palms spread over her tummy to keep her in place as he gets her there. He has to use both of his arms to keep her thighs spread when she finishes with an echoing moan of his name, and when she's done and trembling, he lifts his face and licks his lips, watching her.
Her eyes are closed now, and he helps guide her fingers from his hair, brushing kisses to both sets of her knuckles before helping her close her legs and crawling back up her body, brushing his own fingers across the apple of her right cheek.
Harry can't help himself, he bends down and presses kisses against her jaw, her chin, her lips. When he lands one on the bridge of her nose, Rhea opens her eyes, glassy and fucked out. She bites her lip as she lifts a hand to his face.
He kisses the inside of her palm, watching her silently. It's in moments like these — these brief, slow reprises between making her his that really unnerve him. Because Rhea is looking at him like she always looks at him, like he's the only one she'll ever have eyes for, and that makes him want to hold her against him and never let go.
Maybe he should tell her. He could. Right now. Just open his mouth and confess that he loves her so much it's terrifying. That he doesn't want her to leave, that he doesn't want this to end. That he wants her to be his forever.
Instead, he swallows back the tide of emotion, and he brushes the baby hairs that rest at the front of her hairline. "Think you can take me? Or do you want to stop?"
Rhea's eyebrows pull together and she shakes her head, "I want to. I can," she adds, in a voice that is confident, and Harry's all too aware of the fact that he's helped her gain that confidence. and something about that sets a fire ablaze in his chest.
And when he pulls away from her enough to take his boxers off and roll a condom over himself, they don't break eye contact. Rhea's watching him from the bed and Harry is reminded of every single instance in which they've done this. From the first, to this the last.
He doesn't want to think of it as him stealing her innocence, because he hadn't, and that's not what this is. What it ever was. But still, Harry can't ignore the pang in his chest at how this all started. How shy she was. How willing. How gentle.
There's a sense of trust there, trust that can only be felt with your first, if you're lucky enough.
And Harry doesn't ever want to break that.
When he crawls over her again, linking one set of their hands together and settling them by her head. He hums, brushing a kiss to her lips, "I know you can," he replies, finally. "Gonna show me how well you can take me?" When she nods, he grips himself at the base and teases her, pressing forward, watching every minute change in her features as he gathers her wetness against his head.
Tears are building in Rhea's eyes and finally, she squeezes his hand impatiently, "Harry, please."
It's killing him too, the suspense. He's killing time because he doesn't want this to end.
"I got you, Rhe," he says, kissing her cheek as he finally slides in. He wonders if it's the same for her, the familiar stretch of her taking him. Every single time he's been inside her, it has floored him. "M'right here," he says, for her, or him he's not sure.
Harry tells himself to take it slow, to pace himself, but Rhea fits him so snug — she always has — and he's finding a bruising pace, and she's wrapping her legs and arms around him, clinging to his body, taking each of his thrusts in stride, whining encouragements into his neck about how good it feels and how good he is and-
He grips her thigh, fingers digging into her skin as he presses him closer, closer, as close as he can get without completely crushing her. Harry glances down at himself disappearing inside her, and then lifts his eyes, feeling like a madman. He wants to go faster and slower all at once. His mind is spinning, his vision dazed. "Gimmie a kiss, love, let me-" he cuts off with a brutal moan when she clenches around him, "Rhea, please."
"Come here," she breathes, pressing her hands to his cheeks, guiding him down. She obliges, kissing him fully, completely, their breath mingled.
Harry's losing it, he can feel the tension of release clawing at him, and his hips stutter against Rhea's, trying to calm down. He pulls away from their kiss and brings a hand between her legs, circling her bundle of nerves. He's talking to himself under his breath, "Come on, come on..."
Rhea's fingers card through his curls and she gives them a tug, and that's when he realizes she's not just moaning his name but trying to get his attention. "You can come," she says, giving him an encouraging nod, "Don't hold it off."
"Not before you," he gripes. His rule. It's always been his rule. He presses his thumb to her a bit more firmly. They've just gotten started. He doesn't want it to end now. Not like this. Not coming too fast for his own good, but it's all too much.
"Please," she repeats, "For me. Come for me, Harry. I want it."
Harry meets her eyes again and he's surprised to see tears gathered there, and when he blinks, there's wetness in his own too. There's always been a sense of pride there, living in him, knowing that he's the only one who can make her talk like this.
"I want it," Rhea murmurs, nodding at him in encouragement. "I need it."
"Fuck," he groans, defeated, because it's there now. White and hot and angry and demanding and he's speeding up, trying to stay focused on keeping the motion of his thumb steady against her but he wants to drive home, he wants to stay inside her forever, and then—
Then he's finishing with hot, angry spurts into the condom and Rhea still hasn't come again but his finish takes everything out of him. He feels like jelly and he tries to keep himself up but his chest is pressed against Rhea's and he's out of breath, shocked how fast it came over him. How much it took out of him.
Rhea simply brushes her fingers through his hair, skimming them over his shoulder, down his arm. The only sound in the room is both of them trying to catch their breath, the occasional shuffling sound of Rhea on the sheets. He's buried his face in her neck and the shout he let out when he finished is echoing in her ears, bouncing off her skin.
Finally, Harry feels confident enough that he won't cave over and he lifts himself from the warmth of her skin. Rhea gives him a gentle smile and Harry presses his thumb under her chin, capturing her lips in a kiss. "M'sorry," he says when they separate, trailing his hand back down her body. A flick of his thumb makes her legs jolt around him. He's still buried inside her. "Let me make it up to you, my love."
"You don't have to be sorry," Rhea says, wincing as Harry finally pulls out. Her face falls and he pretends not to notice, like it doesn't wound him.
"We're supposed to finish together," he argues, like a child as he gets up to discard the condom.
When he comes back, she welcomes him with open arms and a tired smile. When he presses his hand between her legs, again, she lets him, even though she feels sensitive. She listens to all the things he whispers in her ear, coaxing her to the edge again, and when she finishes all over his hand, he sighs in relief.
Rhea's tired after that, and even though she wants more, Harry insists they get some rest first. It's only when he turns the lights off, and she's tucked against his bare chest, that she says: "We still have time...to finish together."
And they do, when a few hours later Harry wakes up hard and he coaxes her awake with messy kisses along her neck. He helps her lift her leg, still spooning, and slides into her from behind. He keeps his promise of letting her get her mouth on him, too.
And this time, Harry doesn't leave. When dawn starts glowing behind the hotel room curtains, he's wide awake, watching Rhea sleep soundly beside him. He's facing her on his own pillow, his arm draped over her waist. She's hogging all the sheets, and he can't move a muscle. He's never wanted to stay in bed with her more.
When she finally opens her eyes hours later, she lifts her head a little, eyes widened and sleepy to see him still there. Harry can't help but draw her infinitely closer, and kiss her forehead.
Neither of them say much that morning — the assumed last one together. He spends his time kissing every inch of her body. She traces her fingers over his tattoos. And when it's time to get up, to say goodbye, to move on...
It's quiet and awkward and a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and him, watching her walk down the hallway and into the elevator with his heart. It's her forgetting where she's going and not pressing a button and only realizing when the elevator doors reopen. It's him stepping back inside the hotel room and crawling into bed, hugging her pillow to his hollow chest. It's her, at the airport an hour later, looking out the windows at flights taking off and realizing that despite there being no big goodbye, it still hurts like hell.
TWO YEARS LATER
Two years have passed between that time and the next that Harry is able to wake up next to Rhea.
He opens his eyes, just enough to squint at her, and slowly the sleep draws away and he opens them fully. She's impossibly close to him, at the very edge of her pillow, fast asleep and her hand is reaching toward him. They'd fallen asleep like that, facing each other, holding hands in the middle of the mattress.
He lets his gaze scan over her, hair tousled all over, chest rising and falling with her breathing under the white sheets. She had just enough energy when they reached their hotel in Greece to wash her face, put on a sleeping shirt, and crawl into bed.
It almost feels surreal, being here with her. Harry scoots closer, careful not to jostle the bed too much. He doesn't want to wake her just yet. He carefully lays his palm over hers. He's a lucky, lucky man. It's not the first time he's had this thought since he showed up to Rhea's company gala. She'd agreed to take him back, after everything, and part of him wants to poke her cheek just to make sure she's real and not an apparition of his dreams. He'd almost lost her, for real, forever and he's had this exact dream one too many times before.
He still can't believe she'd agreed to come on this trip after learning that he'd been the one to auction on it. Because he simply doesn't deserve to be here, to be with her. But he's going to try like hell to finally deserve her. All the things he'd said to her at the gala hadn't been empty promises. He was going to be the very best version of himself for her.
Rhea shuffles under the covers, her hair falling into her face and Harry's heart stutters in his chest. She's still fast asleep, her legs stretched across the bed, shin pressing against his knee. He lifts his hand from hers, reaching over to brush her hair out of her face.
A rush of affection bursts through him when he sees her scrunch her nose up, pressing her face closer to the pillow. He knows she's stirring, just a bit, and he wonders if it's because the room is boiling. He should get up to turn the thermostat down, suddenly remembering how she can't stay asleep if the room isn't freezing.
Harry can't help himself as he props himself up on an elbow and leans closer to Rhea, careful not to bump her as he leans down and kisses the top of her head. He's surprised when he pulls back and sees her peering up at him through sleepy brown eyes.
"Good morning, my love," he murmurs, shooting her a smile as he presses a kiss to her cheek.
Rhea shifts around, lying back flat. She lifts her arms over her head in a stretch, her feet kicking the covers off her body. "Morning," she responds, smiling shyly at him.
Harry leans the side of his body against hers, turning so he's hovered over her. His palm presses into the mattress on the other side of her body. For a moment, neither of them say anything as she lifts her hand, carding it through his short curls. He watches her, pressing kisses into the inside of her arm.
"I like it short," she says after a moment. "When you walked into my office that day..." she trails off, her eyes scanning his face.
"What?" Harry prompts, raising an eyebrow at her.
Rhea bites her lip for a second, huffing, "I thought you looked so handsome. It was unfair. I was still trying to get over you and you waltzed in looking like that."
Harry ignores the pang at his chest over her words, instead, he laughs and turns his head, lightly biting her arm until Rhea shrieks in protest. "Good thing I'm so irresistible then, right? Otherwise, I never would've gotten you back."
"Oh yes," Rhea counters, a playful smile on her lips. "As long as you keep it short," she gives his curls a soft tug. "And give me affection."
"Is that the key to your heart?" Harry asks in mock astonishment. He's almost completely hovering over her now. He lifts her hand from his hair, kissing her knuckles before he presses it into the mattress. His other hand reaches for her free one, and he brings both her wrists into one hand, pressing them above her head. "Guess I should get to work then," he whispers, lips ghosting over her jaw, down the slope of her neck when she tips her head back for him.
Harry's free hand glides up her side, pushing the fabric of her t-shirt away, touching his cool skin against her. "Are you going to complain if I kiss you before brushing?" He pulls back enough to look into her eyes.
Rhea's are shining, her smile bold. She shakes her head, "No."
Harry lets his eyes pass back and forth between her eyes and lips before he leans down and kisses her, a soft, sweet morning kiss. When Rhea's wrists wiggle free from his hold, she presses either of her hands to his cheeks, holding him to her.
It's only when her back arches, just slightly, that Harry pulls away with a smacking sound. It pains him to do so, but he's been down this road before. Once they get carried away, there will be no stopping them.
He brushes his thumb against the corner of Rhea's right brow, shaking his head, "We should... get up. Order some breakfast?" When she continues to watch him in confusion, Harry sighs and lets his head drop, "I think we should take this slow, Rhe. I want you, but, I don't want to rush into this. Not this time."
And it's the truth. So much of their past has been based on sleeping together. He wants to take her on a date. He wants to be with her in every way possible. He doesn't want to wreck things again. And he certainly doesn't want her to think he's only here for the sex, no matter how hot and meaningful it is.
On his worst days apart from Rhea, he remembers what she'd yelled at him with tears streaming down her cheeks in that alleyway — that she felt like his dirty little secret. That she wasn't good enough for him.
Rhea's face relaxes at his words, and she gives him a gentle smile. "I think that's a smart idea. We need to talk about things anyway."
He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, leaning away as she sits up. He turns to the nightstand where they'd tossed the room service menu the night before. "You pick, I'll order," he says, handing the menu to her.
Rhea takes it, but she lifts his arm, tucking herself into his side so they aren't far apart. Harry grins, kissing the top of her head and pulling the covers back over them.
It's on the second day that Harry and Rhea finally decide to venture outside their hotel suite. The sun is setting as they walk to the restaurant Rhea made a reservation at earlier today, painting the opulent white and blue staggered city in a golden hue. The Aegean sea is never-ending around the city, the water as clear and blue as the color of the rooftops around them.
Rhea's wearing a simple, white sundress with a blue floral pattern around the border of the skirt and sleeves, one of the few cute things she'd been able to chuck into a suitcase in their rush to pack and make their flight. Her long hair flows over her shoulders in curls and she's wearing sunglasses.
Harry's next to her in crisp blue shorts a simple white t-shirt, donning his own black Ray-Bans. He takes a step closer to Rhea as they walk down the gray cobblestone streets that blend into one another just as the waves of the water do. He eyes her right hand, dangling by her side as they continue in the direction of the restaurant. He lifts his own palm, scratching at the back of his neck. He wants to reach over and take her hand and bring her closer to him. Every nerve in his body calls to hers.
And he told himself he'd be better about this. He'd be more direct. And he knows this is their first official outing together, and that he has time, but as much as he wants to he can't bring himself to step toward her and take her hand like he's dying to.
This makes him feel useless, and frustrated with himself, like he's already blowing this precious final chance that Rhea has decided to give him. Why is it so hard for him to just... Be? Why is it that even behind his shades, his eyes are darting at those that pass them by, noting if anyone does a double-take or if their eyes linger too long in recognition?
It's partially in his head — he knows that. He'd said it to Rhea out loud on that dance floor with such ease, that in his effort to make sure the world didn't crumble something so important, so fragile, he'd done it himself.
He's so caught up in his head that he misses when Rhea stops walking, stopping in front of the green door of the restaurant. "Harry," she calls, when he's stepped a few strides too far.
Harry turns and frowns at himself, walking back to Rhea. She glances up at him for a moment, keeping her voice low, "Are you okay?"
He bobs his head, gently touching her elbow, "Yeah."
She bites the corner of her lip, giving him a moment to elaborate, and when he doesn't say anything else, she turns and opens the door, and he follows her inside.
When they're seated at their table, one tucked away to the side of the restaurant, with a beautiful sprawling view of Santorini that it's world-famous for — with both of their sunglasses off, and sangria in their wine glasses, Harry finally feels at ease.
If their waitress recognizes him, she doesn't let on, collecting their order for dinner quickly and efficiently and hurrying off. There's a small display piece in the center of the table, a wood board with two small flickering candles in glass containers on either side of a larger one, in which deep pink bougainvillea tree flowers float on water.
Rhea's gaze is focused on the flickering of the right flame. Harry glances at her, his heart sinking when he sees her anxiously picking at her nails. He leans back in his chair, taking her in.
The warm glow she'd left the hotel room with has all but disappeared, replaced by a soft but anxious look on her face. She still looks as beautiful as ever, but he can tell, she's on edge. And he knows it's because of him.
They'd always been fine, on the same page completely when they were alone, but as soon as they weren't...
Suddenly her brown eyes lift from the flame, meeting his green ones, and she doesn't say anything but she offers Harry a nervous smile that kills him.
He's reaching across the table in a heartbeat, scooting his chair closer, ignoring the obnoxious sound of wood scraping against wood in his hurry. He takes Rhea's hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles firmly once, and twice more.
Rhea's eyebrows shoot up and her eyes light up in delight, and Harry hates himself in that moment — because this is all she's ever wanted, all she needed. She leans forward so Harry doesn't have to strain so far and he pushes the punishing thought to the back of his mind.
"M'sorry," he mumbles, bringing her hand away from his lips but not letting go. "I'm... nervous."
Her face softens, and she makes a humming sound under her breath, "It's okay. I am too... we've- well, we've never done this before. Not by ourselves."
He knows what she means — all of their meals together have been on the tour bus, or at an event, or in some hotel room when they're both spent and aching and ravenous. "Is this our first date then?"
Rhea smiles at him, tilting her head, "I suppose it is. You don't mind me planning it?"
"Course not," Harry says. "Wish I'd been better prepared, though. I would've... gotten you flowers. Picked you up, opened the door for you. Met your parents. Researched extensively on what kind of food you liked."
"You know my parents," she points out. "And you know I love seafood, that's why we came here."
"I know," Harry murmurs, "But... still." He sets Rhea's hand down on the table, pushing his chair back and moving it closer to hers.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting closer," he murmurs, sinking back into it, sitting close enough that his shorts are pressed against the fabric of her dress. He begins moving his table place setting to accommodate his shift. "You're too far away."
He presses a kiss to Rhea's shoulder, leaning closer to her once he's completely settled. When the waitress comes back with their dinner, she doesn't bat an eye at the table arrangement change. She refills their glasses and heads off, leaving them to eat away.
They're both hungry, really, so there isn't much conversation between dinner, but when Harry is done eating, Rhea's still finishing and he leans back, an arm draped over the back of her chair. He watches her carefully for a few moments before pushing her hair over her shoulder, kissing her there again, and then another more firmly.
Rhea turns her head slightly, only for Harry to press a full kiss on her cheek and she laughs softly under her breath in delight. He pulls back only enough to see her eyes, and then he cups her jaw lightly, swooping in to kiss her on the lips.
"Taste like wine," he comments when they break away. He tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Sweet."
She gives him a full, beaming smile, leaning into his touch. Harry's eyes trail her features, aglow in the flicker of the small flames and the restaurant's ambient mood lighting. Rhea looks at him, setting her fork down on her plate. "This..." she begins softly, glancing at the table, around the restaurant. "This is different."
"In a good way?"
Rhea nods, pausing for a moment, "It's nice." Her voice drops a bit, "I never really... expected us to get here." She says it carefully, like she's testing the waters to see how he'll react. And when she doesn't detect anything of concern in his features, she goes on, "I remember when you went out with the other girls, on real proper dates and I used to feel so bad about it."
Harry's mouth and throat go dry, but he doesn't break eye contact with her. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He drops his arm from the back of her chair, slinking it around her waist instead. "I'm so fucking sorry, Rhe."
"It really hurt," she says, not telling him it's okay, that it's fine. Because as much as she wants Harry to be more forthcoming this time around, she needs to do the exact same, and the bottom line is that none of it was okay or fine. She has to be honest with him. For so long, she's been biting back her words. But she can't expect Harry to be able to read her mind, and that's taken years of learning the same lesson over and over again for her to understand. "Why did you do that to me, honestly?"
Harry sighs, looking down at the table. "I guess... I was trying to convince myself I didn't need you," he admits. "That's not an excuse, because I never meant t'hurt you, even though I did. I just thought if I found someone else, then I'd move on. Finally let you be instead of being selfish because I couldn't give you what you wanted and I couldn't let you go." He pauses. "There wasn't a single one of those dates where I didn't come home and feel miserable. I usually ended up thinking of you."
Rhea watches him in thoughtful silence and Harry continues.
"Didn't realize how fucked it was until I got a taste of my own medicine," he murmurs, reaching for his wine glass, finishing it off in a single swig.
"What do you mean?"
Harry lifts his eyes back to her face, a flush spreading across his skin. "I... I found out about you and Samuel on Instagram one night."
Rhea's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. "Gemma didn't... she didn't tell you? Or Ni?"
He shakes his head, "Think they were all trying to keep me from finding out. I was scrolling through, couldn't fall asleep because... well because I missed you," he admits, gaining confidence when Rhea reaches a hand out and squeezes his forearm in encouragement. "And you'd posted a photo of him and you, he was kissing you and you were hugging him and-" he cuts off, shaking his head. "I've never felt worse. When I saw him that day in the bar with you, I just saw red. It killed me seeing you with someone else."
"Oh, Harry," she says quietly.
Harry shakes his head, "I can never apologize enough to you for what I did, Rhe. But... I hope you can understand where I was coming from." He leans his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "Think a part of me was scared if I let us go public then... we'd lose what this really meant."
Rhea is quiet for a moment. "I wish you'd told me that. Because I do understand, Harry. You're entire life was... upended, in a way. It makes sense that you'd be protective."
"We should've talked about it," he admits. "About a lot of things, really."
She lifts her head from his and nods, "I agree. I think not talking has always been our go-to. And that's on both of us."
The waitress comes by, looking shy, like she was waiting for a moment to swoop in and offer a refill to their glasses. Harry gives her a smile as she does so. Rhea lifts the glass to her lips and Harry straightens up a bit in his chair, clearing his throat.
"Rhe, can I ask you something?"
She turns to him again, nodding, her eyes earnest.
"That last night, after X-Factor, what were you thinking? You didn't say anything," he says. "Neither did I..."
Rhea looks down, her long lashes casting small shadows on her skin. "I was thinking how if I opened my mouth to say anything, I'd end up spilling and crying and begging you not to leave. I was afraid if I said anything, it would ruin that last night. Because I didn't want it to end but... I knew we had to. We needed that space."
Harry reaches a hand over, squeezing her thigh, "Baby.."
"I was afraid of us ending but I knew we had to," Rhea says, "For both of our sakes."
"Come here," Harry demands, lifting his arm and pulling her to him. He kisses the top of her head when she settles against his chest, and then says, "I... I wanted to tell you not to leave. That'd we work it out and it would be fine. Just... never felt like I deserved you."
Rhea turns her face, her nose pressed against Harry's sternum. Her hands clutch his t-shirt.
The windows surrounding the restaurant give way to the evening darkness now engulfing the city. Distant houses, buildings, have turned on their lights. It's a haphazard skyline compared to other cities, but it's beautiful. The tables are emptier than they were when they arrived.
"Maybe that just wasn't our time," Rhea says quietly, her words low. She remembers the words her dad said to her not too long ago. Love isn't easy, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it. Rhea lifts her head, blinking up at him, "Maybe... it is now."
The right corner of Harry's mouth lifts into an easy smile and he nods, gripping Rhea's chin he leans down to kiss her sweetly. "I like the sound of that." He brushes his thumb back and forth across the jut of her chin. "I love you."
Rhea's eyes shine, even as she teases him, "On the first date? My, my, Styles." She kisses his cheek, "I love you too."
When it comes time to leave the restaurant, Harry doesn't hesitate to take Rhea's hand. They follow the same cobblestone path that led them there, but, as always, word has spread that Harry Styles is dining nearby. They only make it so far until his skin prickles with that all too familiar sensation — someone is taking photos of them.
Harry casts a glance over his shoulder and sure enough, he spots a group of three girls on the opposite side of the street, a few paces behind them giggling and watching him with their phones pointed at him and Rhea. He's tipsy from all the wine, and so is she, and Harry feels a flare of panic ignite in his system.
He catches sight of them coming to an abrupt stop when they realize they've been caught, embarrassed it seems from the way they lower their phones. He unclenches his jaw, turning toward the front again. He squeezes Rhea's hand when he notices another group up ahead on the street. He can tell from the way they're hovering, they'll stop him when he gets closer.
Rhea's spotted them too because she turns to him, her eyes inquisitive.
"It's alright," Harry murmurs, "Here, come on the inside for me." They switch spots, Harry on the side of the street closer to the group and Rhea on the inside. This time, she squeezes his hand, and then she wraps her free one around his arm, hugging herself closer to him. She's comforting him when he should be comforting her.
Harry doesn't let go of her hand when the fans finally approach, two boys and a girl. He keeps her tucked against his side, smiling at the fans, signing the extended copies of his album, listening to their accented, beautiful words. When they ask for a photo, he hesitates, glancing at Rhea who is smiling at them.
"Do you mind if we don't?" He asks carefully, "I'm here for a vacation."
They look disappointed, but, they nod, and let Harry and Rhea go with goodbyes and thank you's. Harry kisses the side of Rhea's head as they continue on, laughing and talking.
And the two groups of fans watch them go by, they keep their phones pointed at their backs. They chronicle the kiss, and the way Rhea is holding onto his arm. The videos and photos do end up online the next day, but, Harry doesn't quite mind as much as he would've normally.
How can he when they get back to the hotel and Rhea is so at ease, so happy? When he himself, feels content and free and like after all this time — things have finally fallen into place.
They spend the rest of the next day doing things around the island — they hike and walk through the city, exploring markets, soaking up the sun and the breeze from the sea. Harry can't keep his hands off her, and for all intents and purposes, it does feel like a fresh start. Like this is their time.
On their final day in Santorini, Harry has a plan.
It involves waking up his very sleepy girlfriend, but it's a good plan. He spent the entire previous day planning it in between breaks — when Rhea went to shower, when she went to grab the breakfast, when he went to shower.
She's so bundled up in the covers, he almost doesn't have the heart to wake her. He's squatting by the side of the bed, brushing her hair away from her face. "Sweetheart," he says, quietly, scratching her scalp. "Rhea."
She bristles away from his touch, eyebrows drawn together, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.
"I know," he says, swooping closer and pressing kisses to her face. When she shifts under her burrito, he grasps a corner and pulls it just enough to loosen it. "I'm sorry, you can be mad at me later, but I have a surprise baby."
Finally, she opens her eyes, glossy with sleep and unfocused. She's pouting and Harry loves her so much in that moment. It's overwhelming. He hovers over her, scooting onto the edge of the bed and hugging her. He buries his face in her neck despite her sleepy whines.
"Good morning, my sleepy," he hums, kissing her neck. "I have coffee for you."
"It's still dark," Rhea says. Harry lifts his face from her neck and sees that she's more awake now, still grumpy, but awake. She flops onto her side and Harry sneaks a hand under the blanket, rubbing her back.
"I know," he says. "You can bring your blanket," he offers. "Just trust me, baby."
Rhea pops open an eye and then her other and she nods. She starts sitting up and Harry brushes a kiss to her forehead, getting out of her way. When she's done brushing her teeth, he brings her a pair of shoes for her to slip into and helps wrap the blanket around her shoulders.
"Where are we going?" She asks, her voice still sleepy as Harry leads her out of the hotel room.
"It's a surprise," Harry murmurs, kissing the back of her head when they stop in front of an elevator. "Close your eyes."
Rhea does so, and once they're inside, he hits the button for the rooftop, his fourth time doing so this morning. When they reach, he's careful to lead Rhea since the rooftop is still dark, even with the string light bulbs above.
"Easy," he says, "Still have your eyes closed, right?"
"Yes, but if I trip over this blanket, Harry-"
"You won't," he cuts her off, "I'll catch you."
He helps her lower her body down onto the picnic area he's set up before he sits down next to her, pulling her body back against his chest. Once they're both settled, the blanket draped over Rhea's lap, he brings his mouth above her ear, "Okay, baby, you can open them now."
Rhea blinks, adjusting to the twilight sky. She looks to her right, where Harry has put together a little spread for them of cheese, bread, coffee and strawberries.
"Figured we could watch the sunrise together," he says, squeezing his arms around her. Rhea tilts her head back against his shoulder, looking at him. "I know you hate mornings, but I want our last day here to be special."
"Oh Harry," Rhea murmurs, reaching a hand back for him. He lowers his face until her palm cups his cheek, turning his face to hers. "It's wonderful, I love it. And you."
Harry gives her a soft, sleepy smile of his own, meeting her lips when she cranes her face up for a kiss. "I love you, baby. I think I promised you coffee," he says, reaching for a cup for her. She feeds him some strawberries, and he sets up a plate for cheese and crackers for her. He's hiding a bottle of champagne in the picnic basket, which makes her laugh, and they pop the cork just as the sun starts to rise.
And they watch it, the colors painting the sky, like an invisible artist is testing shades on a new canvas. Rhea leans back against Harry's chest, both of them in their pajamas, slightly chilly in the morning air but warm with each other.
That's how their trip ends in Greece, but it's also how the rest of their journey begins. A simultaneous 'hello again' and 'I missed you' and 'welcome home' all at once.
Harry has a three-month gap between his smaller venue tour and his arena tour — giving him downtime to be with Rhea in New York. With her firm headquartered there, it's the perfect fit for the time being.
They keep on the track they set up in Greece, designating one day a week for date night and alternating between who plans it, and while it would be easy for him to sign a 3-month lease somewhere, he mostly stays with Rhea and she doesn't seem to mind at all.
Harry keeps busy when she's at work, working on planning and rehearsing a larger setlist for his arena shows, working with his stylist to curate different suits for all the shows he'll be doing.
The press continues to cover them, and whenever he and Rhea go out, there are almost always paps and fans waiting to grab a photo, but he's learning to handle it one day at a time, and he's happier than he's ever been before.
For all intents and purposes, it finally feels real between them.
It's real when he's stopping by her office to pick her up for a date, waiting in the firm lobby like he did not too long ago — cracking jokes with Aaliyah, waiting for his hard-working, beautiful girlfriend to be done.
It's real when she's helping him pick out fabrics for suits, and offering a spare opinion on his setlist when he asks.
It's real when they spend every moment of their weekends together, escaping Manhattan for places less explored. Book shops, record stores, vintage shops. When Niall makes the trek over from Los Angeles, they even go to a Nets game with him. They're shown on the big screen under the stars in attendance segment, and they're caught mid-kiss, Harry flushing as Rhea laughs and he lifts a ring-clad hand to wave at the cameras.
It's real when they manage to sneak in a quick week-long trip back to Holmes Chapel to visit Anne and Gemma.
In fact, it's all so real, being with her fully and completely that it often takes Harry by surprise during small moments. Like when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Rhea's curled up next to him, or when he's cooking and she's helping him prep, leaning against the counter and telling him all about her day. It's in moments like those that he realizes how lucky he is — how he's finally gotten everything he's ever wanted.
He knows that the honeymoon phase of a relationship is only meant to last a few months at most, but, he's known Rhea for years. He's always loved her this fiercely, and without the fear of losing her breathing down his neck, he feels like he can finally let himself relax.
And relaxing has led him to be more observant too. In the time they did spend apart, where they were both so committed to convincing themselves that they didn't need one another, Rhea had been thriving in her work. Harry is more and more impressed with her every day, and sometimes, when he gets nostalgic he thinks of how young she was when they first met — an intern with a headset two sizes too big for her head, but determined eyes and a keen sense of calmness that the entertainment industry needed.
Sometimes, he looks at Rhea, and Harry just can't believe that he gets to call her his.
Like now, when she's finally succeeded in pulling away from his warmth under her covers, kissing his chest apologetically despite his whines of protest and hurrying up before he pulls her back down — again.
"I have to get to that meeting, babe," she says with a pout, reaching for the work pants Harry practically ripped off her half an hour ago when she came home for lunch. "I'm already going to be late because you can't keep your hands to yourself." She shoots him a teasing look, bending down to look around for her discarded bra.
Harry props himself up on his elbows on the bed, watching her scour the floor for her clothing. He smirks, shamelessly trailing his eyes down her bare top half like he's seeing her for the very first time. "In my defense, you seemed to like your lunch break very much. I didn't hear any complaints, baby. In fact, all I remember is you chanting my name and-"
A pillow flies across the room and hits him in the face before he can finish and Rhea's laughing across the room as he tosses it back on the floor with the others that have fallen off the mattress in their haste.
"Stop being cheeky and help me find my shirt," Rhea says, shooting him a mock glare. "I have to fix my hair." She heads into the bathroom as Harry sighs, getting up from the bed and looking around the room.
"I don't see it," he says, confused. He tries to retrace their path. Pinning Rhea to the wall in the foyer, eventually making it to the bedroom because her legs were shaking too much for her to stand upright. He pulls his boxers on after finding them under a pillow and heads into the living room of her apartment.
When he comes up empty-handed there too he walks back into the bedroom and then the bathroom, coming to a stop and leaning against the doorway. Rhea's standing in front of the bathroom counter, the curling iron wrapped around a front piece of her hair. She's found another shirt it seems, and Harry smiles at her reflection in the mirror.
"I believe that's my shirt," he says, trailing his eyes over the satin white fabric with black tear drop-like shapes. It's an old one of his, and she's tucked it into her black work pants.
"Well, you lost mine," Rhea counters, setting the curler down and running her fingers through her hair as Harry approaches. "Didn't you?"
"I'll find it later," he promises as he slips his arms around her from behind. He's careful not to jostle her as she grabs her lipstick from her open makeup bag on the counter. When she's done he brushes her hair out of the way, kissing the back of her neck. "Didn't say I don't like seeing you in this," he murmurs, tugging on the fabric of the shirt.
Rhea turns in his arms, smiling at him as she locks hers behind his neck. "Oh, you don't mind?"
"Not at all," he says, sliding his palms up her back. "You should steal them more often," he adds, leaning closer to her. Before he can get close enough to steal a kiss, Rhea is pressing her index finger against his lips and shaking her head.
"I just re-did my lipstick," she says, giving him a sympathetic look when he pouts. "Come on, I have to go."
Harry sighs dramatically, but steps aside to let her move to the bedroom. He trudges after her, heading into the living room. Rhea collects her blazer and purse, glancing momentarily at her phone. "What should we do for dinner tonight?"
"I can cook," Harry offers, leaning against the opposite wall as Rhea does the little buckle straps on her heels. "Think we need to stay home to coordinate everything anyway, right?"
She lifts her head, glancing at him, "Coordinate?"
"For tour," Harry clarifies, stepping closer to pick a spot of fluff that's on the top of her scalp. He glances at it and realizes it's a small feather from the down comforter they use.
Rhea's done with her shoes, but she's still watching him blankly, waiting for more clarity.
"Well, I figured you'd want to figure out how to manage stuff with the firm away from here like last time," Harry explains.
Realization dawns on her and she blinks, shrugging into her blazer. Harry helps her pull it on and then Rhea turns, "You... want me to come on tour with you? Again?"
"Of course I do," Harry says, opening the front door for her. "What kind of question is that?"
Rhea is outside their apartment door now, giving him a curious look that he doesn't have time to decipher because her phone starts ringing. She gives him an apologetic look, "Sorry, that's the driver..."
"Go," Harry says, nodding at her. "What are you craving for dinner?"
"Surprise me," she says, giving him a wink as she starts walking toward the elevator.
***
The entire rest of the day, Rhea feels anxious. Her stomach dropped the moment she realized what Harry was referring to, and she's been distracted ever since.
The truth is, she wasn't expecting him to ask her to come with him on tour. They're in such a good place, perhaps a better place than they have ever been before — and she's afraid to rock the boat because of that. Because really, it's been unreal and exquisite and she cherishes being really, truly with him.
And if she's being honest with herself, she can't swing going on another tour with him. The firm has really taken off, and there's too much logistical stuff for her to pass on to anyone. Part of the reason why her clients sign with her is because she's there, hands-on in a crisis. She can't do that halfway across the world on tour with her boyfriend.
Aside from the work obligations, she's not sure if going on tour is a good idea. They've been so careful, so diligent in making sure that they don't fall into their old patterns and tactics. They're healthy now.
Which is why she knows she needs to have a different conversation with Harry than what he's expecting when she gets home tonight. A part of her, perhaps the Rhea from all those years ago that met the love of her life and built the basis of her career during touring, wants to go. The idea of being apart from Harry when they've been together every single day for months is awful. It makes her heart sink.
But...
Even then, as she unlocks the front door and steps into the foyer, she knows what she needs to tell him.
"I'm home," she calls, smelling the fragrant aroma of spices. She can hear something sizzling in a pan and Harry calls back a muted, "In the kitchen, love" over the sound of the music he has playing.
Rhea sheds her blazer, and sets her purse on the side table by the door after pulling out a hair clip from it, stopping in front of the mirror she has on the wall. She runs her fingers through her hair, taking a breath. It's not in her DNA to initiate conflict. She's spent her entire life running from it, actually, but she knows as she stares at her reflection that they'll both regret it if she doesn't go in there and be honest with him.
As she walks into the kitchen, she untucks Harry's shirt from her work pants and throws the top half of her hair into the clip, drawing it away from her face. When she rounds the corner her heart squeezes in her chest.
Harry's humming under his breath, stationed at the island and chopping veggies. There are two pans behind him on the stove and she can spot the oven light on underneath. He's got a bottle of wine uncorked and a glass waiting for her, his own half-empty and near his workstation.
He's wearing a cozy crew sweatshirt and joggers and when he looks up and sees her, the biggest, widest grin spreads across his face. He looks so excited and she feels like she's going to crush him.
"There you are," he murmurs, setting his knife down and scooting over to the sink to wash his hands. "Come here, I've got wine. Food's almost ready."
Rhea pads across the kitchen floor, collecting the glass and casting a glance at the record player of his. He's playing Sinatra. She walks around the island and slips her arms around his waist, giving him a hug. "It smells so good."
Harry is wiping off his hands with a dish towel, but he kisses the side of her head, "Chicken parm and some garlic bread. Working on a salad too."
"What can I do to help?" Rhea asks, stepping away as Harry turns to the stove.
He shakes his head, "Nothing. Sit with me. You worked a 12-hour day, my love."
"But, I can cut veggies or-"
This time it's Harry cutting her off, turning around and wrapping his arms around her legs, right above her knees. He scoops her up and sets her on the counter, beaming as he steals a kiss from her. "Sit," he commands. "I'm almost done. You can grab your laptop, if you want. I already put a calendar together we can share and sync."
Harry turns back to the salad bowl, tossing his chopped veggies into the lettuce. Rhea watches him as he reaches for the bottle of balsamic vinegar. "How was your meeting?"
"Oh," Rhea says, "It was alright. Long."
He drizzles the dressing into the salad and tosses it with tongs, glancing at her when she doesn't elaborate. "Yeah?"
Rhea nods, silent, and continues to watch Harry as he turns the stove off and pulls out the chicken from the oven. He's pouring the sauce from the pan over the breasts and adding a serving of salad and garlic bread to the plates.
"Harry..." she begins, as Sinatra croons softly behind her. "We should talk, about tour."
"After dinner, yeah?" He says, getting ready to walk their plates over to the small dining table. "Food will get cold."
"No," Rhea says abruptly, reaching a hand out to stop him. "Please," she says when he gives her a confused look. "If I don't say this now, I'll lose my nerve."
Harry sets the plates back down. "Okay..."
"Come here," Rhea says after a moment of silence, reaching for him. He takes her extended hand and walks over, standing in front of where she's perched on the counter. She takes both his hands in her own and tilts her head back to look at him. "I'm going to say something that might upset you, but, I want to be honest. Because we've been doing good with that."
Harry nods, once, but Rhea notices the clench of his jaw. He's nervous.
"I don't think..." she trails off. "I don't think me going on tour with you is a good idea, H."
"What?" Harry looks completely surprised. "Why?"
"Because I think if we're going to be together, it's better if we don't work together," Rhea says, finally letting out what's been on her mind all day.
A wounded look flashes across Harry's face and she clutches his hands tighter, afraid he'll walk away before she can explain. It's ingrained in her — she's seen it so many times with her parents, either fighting or never really listening to each other.
"I love you so much. We've been doing so good, and I don't want that to change. But, I don't think I can leave the firm. And as grateful as I am to have met you through work..." she pauses. "I just, I'm scared that combining our personal and professional lives again is going to wreck this."
"We won't let it," he answers, a bit defensive. But he's not running. He's looking at her with those green eyes trying to understand her. Rhea takes a deep breath.
"You don't know that, Harry," she counters. "I will always, always be there for you. If you need me, all you have to do is ask. But I think it's better for us to... table this once and for all. I just can't be backstage every show anymore, H, I have my own obligations now too. And that environment is so taxing."
Harry frowns in response.
"Can you say something?" Rhea pleads, eyes scanning his face. "I'm starting to panic here."
Harry's eyes soften and he squeezes her hands. "Sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head. He takes a step forward, in between her legs. "I just wasn't expecting that. I've never been on the road without you."
"I know," Rhea murmurs. She slips her hands from his to press either of them to his cheeks. "But really, Harry, you don't need me there. Right?"
He shakes his head, "Wrong. So... so what, we do long-distance?"
"You don't think we can?" Rhea counters, brows knitting together.
"No, I do," Harry rushes to clarify. "We've just never done it before..." he sighs, hanging his head for a moment. "I know I don't need you there, but, I want you there. I always want you with me." He reaches for her, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist and pulling her into a hug.
"I want you with me too," she whispers into his neck. "But your career requires movement, baby, and mine requires staying here at least for now. There's nothing more I love than seeing you on stage. But I think this is the best thing for us. Don't you?"
Harry wants to say no. He wants to argue and come up with a list of reasons as to why he needs Rhea to tour with him. But he knows the entire list would come back to one single explanation: he wants her there with him because he loves her. And giving into that would be selfish. It would be exactly what old Harry would ask her to do, to give up her life and join him.
It doesn't mean it doesn't suck, though.
"I think it is," he says, pulling away from her enough to look at her face. He brushes the strands of hair falling out of her clip away from her face. "I'm going to fucking miss you," he admits with a dry laugh. "M'sorry for assuming you'd want to go."
"Don't be," she whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't speak up sooner. And I'm going to miss you more. Who else is going to cook me feasts three times a week?" Rhea leans forward, brushing her nose against his in an eskimo kiss. It's a gesture of reconciliation, of affection, of understanding.
"Whatever doordash guy you chose," Harry counters, laughing when she grins. He cups her cheeks and brings her in for a full, heavy kiss. "Alright," he murmurs, tapping her sides. "Enough. Food is going to get cold and I've been slaving over this stove for an hour now."
Later on, when they're winding down with a movie, Rhea's legs are thrown over Harry's lap on the couch, he turns to her with a proud smile.
She raises her eyebrows at him, "What?"
Harry pats his hands on her knees. "We did good today. Communicating. Don't you think?"
She mirrors his grin, "I guess, we're growing up and all that."
"Guess so."
***
TWO MONTHS LATER
***
"Come on," Harry says under his breath, listening to the mocking echo of the phone ringing in his ear. It trills twice more, before once again he's being sent to Rhea's voicemail. He lifts the phone from his ear in frustration, hanging up and redialing in seconds. He turns, picking up his pacing in the small area off the stage where he rushed to.
Behind him, the band is still going through the motions of soundcheck — and he can hear Jeff talking to someone distinctly, still on stage from when he came to tell Harry what was going on.
Harry's not trying to not panic, he's well past that point by now. He's never liked feeling helpless — especially when it comes to Rhea. Just yesterday, she'd been here with him, laughing and stealing strawberries from his plate at brunch and burrowing her face into the warmth of his neck. She'd finally gotten a chance to fly out, to be with him for a few shows before she had to be back at the office.
It was the first time she'd come out since this larger capacity tour had started, and he'd missed her so fiercely. There's something incomparable to seeing her through a screen versus in person. Being able to hear that laugh so close to his ears, to see her bright, beaming smile in person. To be able to touch her, feel her, be with her.
And as much as he'd felt the distance, and she had too, it seemed like the press noticed as well.
Throughout her visit, there'd been people trailing them. Fans. Paps. Sneaky people masquerading as the first but not even in that ballpark. And now, she was miles away from him, on the other side of the world and dealing with a hoard of paparazzi at JFK, blocking her way to her car, asking her about her romantic getaway to see her popstar boyfriend.
Harry's been better, a lot better, at not letting all this bother him too much. He has more control now. He's aware. He knows that if at any time Rhea feels like it's too much, she'll tell him. He trusts her to.
But even then... he can't help but hate himself for this. For being the reason her name is splashed across tabloids. For bringing all of this nonsense that comes with being who he is into her life. It's been the hardest thing for him, learning that he can't control everything when it comes to his private life or the perception of it. That he can't always be there to protect her.
And so here he is — calling her during his soundcheck — gripping the phone so tightly because she hasn't answered and because he can't do anything else except dial the fucking phone.
Finally, she answers.
"Hold on," she says, her voice muffled but direct.
"Rhe?"
There's no response, but Harry can hear distinct clamoring on the other side of the line. He can hear distant shouts of her name and garbled questions. He can sense the phone itself is moving, and then, it's all silent after a slam.
"Okay," Rhea says, her voice clear now. She seems out of breath, and she lets out a shaky laugh, "I'm here. I'm fine," she stresses.
Some of the tension in Harry's shoulders melts away, but still, he's adamant. "Don't lie," he murmurs. "What happened?"
"Nothing," his girlfriend supplies nonchalantly. "You worry too much. I told you, I'm okay Harry."
Harry closes his eyes, lifting his phone free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "Rhea, I'm halfway across the world. Just... just tell me what happened, okay? Please?"
There's a pause and then she sighs softly. He can imagine her behind his closed eyes, leaning her head against her car window, letting her own eyes flutter shut. "They were packed around the arrivals exit," she says finally. "It was fine for a few seconds, but the farther I got out the more people there were and I couldn't get the trolley with my bags through-" she cuts off. "The curbside people helped keep them back so I could get to the car. Which, I'm in now, and it's fine."
"Just the regular bullshit, how was vacation, how are we," she continues, filling in the gaps before Harry can even think to ask his next question. "Nothing new, just more en masse."
Harry's quiet for a few seconds, but when he speaks up, his voice is low, "You're sure you're alright? They didn't get too close or anything?"
"Well, I'd be lying if I said no. Think it was more frantic this time since... well since it's been a while since we've seen each other," Rhea says. "But, yes, I'm fine. I promise. It was jarring but I handled it."
He doesn't have anything to offer to make her feel better from where he is now. He isn't able to wrap his arm around her, to comfort her or himself. He can't kiss the top of her head and reassure himself that yes, she's fine, that they're fine. That the world hasn't contrived what they are into something else.
All he can do is apologize.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says, gently, finally opening his eyes.
"Don't be," Rhea says, firmly. He can picture her sitting up, a stern look on her face. "You don't need to apologize over things you don't have control over, remember?"
"I know, I know but-"
"No but's," she says, softly. "It's alright now. Ok?"
"Okay," Harry says, letting go, because that's all he can do now. "On your way back to the apartment?"
"Yeah, I'm exhausted," she says. "Dunno how I used to do this all the time. Aren't you supposed to be in soundcheck?"
"Mhm," Harry says, turning and glancing over his shoulder. The band is talking, messing around with their instruments. "Kind of walked off stage in the middle of it when I heard."
"You diva," Rhea mocks, and finally, a playful smile spreads across Harry's face. "You should go back. I'm okay. I'm going to go home and nap for the next three days."
"Yeah," Harry agrees, nodding his head once. "Alright. I love you, baby. I miss you already."
"Me too," Rhea echoes, the sound of her voice matching his — the gentle, sweeping tone. "I love you. Don't worry anymore. Get back to work. Those songs aren't going to perform themselves."
Harry laughs, a real laugh, and when they hang up and he tucks his phone back into his pocket before heading back to stage, he feels lighter than he did on the walked off it.
***
TWO MONTHS LATER
***
"Harry?"
He tears his eyes from the book he's reading on the couch, glancing toward the direction of where Rhea's voice came from. "Yeah baby?"
There's no response, making Harry sit up straighter on the couch, looking to see if he can spot his girlfriend in the hallway that leads to his bedroom.
"Nevermind," she calls back a moment later. Harry turns back to his book when he hears the water in the shower turn on.
He leans his head back against the pillow he has settled behind his head, letting his eyes drift to the large, open windows in the living room of his New York apartment. He's been off tour for almost two months now. He finally rented a place of his own in the city to be closer to Rhea, selling his property in Los Angeles. He's still getting used to the newness of this apartment.
It's snowing heavily outside. The city is blanketed in the type of snow that makes everything a bit quieter, a bit more delicate. Rhea helped him furnish his new home, insisting that he can't just have the bare minimum. "You never feel at home because you never take the time to make it a home while you're there," she'd insisted at the store as she held up two different lamp choices for him to pick from.
And so even though he finds himself at Rhea's every other day, he's made an effort to do what she suggested. His coffee table is full of books he's been meaning to read, but never got around to while on tour. He's got a mini studio set up, and from his spot on the couch, he can spot the familiar journal he's always writing away in balanced on the edge of his piano's keyboard. It's the third in a row Rhea's gifted to him over the years. Each one special, each one inscribed with a message on the bottom right of the inside cover.
In his kitchen, he has plates and cups and silverware. He cooks now, and leaves the takeout days for when he's at Rhea's. He's got photographs on the walls and art prints that he's carried around with him through the years. He's got an area for memories of his career, so far.
His record player and crate of records are here too, well-used and sitting on the granite in the kitchen. There are still boxes lining the front halls, full of various items of clothing he can't seem to let go of.
But, for now, it's home.
And it's not the four walls and the objects he owns that make it so. After years of bouncing around, growing up too fast, and never feeling truly settled he knows that home can be someone, rather than somewhere. He'd told Rhea as much when he'd shown up to her company's first gala what seems like forever ago.
His home is wherever she is.
The snow is falling in thick chunks now, and really, he can't call them flakes. Perhaps they're a number of them clumped together. Still, Harry's eyes trace the path of one such chunk, watching it stick to his window, and slide down in one melting rivulet.
He lets the book fall face down onto his bare chest. Despite the cold, the inside of his apartment is warm, and the fluffy blanket Rhea bought for the living room is wrapped around his bottom half. His eyes are starting to droop as the snow continues, the apartment silent aside from the water running.
They fly open sometime later when he hears a door shut down the hall. Harry presses a hand to the book on his chest as he turns his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Rhea's just pulled the door to the bedroom shut to keep the heat in, and she's headed to him with a knowing smile on her face.
The final dregs of sleep slowly drift away as Harry trails his eyes up her figure. She's wearing a ridiculously oversized, faded shirt of his. It's long-sleeved, and something she pulled out of one of the boxes. He used to wear it around his mum's house. Rhea's wearing long, cozy knee socks too and when she gets closer, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the fabric of them.
"You fell asleep," she murmurs, her voice soft like the snow piling outside.
"Mhm," Harry says, reaching for her with both hands. The book on his chest slides off without the support, flipping shut onto the couch. "Come here. You were in the shower forever."
Rhea laughs at him, softly, and she moves his book aside onto the coffee table before sinking down onto the couch next to him. Harry's not having it though, throwing the blanket off his body, grabbing onto her hips, and plopping her flat over his chest. This time, she laughs again, into his skin as he tugs the blanket over them both.
He wraps his arms around her body, holding her to him as he buries his nose in her hair. She's just cut it for the first time in a while, and now it hits just above her shoulders.
"You need to put a shirt on," Rhea murmurs into his sternum. "You're going to get cold."
"I have you to keep me warm" he responds, firmly, hiding his smile in her hair.
Rhea doesn't say anything to that, but she does snuggle in closer to him. Harry knows they should get up, make some food, and shake off the lazy day the weather has brought on. But he's so comfortable like this.
As they lie there, Harry detects a familiar scent, just the lingering of it. He sniffs her hair, wondering if he's just imagining things, but then he lifts his face and Rhea does too, looking at him in curiosity. "You sniffed me."
"Because..." he trails off, sniffing the air once more. His eyebrows push together, "Did you use my shaving cream?"
Rhea grins, sheepishly, "Yeah. Mine ran out. That's why I called you." She puts both her hands to his chest, one on top of the other, and rests her chin on top. "I think I need to start buying stuff in bulk because this keeps happening and I don't want to drag all my stuff back and forth, you know?"
Harry hums, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. It's happened to him before too at her place. He's left a bottle of product somewhere else and he's floundering until he gives in and buys another.
He brushes the back of his hand against the arch of her cheekbone, and the idea comes to him so easily. "You shouldn't."
"I shouldn't buy more stuff?" Rhea counters, confused.
"You shouldn't have to go back and forth," Harry clarifies after a swallow. His eyes bounce across her face. "You should just... stay put. With me."
Rhea sits up, slowly, straddling his hips. The blanket falls off her and Harry is greeted by cold air but he ignores it and puts his hands on her hips, watching her face.
"Harry, are you saying what I think you are?"
"Yes," he says, keeping his gaze connected to hers. "Move in with me. I want you with me, always," he continues. "You're my home."
Rhea's face is blank, and he wonders if he made the jump too fast, it's been a year since their Greece trip, since they made it official. But he's known her for so long. There is nothing he has been more certain about in the past decade. He wants Rhea for the rest of his life.
But then, like the sudden blizzard outside, her smile is blown in. Bright, brilliant. She's beaming, straddling him, and she leans down just as he leans up, both of them narrowly avoiding hitting the other. Rhea presses her hands to his cheeks, her forehead to his, and she nods, "I'd love to move in with you, baby."
"Yeah?" Harry whispers, stealing a kiss against the inside of her right palm. When she nods, he sits up, holding her body tight, tugging her impossibly closer until there's no space between their chests. He's cradling her head, kissing messily across her jaw and burying his face in her neck. "You want to live together?"
"You're my home too," Rhea says in response, her fingers in his curls.
Harry tilts his head back, his eyes full of light. He smiles at her, before putting his fingers on the back of her neck, and bringing her down into a full, heavy kiss.
***
"This is the last one, right?" Harry asks as he lifts a box into his arms.
Rhea turns, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm. She looks around the now empty living room of her apartment and nods. "I think so."
"I'll be back," he says, shooting her a smile as he heads out the door. Niall's downstairs on the street, helping them load stuff into the truck. They could've easily hired someone to help them, but something about this first step into the next phase of their lives together made Rhea and Harry want to do it all themselves.
Rhea wipes her hands against each other, slowly walking into the middle of her living room. This apartment — her apartment had been the first big purchase she'd ever made for herself. She's loved it so; from the wide windows of her living room that give way to the spectacular view of New York, to the comforting warmth of the fireplace on nights where she curled up with a glass of wine.
She put herself together again in this apartment, after she and Harry went their separate ways. She started and ran her business from it. She hosted dinner parties and made new friends and discovered a new version of herself here. In short she's liked who she became here. Who she built herself into.
And now, it's time to say goodbye, and while she couldn't be happier to move in with Harry, she's feeling a little nostalgic. This apartment was not only her home, but a place that helped her survive. She became sure of herself here.
Rhea walks over to the windows, looking out at the view one last time. She'd spent so many nights doing this exact thing.
Harry clears his throat from the pillar he's leaning against in the kitchen, making Rhea turn. He gives her a soft smile. She's wearing overalls, and a white t-shirt, and her hair is in a bun.
"I didn't hear you come back in," she says, walking to him.
Harry offers her a hand, pulling her to him when she's close enough, "Didn't want to interrupt you. Niall's driving the truck down to the other place."
"To home," Rhea corrects him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"Home," Harry agrees, settling his chin on the top of her head. He rubs her back. "You want another few minutes, love? I know this place is important to you."
Rhea looks around the open floor plan apartment for a few moments, still squished against Harry. When they decided to move in together, they'd first thought of just using Rhea's apartment. But it felt wrong, and she'd insisted they pick a new place together. This apartment was part of an era they were on the cusp of leaving. And she'd wanted Harry's input. And after a few weeks of tours and searching and driving Harry's real estate agent nuts, they'd finally found a perfect place, one with stuff they both wanted.
"No," she says finally. "I'm ready." She tilts her head back and Harry gives her a soft kiss between her brows. "Let's go home."
Harry takes a step towards the door, his fingers linked through hers, and Rhea looks around her apartment one last time before she lets him lead her out the door, into the elevator, and out onto the street.
It's when they're in the car, his hand on her thigh, and driving away from the building that Rhea finally feels like the era she was living has finally come to an end.
***
There are boxes everywhere in the new place. His and hers — piled and stacked against walls, on the counters.
Niall's just left a few minutes before, after Rhea sent him home since he was yawning and rubbing at his back. Now it's just Harry and her, sitting on the floor of their new living room, a nearly empty pizza box between them.
"Do you want the kitchen or the living room?" She asks, tossing a crust into the box.
Harry reaches for her crust, taking a bite out of it as he leans back on one palm. "Baby we've been movin all day. Let's take a break."
Rhea sighs, giving him a gentle look. "We promised, one room a day each. Otherwise, we'll never get around to unpacking." She leans back on her own palms. "Plus, if we stop, we'll fall asleep."
Harry nods, finishing off the crust as he has with the others she's left. He wipes his hands over the box, "You're right, I'll do the living room."
She gives him a sleepy smile, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. Harry winces when he hears a popping sound, but Rhea walks over to him, bending down and kissing the top of his head before she heads to their kitchen.
Harry watches Rhea from his spot on the floor, privy to the kitchen because the furniture all gets here tomorrow. Their new place has dark wood floors throughout, an open floor plan, white gleaming granite countertops and gray cabinets.
There's a balcony, too, a fireplace in the living room, and long towering shelves in the office space. The bedroom has lots of natural light. There's room for Harry to record and Rhea to work. It's bare-bones now, but he knows, soon, it'll be home.
The only thing that's settled and ready is their bed frame and mattress — brought over from Rhea's and curtains on all their windows for privacy.
"I think I'm going to set up the cabinets the same way they were at mine," Rhea calls from the kitchen. Harry hears her pulling the tape from one of the boxes. "Is that okay? Or should we switch it up a bit?"
Harry stands, grabbing the pizza box and heading to the kitchen. Rhea is pulling mugs out of a box, the cabinet above their coffee maker open. He sets the box on the counter, the sound making her look up, and he brings his phone out of his pocket, scrolling as Rhea watches him.
"H?"
Harry lifts his eyes, giving her a smirk as he turns the volume up and sets his phone on the counter. The song's opening chords start playing, and Rhea's entire face softens. Harry steps toward her, gently taking the navy blue mug with "awake-ish" on it out of her hands and setting it on the counter.
"Organize it how you like, love," he mumbles, pulling Rhea into his arms. "But for now... will you dance with me?"
"Dance with you?" Rhea echoes incredulously, "I'm half asleep."
Harry grins, pulling her off to the side where their dining table will go, "It'll be fun then."
Shania Twain's voice echoes in the kitchen as Harry twirls her in a circle, making Rhea laugh. He brings her back to his chest, one hand around her waist, the other holding her free one as they sway.
"This," he mumbles quietly, nudging his nose against her jaw. "Is how we should christen the new apartment." He kisses the hinge of her jaw. "Among other ways, which we'll get to later," he promises, drifting his hand down her body, under her overalls, to rest warmly at the bottom of her spine.
Rhea, arms wrapped around his neck, hums in agreement. She steps closer, resting her head against his chest. The song is a sweeping, romantic ballad. One of their mutual favorites. "You're right," she says, closing her eyes and letting him guide them.
They sway, back and forth, her socks soft against the hardwood, his feet flat. His nose brushes her hairline, his fingers splay across her back. Hers wind in the hair at the nape of his neck.
Ain't nothin better, we beat the odds together
Harry remembers when he sang this song on stage not too long ago, thinking about Rhea, how fitting the lyrics were to their situation. He'd called her that night, cozied up in bed, and told her all about it.
And they had beaten the odds, hadn't they?
Because now, here they are, in their very first place together. It's all he's ever wanted and more.
"Baby," he murmurs, nudging his nose against her hairline. "Promise me something."
Rhea lifts her head, meeting his eyes, "Yeah?"
"That no matter what happens," Harry begins, "We'll always make time to dance in the kitchen. That we'll remember... what it means to be home."
The song thrums to an end, the ending lyrics echoing in the silence of their new home. I'm so glad we made it, look how far we've come, my baby.
"I promise," Rhea murmurs. "I'm so glad we made it," she admits, her voice soft, her eyes watery.
Harry grins, grabbing her chin, holding her still for a kiss. He pulls her closer, grappling for her. He's never felt more in love, more at ease. She's all his. Rhea mirrors his ferocity, clinging to him, standing on her tiptoes. Hair is falling from her bun, and it's cascading into his face, but even then he doesn't want to move.
It's only when the song changes on Harry's phone, transitioning into something catchier, with a bit more of a flair, that Rhea pulls away, her lips morphing into a smile against his. Harry reaches for her but Rhea twirls out of reach, "You never specified what kind of dancing."
She starts doing a little dance, shimmying, mimicking his own moves that he's so used to doing on the stage, and Harry lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. Rhea turns, moving to the beat of the song, and he surges forward, grabbing her around the waist. He throws her over his shoulder with ease, a hand coming down on her ass as he leads them to their new bedroom.
Rhea and Harry weren’t meant to reconnect in 2018. They were supposed to move on. Their chapter was closed, until Harry walked into her office that day.
But she is his; and he hers. They were made for loving each other, and they’ve learned a love like theirs is timeless — but not easy.
This is the final installation of Rhea and Harry’s story — a short series of glimpses into their forever. Or, a 5-part novella to Timeless.
You drove up north the week of Christmas with Bryn and Jessie. Jake and Harry drove up on the 23rd, Adam took a train after getting stuck late in the office. The group chat lit up your phone when you sat in the living room of your parents house with Katie.
Adam Penter (5:09pm): Someone tell me why I haven’t quit my job.
Bryn Miller (5:11pm): Because you need money?
Jessie Alby (5:11pm): Cause you’re a pussy!!!
Harry S (5:13pm): Ouch Jess
Jessie Alby (5:15pm): Well he’s miserable
Adam Penter (5:015pm): Fuck you too
Adam Penter (5:15pm): Not miserable, unhappy.
Jake Newcomb (5:16pm): Sounds like the same thing to me
Y/N L/N (5:17pm): How’s the train?
Adam Penter (5:19pm): Stupid. Smelly. Loud. Wish I was home.
Adam Penter (5:19pm): What time is everyone going to Red Lion?
Bryn Miller (5:20pm): 7 I think
Bryn Miller (5:20pm): No one back out
Harry S (5:21pm): Why would we back out?
Bryn Miller (5:21pm): Because you’re all a bunch of idiots and every year we debate if we really want to see everyone we don’t like from school
Jake Newcomb (5:22pm): I’ll be there
Jessie Alby (5:22pm): Ditto!
Adam Penter liked Jessie Alby’s message.
Harry S (5:23pm): Me too!
Bryn Miller (5:24pm): Y/N??????????
Yeah, you were going. You groaned when you stood up from the couch, Katie looked up at you.
“Tell me I don’t have to go to the Red Lion tonight.”
“You have to go.”
“Why?” You asked, flopping back onto the cushions.
“Because you’ll have fomo if you don’t.”
You thought about it for a second when she stared at her phone. She wasn’t wrong. Mollie Amsbury’s instagram story would undoubtedly flood you with feelings of jealousy when you saw everyone tipsy and laughing and hugging as if you didn’t all chat shit for the other 364 days of the year.
Christmas Eve was always a spectacle. Gatherings with family, hugging your aunts and uncles and then swiping on some eyeliner and trudging through the cold to see people you didn’t really like.
You resented the way Katie smiled up at you, she knew she was right and she didn’t hesitate to remind you when she showed up at your bedroom door only twenty minutes later. You held up a blouse to your chest in the mirror.
“Heard people are going to Kenny’s.”
“Kenny’s?” you grimaced. “Why?”
“Because he always has parties,” she shrugged.
Katie was two years younger than you and apparently the more time that passed since secondary school, the more your friends overlapped and the more often you ended up at the same parties back home.
She walked into your room and jumped onto your bed, grabbing a pillow for emotional support when she watched you. “Is the reason you seem so anti-Red Lion the same reason you left the club basically crying two weeks ago?”
You clamped your mouth shut, offered her a narrowed glare before you went back to your closet.
“Oh come off it--what’s even been going on between you two?”
“Between who?” you looked at her over your shoulder and played dumb.
She let her eyes roll into the back of her head, splayed out on your bed as if your feigned innocence had killed her.
“Nothing’s going on,” you said quickly.
It wasn’t that you couldn’t trust Katie, wasn’t that you didn’t want to fill her in. If anything, telling Katie felt like it made it all too real.
Bryn and Jessie had begged for details of your car ride home with Harry. Jake texted you the next day, a picture of two cats hugging. Not much of an apology for storming out, but when you knocked on his door that night, he hugged you tight only after you admitted that you were, perhaps, the biggest wanker of them all.
And besides, you didn’t even know where to start.
“You expect me to believe that you have no good updates about your popstar boyfriend after having the most dramatic experience at his house?”
Right, you’d told her about the bracelet.
“I haven’t seen him since then.”
“You haven’t?” She sat up now, her forehead wrinkled when she held the pillow to her chest.
“Nope. Only texted in the group, too.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
“Strange.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Harry. Surprised he’s left you alone all this time.”
“Yeah, well--he has. And everything’s kind of calmed down, I think. So I’d appreciate it if you’d just let it go.”
She let out a quick laugh. “Calmed down?”
“What’s funny about that?”
She bristled at your tone, the smile fell from her face and she shrugged. “I just think you need to talk to him.”
“Yeah--I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah, Katie.” You turned to see her. “I know I have to talk to him, but you pestering me about doing it isn’t going to make me want to do it any more.”
She sat up on your bed, apparently surprised by your admission and willingness to say she was right. She didn’t drive up with you, Jessie, and Bryn. Instead she took the train a few days early after being granted permission to work remotely for the entire week.
At first she bragged to you about all the fry ups she’d eat at Annie’s before you even made it into town, but now:
“When did you decide this?”
A shrug as you looked through your closet once more. “In the car with Jessie and Bryn. They’ve been surprisingly not pushy. Unlike you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I missed that.”
“Well, you were lucky enough to get all those fry ups.”
“I think they changed the toast,” she said, “s’not as good as it used to be.”
You didn’t reply, tugged another blouse out of your closet to inspect it.
“Anyway, what are you going to say? That you still love him?” she asked, her voice getting loud with excitement when you rolled your eyes. “That you miss him and that you want to have his children?!”
She made a bug-eyed face at you, stuck her tongue out and shook her head like crazy when you let out a laugh.
You’d thought about it, truthfully. Spent the last two weeks wondering if you’d bump into him again in the lobby or if you’d see him before tonight.
No luck.
So when you pushed the door open to the Red Lion pub, Bryn’s smiling face at the bar made whatever nerves you had disappear. Mollie was in the corner with Laura Dalton and Maddie Winslow, Kieran Chesna and Michael Waite reached for their drinks on the counter and offered you a wave.
“Hi,” you shrugged out of your jacket. “Where is everyone?”
Bryn rolled her eyes. “Late, are you surprised?”
“No,” you laughed. “Adam’s train get in?”
“He said it did,” she looked at her phone. “How are you?”
You sat at a bar stool beside her. “Alright--a bit, you know, anxious.”
She nodded, a smile pulled at her lips but she kept her composure. “You can do this.”
You took a deep breath, smiled at the bartender and ordered a drink before Jessie and Jake walked through the door.
They knew your plan, you’d told them over coffee last week and ran through the details in the car. In fact, when Katie arrived and offered you a thumbs up from across the room, you felt a bit more confident, if only for the drink in hand and the new shade of lipstick you’d bought at Sainsbury’s.
It was simple: just admit at some point that you knew you fucked up too. Maybe he’d want to hear you out, maybe he’d just accept a quick apology: sorry I can be an idiot.
You didn’t know what to expect out of it, but you knew getting it off your chest would certainly help move things in the right direction…whatever direction that was.
Harry arrived shortly before Adam, nothing but a quick wave in your direction before he was tugged away by other classmates. Eventually you saw him get a drink at the bar, a few feet down from where you sat.
You did your best to just ignore him. You chatted with Veronica Wickham, laughed about the time Cassidy Chase got gum stuck in her braces in Year 7.
“Okay, since when does he even talk to Dan Ardsley? Did we even have any classes with him?” Jessie was getting impatient (unsurprising) as she watched Harry across the room later that night. You, on the other hand, were more than happy to silently observe and sip a seasonal cocktail at the bar. Were you avoiding it? Maybe. Did Jessie think so? Absolutely.
“Whatever--if it doesn’t happen tonight it’s fine. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”
“We know, and we support you doing this,” Bryn said with a nod. “S’very mature of you.”
“Apparently I’m turning a new leaf, too,” you laughed.
Jessie let out a groan. “Jesus fuck,” she said. “Now Mollie’s over there which means he’ll never break free.”
Both you and Bryn watched her with amusement.
“What?” She asked. “You both know that if I was Old Jessie I’d walk right up to him and tell him to get his arse over here.”
“Or lock us in the toilet,” you teased.
“Right--that too. More efficient than this shit,” she motioned to you, frozen, watching.
“Hey,” Bryn stuck up for you. “Leave her alone. She’ll do it, she’s just waiting for the right time.”
Jessie nodded, took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. It wasn’t her fault she was so worked up. Patience, timing--none of that came naturally to your friend.
“Which might be right now,” you said, eyes on Harry as he walked on the far side of the pub, wove between tables and chairs as he seemingly headed for the loo.
“Okay--I’ll be back. Don’t lock us in there, yeah?”
Jessie let out a snort of a laugh but you were already on your feet. You met him right at the start of the hallway in the back, his eyebrows raised in greeting.
“Hi, Smalls.”
“Hey,” you nodded, “was just going to the loo.”
“Same,” he said, hesitance audible in his voice. “Sorry I haven’t been over to say hi. Just caught up with Danny Ardsley, remember him? Haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Yeah,” you waved him off. “Listen, uh, really quick--I wanted to just say--”
“Yeah?”
You choked. Your stomach was in a knot when the dimple on his left cheek appeared. His hair was shorter than it had been, a gray sweatshirt over his torso and you knew exactly how it smelled despite not being anywhere close enough to breathe him in.
“Merry Christmas.”
His face twitched a bit like he didn’t believe you, something in his eyes knew you were full of shit. He didn’t push.
“Merry Christmas, Smalls.” Quiet for a second when he held your gaze. “Is that it?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, full-on panic. What were you supposed to say? I know you looked at rings? I miss you terribly and realize what an idiot I’ve been?
The hallway to the loo at the Red Lion didn’t seem like the best place for this conversation, and maybe it took you until now to think it through. Tonight? Of all nights?
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll find you later, yeah?”
He put a hand on your shoulder like he was letting you down easy, or like he knew you were swallowing words and feelings. You nodded, watched him walk down the hall and push the door open as he whistled, have a holly jolly Christmas.
Bryn and Jessie were disappointed but not shocked. They ordered you another drink and when it was time to make your way to Kenny Tilley’s, you linked arms with Bryn in the cold air, heading for Jessie’s car.
“Oi--only seats five so someone’s got to sit on someone.”
Jake picked up his pace, “I’ll take the front!”
“Adam gets the middle with his tiny arse,” Harry laughed.
He gave Harry a shove. “I like to think it’s the perfect size.”
“S’what your mum says,” Jake teased.
“No one else drove?” Bryn asked.
“My mum dropped me off,” Harry shrugged.
“Katie dropped me before she went to pick up some friends,” you explained.
“This is uncharacteristically responsible of us,” Jessie laughed, unlocking her car and climbing into the driver’s seat.
Bryn opened the back door and slid down, then Adam, then Harry.
You stood at the door, eyebrows lifted when Jake turned around. “Oi--just sit on his lap, Smalls, s’not like it’s a big deal.”
“We can switch, Harry, she can sit on my lap,” Bryn offered.
“We’re not playing musical chairs,” Adam complained.
“I can get a ride with someone else,” Harry looked up at you now, an unreadable expression. He wasn’t going to push you, wasn’t going to make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with.
“No, it’s fine--I, uh--you don’t mind?”
“Smalls,” he let his head dip to the side, opening an arm for you to climb in. “I don’t bite.”
“He actually does,” Jake laughed from the front when Jessie started the engine.
“Yeah?” Bryn let out a laugh. “Sounds like you would know.”
“The gay one making a gay joke?” Adam turned to her with a feigned look of shock when you crawled onto his lap. Harry tugged the door shut.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you good?”
Maybe he was a little drunk, maybe he wasn’t in the right mindset--but his hand snaked around your waist and his hand rested on your thigh like it always had, like there weren’t months and arguments between you.
The ride was quick, thank god, and Jessie was sure to throw a wink in your direction when she wiped her feet on the welcome mat of Kenny Tilley’s parent’s house. Coats in the bedroom down the hall, drinks in the kitchen, the same set up as always.
“Okay, beer pong!” Jake said excitedly once you’d all found your way deeper into the house.
“So American of us,” Adam rolled his eyes.
“Oi, you two are our resident Americans,” Jake pointed at you and Harry, walking over to the table that had already been set up.
Harry looked down at you before looking back at them. “Us?”
“Yeah, you,” Jake made a face, picking up the white balls Kenny had set out. “You both lived there. So you can’t be on the same team.”
“Or should it be Brits versus Americans?” Jessie wiggled her eyebrows at you, always scheming.
“No,” you rolled your eyes. “And we’re not American.”
“I like that idea,” Jake nodded, ignoring your rejection.
“Okay,” Adam crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold. “Jake and Jessie as Team UK, Harry and Y/N as Team New York.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, looking around to see if anyone would acknowledge your protest.
“S’fine,” Harry smirked, handing you a ball. “We’re obviously going to beat them.”
You lowered your voice and turned to Harry, hoping the others wouldn’t hear your confession. “Are we? I’ve played twice in my life and I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”
“You’ll be great,” he waved you off.
Jake dunked the balls in water, tossed one to Harry and they both took a shot to determine which team would start. Jake got his in, Harry’s was close but bounced off the rim of a glass and Jessie let out a victory screech.
It went mostly like that, Jake was much better than the rest of you, Harry made a few and you scored twice.
“Two more than I expected from you, honestly,” Harry slung an arm around your shoulder and tugged you into him. Only a few cups left on your side, Jessie was happy to brag about their skill even though she played a minimal role.
“Oi, don’t get all proud of her,” Jessie pointed a finger in your direction. “She’s shit, honestly.”
“Hey!” You whined.
“She’s not any worse than you!” Harry defended.
Jake let out a dramatic gasp. “I’m sorry--are you two on the same page about something?”
“No,” you rolled your eyes.
“I’m sticking up for you,” Harry reminded, his brows furrowed when he made a funny face and looked at you.
“You’re welcome, mom and dad,” Jessie smiled devilishly, “for putting you on the same team.”
“Do not, Jessie,” you laughed. Adam, who sipped a beer and watched on, let his eyes sweep from Jessie to Harry when he said: “been a while since you got on this well.”
An awkward pause, Harry cleared his throat and took a shot, sinking the ball with a plop before he clapped his hands together. “We do make a good team,” he smiled, a shrug of his shoulders when he grabbed one of the balls and handed it back to you. “Your shot.”
They watched you miss, a groan in disappointment but Harry patted you on the back, better luck next time, Smalls.
Two more turns, Jake almost flipped the table in delight when they won and Jessie came to offer you a pity hug.
“I’m glad no one yelled,” Adam patted you on the head lovingly.
“Jake was screaming the entire time,” you pointed a finger.
“I meant you and Harry,” Adam laughed.
Harry let out a scoff, crossed his arms over his chest. “Us? We have not been that bad.”
“Is that a joke?” Jessie gasped. “You’re mental! The two of you have been ridiculous.”
You eyed her, iguana, and she pulled her lips shut.
“Hey, wouldn’t be the first time Smalls yelled at Harry in this house of memories,” Jake looked up to the ceiling, like it held all of your secrets.
Harry fought a smile at that, let his eyes graze over you when the dimple appeared in his left cheek for the second time that night.
“Alright, let’s not re-traumatize them, yeah?” Bryn snaked an arm through yours and sipped her drink.
“You’re all a bunch of wankers,” you narrowed your eyes jokingly.
“Hey,” Bryn was offended. “I’m the one who busted in to save your ass as soon as it went downhill.”
You pulled your head back and looked at her. “Wait, what do you mean as soon as it went down hill?”
She was quiet for a second, eyes wide like she’d been caught. You looked to Jessie and Jake, then to Adam. “Someone spill it,” you shook your head.
“No, it’s nothing,” Jessie waved you off.
“I thought we were being honest,” Harry looked at her with wide eyes.
“Oh shut up, Harry,” Jessie barked back.
“M’just saying,” Harry pushed, an innocent shrug when Jessie looked annoyed.
“Okay, alright,” Jake held up his hand. “You know how we knew you were in the bathroom and left you for a while to see if you’d sort yourselves out?”
“Yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“We were also trying to listen through the door,” Bryn explained. “Which is why I busted in and saved you,” she stressed the end of her sentence to remind you just how helpful she’d been.
**
December 29th, 2015 - 12:02am
“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Jessie whispered, ear pressed up against the wood.
“Can you move?” Bryn looked at Adam, “your stepping on my foot.”
“Well it’s dark and I’m also trying to hear.”
“They’re not saying anything, I don’t think,” Jake said, using his hand to cup around his ear.
“Well if we don’t shut up we’ll never hear them!” Jessie reminded.
“I feel kind of guilty about this,” Bryn piped up. “Don’t you feel guilty?”
“Guilty?” Jake asked, forehead wrinkled. “We’re helping them finally just admit their love for each other.”
“That’s if this goes right,” Adam reasoned.
“Oh come on,” Jessie dismissed him. “This is the most they’ve talked in years.”
“She’s pretty drunk,” Bryn said. “And upset. And mad at him.”
Adam was on Bryn’s team: “yeah, what on earth could go wrong?”
Jake ignored him. “If she’s drunk she might be honest and confess her love.”
“Shut up,” Jessie whispered, jabbed Jake in the shoulder. “She’s saying something.”
They were all quiet, Bryn held her breath and Adam leaned closer to the door. It was muffled, Smalls’ voice was barely audible over the music.
“I think she’s talking about Charlie,” Jessie said.
Jake let out a scoff. “Great--that’s got to be a mood killer.”
“He’s got to know she’s mad at him, right? I mean, she made it pretty obvious in the kitchen.”
Jake laughed, “Can’t imagine she’s pleased to be in there with him, so he might ask what stick is up her arse.”
Bryn rolled her eyes at Jessie and Jake, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they had the right idea. It was exhausting to be stuck in the middle, so maybe bowing out of the situation would do them all some good. Both Harry and Y/N had been dancing around each other for years now, maybe the stars would finally align tonight.
“He’s laughing,” Adam perked up. “That’s good.”
Quiet for a second, frozen in fear when someone wiggled on the door knob. No luck.
A sigh of relief when they heard Harry slump against the wall, a few more exchanges before silence.
“I can’t hear anything now,” Jake said.
“No shit,” Jessie rolled her eyes. “What’s going on?”
Don’t touch me, I’m fine!
Adam tensed, “Is she crying?”
Jessie shrugged, worry in her voice. “I don’t know.”
Harry spoke but it was unclear, the music seemed louder and that’s when Bryn said: “Something’s wrong, I’m going in.”
“Going in?”
Her hand was on the knob and Jessie and Jake split up, down the hall, towards the living room, anywhere to not be caught in the act of snooping or scheming. Adam was a few steps back, still watching in fear when Bryn pushed the door open. “What happened?”
Y/N was on the floor, tears and mascara smudged on her cheeks. Harry was on his knees in front of her, a look of confusion on his face when he looked up to see Bryn.
“I just--we were stuck in here--and she,” he sputtered out the words, endless sentences with no finish lines.
“Just get out, Harry,” Y/N said, her eyes still wet with emotion, she wrapped her arms around her own shoulders.
Harry reached forward, a desperate look on his face when he tried to reason. “Y/N, hold on, just wait, I think--”
“No, Harry, alright? I shouldn’t have said it and now I look even more like an idiot.”
Bryn had no clue what to do. She had no clue what had already transpired and what had Y/N sobbing in the corner and Harry looking like he was guilty enough for a life-sentence.
“Smalls, you need to calm down.”
Bryn felt her shoulders tense when Y/N bit out: “Don’t you have more famous friends to hang out with?”
“Harry, just go, I’ve got it,” Bryn pleaded from behind him. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, the first time he’d taken his eyes off Y/N since the lights came on. Bryn could tell he didn’t want to leave, she knew from the way his eyes begged. But she waved him off, he let out a sigh before he pushed himself up off his knees and disappeared back into the party.
Y/N looked up at Bryn, let out a shaky breath. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know, I’m stupid, I have to go.”
She climbed up, wiped the tears from her face when Bryn started to fall into step with her.
“I can find Adam, we can bring you home.”
“No, don’t tell them about this, don’t tell anyone I just--I have to go.”
And then she left.
**
You weren’t mad. You nodded, eyes wide when you sipped your drink.
“You don’t want to kill us for that?” Jessie was hesitant, a guilty look on her face when she waited for you to answer.
“Kill you? Am I supposed to be surprised that you lot are a bunch of meddlers?”
“Not at this point,” Jake raised his cup in the air in jest, Harry stifled a laugh.
The boys soon split off, made their way to catch up with Kenny and some of the other lads from school. Jessie refilled your drinks and Bryn showed you a picture Briony had sent from a family holiday party.
“With all due respect,” Jessie reappeared, handing over your cups with a smile, “what’s the plan?”
You looked across the room, watched as Harry laughed at something Jake said and wondered the same thing: what’s the plan?
You knew one thing for sure: you were able to admit your own stupidity. For so long you’d lived in an untouchable world, one where everyone else’s mistakes got put on blast and you sat high above, at the top of an ivory tower.
Maybe owning up to your own baggage wouldn’t change anything, maybe Harry was already moved on and maybe telling him you knew you fucked up would just offer an opportunity for closure.
But as you watched him goof around with your friends on the other side of the room, you realized that you’d take what you could get. Anything was better than not talking to him. Anything was better than feeling awkward and uncomfortable and like so much was left unsaid.
You were about to voice this to Jessie and Bryn, but a hand on your shoulder interrupted your internal monologue.
“Hi friends,” Mollie smiled, her arm slinking around your neck to pull you in for a hug.
“Hiiii,” Jessie cooed an overly sweet greeting, you could tell her smile was fake. The way she rolled her eyes and pretended to gag when Mollie hugged her made sure her feelings were clear.
Bryn offered her a quick hug and forced the interaction along. “How’s it going, Mollie? How’s your year been?”
“Oh, you know, same old same old,” she giggled, pushing her hair over her shoulder. “Work’s been busy but I got two promotions!”
“Two? You don’t say!” Jessie offered a less-than-thrilled face.
“Yeah,” Mollie lifted her shoulder to feign humility. “I know, s’been a good year. How about you lot, though? Y/N--heard you’re with E! News now?”
“Yep,” you nodded, shifted awkwardly on your feet, knowing where she was going.
“But not with good old Harry, huh?”
Both Bryn and Jessie watched you for a reaction. You offered a small smile, a shrug of your shoulders. “Not anymore, no,” you said honestly.
“Bummer, thought it was end-game for you two,” she reached a hand up to your arm, a condescending pat when Jessie butt in.
“I also got a great new job, though, Mollie--we’re all in London now, gang’s all back together.”
“That’s amazing, yeah--I saw your instagram post!”
“And I’ve got a wicked hot girlfriend,” Bryn bragged, hands on her hips. You smiled, thankful for their diversion when you noticed Harry break away from the boys on the other side of the room.
You saw him head down the hall, smiled up at Mollie and the girls quickly. If anything was enough to kick your ass into gear, it was Mollie Amsbury and her dreadfully fake concern about your relationship.
“Hey, Mollie, sorry--I have to, uh--do something.”
She nodded and watched you walk away with a furrowed brow, you snaked through other classmates and put a hand on the door of the loo to stop him from shutting it.
“Hi,” you said quickly, sneaking in behind him. The door latched into place, his lips twitched into a smile when he looked down at you.
“Hi.”
“D’ya have a second?”
He let out a laugh, looked around the bathroom. “I have all night if you need it.”
Your stomach flipped, the same feeling from 2015 when you sat on the cool tile and wondered when he’d cut his hair.
Shorter now than before, a hint of stubble on his face aged him in the perfect way. You could feel your pulse quicken when you let your eyes lock in his.
“Don’t be mad, okay?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the smile on his face faded when you took a deep breath. Now he knew you were serious.
“A few weeks ago we all went to Parade...”
“The club in Chelsea?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, not the detail to focus on.
“Why?”
“Because I was being stupid,” the corner of his mouth pulled up at that. You rolled your eyes and tried to course-correct. “And I was going crazy because the last few months have sucked.”
His face softened, he dropped his gaze to the floor for a second and put his hands on his hips.
“But when we were there I got really drunk and I was being obnoxious and Jake and Adam accidentally told me that you had looked at rings over the summer. A designer, or something--I don’t know.”
His lips parted to speak but you held a hand up, you weren’t finished.
“I owe you an apology, Harry.”
This caught him off guard. “You do?”
“Yeah,” you shrugged, moving to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “I broke up with you because I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t tell you that I was nervous that we weren’t moving forward and I didn’t tell you that I wanted to move in with you and then I got mad at you for being a shit communicator.”
He let out a small laugh, the words settled in the air between you.
“I guess I should have known that Jake and Adam would never be able to keep their mouths shut.”
You looked up at him, relieved that he didn’t look angry or hurt or even resentful. You swallowed down the anxiety, “I’m not bringing that up to make things any more awkward. I guess I just wanted you to know that…I know I fucked up, too. And I’m sorry for it.”
He nodded slowly, you stood from your seated position, about to leave.
“Smalls--”
“Yeah?”
Now he looked confused.
“So you broke up with me because you didn’t think we were moving forward?”
You shrunk under his gaze, it sounded even more ironic when he said it.
“Partially. You still kissed my best friend and lied about it.”
“Right,” he smirked a little.
Quiet for a second when someone laughed in the hallway and the song outside the bathroom changed.
“I wish you would have told me that. That you wanted to move in with me or something.”
You nodded, unsure what to say. There were a thousand things you’d go back and change, a million moments you wished you could tweak or even erase.
“I mean, for fuck’s sake, Y/N--none of us know how to communicate, apparently. I fucking lied because I didn’t want you to be upset but that made you more upset. And then you didn’t feel like we were moving forward enough so you ended our relationship?”
He was frustrated now, you couldn’t tell if he was saying all of this to process the stupidity of it or if he was actually looking for a reply. When you didn’t say anything, he looked up at you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Defensive, “I tried to, Harry! I’d bring it up and tell you that things felt off or that I missed you--so maybe I was dancing around it, but I was doing the best I could! And you always got mad at me.”
“Because I was planning on asking you to marry me and I was wrapped up in my own shit about that!”
His words fell onto the tile, you felt your eyes go wide when he admitted it. Another pause before you barely squeaked out:
“You were actually going to do it?”
His eyebrows rose and fell quickly, a huff of air in affirmation.
You let out a long breath, moved a few steps away from him to let it all sink in.
He ran a hand through his hair, brought his eyes back to yours slowly. “I’ve been a wreck these last few months because of all of this, Y/N, okay? But I pretended to be fine because I knew I fucked up. It was shitty of me to not tell you about Jessie and it was shitty of me to pull back because I was nervous to move things forward. But you fucked up too.”
You nodded, simultaneously fearful of the emotion in his voice but relieved to actually hear it.
“I was dishonest and Jessie was dishonest, and Bryn and Adam and Jake too. We’re all fucked up, we’ve all done stupid shit, but you have too.”
“I know, Harry, that’s why I came in here. I know I should have been more honest with you about how I was feeling and I know that I--”
“Have trust issues?” He was less angry, eyebrow quirked and a coy smile when you finally brought your gaze back up to his.
Tears in your eyes, “so I’ve been told.”
He let out a sigh, went to sit atop the toilet and put his face in his hands. “I wish we could go back and redo it.”
“Which part?”
A sarcastic laugh, “All of it.”
“All of it?” You crossed your arms, offered him a challenging smirk. “Even our fateful evening in this very bathroom?”
He looked up at that, let out a laugh when his eyes landed on the doorknob behind you. Replaced, a different shade of brass or copper or whatever finish it was. The same tiny carpet in front of the sink but now four years stood between the two of you.
“I would have made you shut up so I could have told you that I was in love with you then. Rather than waiting two years.” He held his hands up to his mouth still, deep in thought when you said:
“I’d go back and not throw up, honestly.”
A smile in your direction, one that gave you the courage to be vulnerable.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry that I got mad at you for not communicating but then also didn’t communicate.”
He nodded.
“You’re still a wanker for kissing Jessie and lying to me, but I’m sorry that I kind of used that as an out when I was really just afraid of being honest with you.”
He stood up, eyes on yours when he sighed. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make it more obvious that I want to move forward with you. I still do--” he looked down to see the gold bracelet on your wrist. “Even though you’re a thief and stole from me.”
An embarrassed smirk. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, like it should have been obvious. “I was trying to be all fucking coy about looking at rings and thinking about that stuff and that probably made you think something was up.”
“It did,” you laughed. “Thought you hated me.”
“I could never hate you, Smalls.”
“Not even now?”
“Never,” he admitted, a look of nervousness in his eyes before he said: “cause I love you too much.”
You wrapped your arms around him before he could process it, like if you didn’t reach out and grab onto him he’d float away or disappear altogether. He laughed and pulled his arms out from your grasp so he could pull you into his chest.
“You’re just as bad as the rest of us,” he said into your hair, a kiss to the top of your head when you nodded.
“I know.”
“Hey--”
“Yeah?”
You pulled back, his hands sunk down to your waist.
“Aren’t you going to say it back?”
“Me stealing my bracelet wasn’t enough to prove I still love you?”
“No,” he looked offended. “Just proves that you’re a kleptomaniac.”
You let out a giggle, smiled up at him, but then he let his eyes go wide.
“Well?”
You sighed, pretended like it was hard to say: “I guess, that maybe, I love you too.”
He nodded smugly, looked pleased with himself when you rolled your eyes.
“But since I’m the one who came in here and initiated this, you have to be the one to tell the idiot brigade.”
“I can do that,” he laughed. “And hey, maybe, after the New Year…you could move in with me?” An immediate backtracking to appear nonchalant. “You know, I mean, if you love me as much as you’re saying you do.”
Your eyes went wide, playing along with his joke. A finger to your chest when you feigned confusion. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
You let your head dip to the side, teasing. “I’ll think about it.”
“Jesus Christ,” he rolled his eyes. “While you’re at it, think about if you want to be my girlfriend, again, too.”
You smiled, leaned up to kiss him but got interrupted.
A muffled voice from the other side of the door: “Just say you want to get back together!”
Bryn.
Harry’s brow furrowed and you let out an unimpressed sigh. He reached around you, tugged on the door knob and revealed all four of them: Jake, Jessie, Bryn, and Adam, heads huddled close together as they eavesdropped from the hallway.
“Are you kidding?” He asked, mostly amused. “What were you going to do? Lock us in here until we made up?”
“Actually yeah,” Jake admitted. “That was the exact plan.”
“Went really well last time,” you looked at Jessie directly.
“Well now we’re even,” she shrugged, standing up. “One time it was a colossal failure. One time it worked.”
“Wait--” Harry looked at you. “They all knew we were in here?”
Bryn and Jessie giggled, you offered him an apologetic smile. “They maybe knew that I planned on talking to you tonight.”
“Oi--she’s a hypocrite, isn’t she?” Jake pointed at you. “Says we’re all liars but she’s just as nosy as the rest of us.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you waved him off. “Already performed my I’m a wanker monologue.”
“Good,” Jake said, a giant step forward to join you in the loo. “Then I can do this,” he took both hands and smacked both you and Harry atop the head.
“Ouch--”
“What was that for?”
“For being so stupid,” Bryn said. “And putting us through hell because you’re both children.”
“I certainly deserve that,” you admitted.
“Let’s make a pact,” Harry said, getsuring for the others to join you in the cramped bathroom. Bryn, Jessie, and Adam stepped inside. “Okay, shut the door.”
You all looked around at each other. Harry closed his eyes for a second, let out a deep breath.
“We all need to be less nosy and be more honest.”
Jake nodded, “agreed.”
“And you lot have to mind your own business when it comes to Harry and I.”
“Absolutely,” Bryn said.
“And if there’s some kind of issue happening--a miscommunication or a disagreement or whatever,” Jessie looked around at the lot of you. “We have to talk, seriously. We’ve all known each other too long to let communication sink us.”
“So we’re butting out but also talking more?” Adam asked, befuddled.
“Precisely,” Jake nodded, a laugh from all of you. “I’ll go first.”
You all looked over to him, unsure what he was getting at until he nodded, hyping himself up. “I drunkenly shagged Mollie Amsbury the night you guys got locked in here, 2015.”
Adam’s mouth formed an ‘o,’ Jessie let out a snort of laughter and Bryn made a face of disgust. Harry laughed and you looked at Jake like he was crazy.
“Uh--alright,” Jessie said, pulling the attention away from Jake. “I drunkenly snogged Mollie Amsbury that night.”
Harry stifled a boisterous laugh, Jake smiled with wide eyes, pervert.
“What?” Bryn asked, completely perplexed. “Did you like it?”
“No!” Jessie laughed. “I mean, it wasn’t the worst thing ever but I was off my face after Y/N left and everyone was all stressed out. So let’s pretend it didn’t happen, yeah? Adam, you’re next.”
“Next?” He asked. “What is this? A fucking secret circle or something?”
“Just go,” Bryn said. “Confess something.”
He let out a groan. “Uh--one time I used Jake’s toothbrush when I was really drunk.”
You all laughed, Jake pretended to gag. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
“I use Jake’s name as an alias when I travel,” Harry admitted. “Introduced myself to a few people like that. Such a normal name.”
An eye roll from Jake. “Thanks, mate.”
When the laughter quieted, they turned to look at you.
“Please don’t tell me yours also has to do with me,” Jake said.
You thought on it for a second. “I have trust issues?”
“No, no,” Jessie waved. “Too serious. Tell us something juicy.”
“Alright,” you nodded, a deep breath like the rest of them as you braced for honesty. “Charlie was terrible in bed. I acted like he was great because I was trying to move on,” you offered Harry a fake smile. “But he was literally terrible.”
Jake clapped Harry on the back. “The bar’s low, then, mate. You’re in luck!”
“Oh piss of,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Brynnie,” you looked at her. “You’re up.”
She nodded, a confident look on her face when she nodded and scanned your faces. “For a whole, like, three hours in year four I thought Jake was cute until he burped the alphabet. The next day is when I realized how much I wanted to play house with Danielle Hayes.”
“So--” Harry’s lips pushed out in thought, the joke threatening to spill over. “Jake turned you gay?”
A fit of laughter, Jake narrowed his eyes at Harry.
“We can say that,” Bryn shrugged. “I like blaming Jake.”
“I don’t,” Jake raised his hand.
“Hey,” Jessie picked up her drink that she’d put on the counter. “To butting out and being honest.”
“Cheers,” you said, lifting an imaginary glass into their circle of plastic cups.
Adam reached for the door and opened it, he filed out with Bryn in tow. Jake and Jessie too, but Harry tugged at your wrist when you turned to leave.
“Smalls?”
“Yeah?”
“You realize that after everything that’s happened in here--in Kenny Tilley’s bathroom--we probably have to get married here?”
You let out a laugh, smiled up at the boy who’d been giving you butterflies for as long as you could remember. “Deal.”
“Deal? You mean you’d actually say yes if I asked you?”
“Hmm,” you looked away from him for a second, like you were thinking it over. “Too soon to tell.”
“Too soon to tell?”
“As far as I know we started dating, like,” you looked down at your bare wrist, “five seconds ago.”
“Past decade means nothing?”
“Not nothing,” you admitted. “Let’s see if I can break my lease first, yeah?”
He smiled. “Deal.”
“Excuse me?” Bryn stuck her head around the door frame. “There are other people at this party, you know? Merry Christmas, happy holidays? You’re here to be social, not just snog in the bathroom all night.”
“Right,” you nodded, took Harry by the hand to lead him back out to the party.
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, listened as Mollie Amsbury droned on about her job and her super fit boss. At the end of the night you walked with him down the street in the dark, stared up at the same stars that you’d always find above your neighborhood.
He kissed you at your front door, said he’d have Erica look into movers after the holidays. You climbed the stairs and fell asleep with a smile on your face.
Harry.
Always had been, always would be.
AN: WOW!!!! I am so sad that this is ending but I love these two so much, and I have all the faith that they're meant to be and this friend group will never stop loving each other so much. Thank you for reading and joining me on this journey!
The roads were slick in the cold air, your platform boots gave you an extra few inches that you prayed would translate to confidence once you had a glass of wine.
You took the bus, too stressed to show up at Jessie’s or Bryn’s to get ready and face the questions you knew they’d have. Are you going to talk to him? Are you going to ask? Do you want to get back together? Are you going to confess that you still love him?
No way, not now. Not now that you realized your own faults and your own baggage had gotten just as tangled up and messy as theirs did.
So after a deep breath you knocked on the door twice, music played faintly inside and after a few moments of trying to slow your heartbeat, he pulled the door open and looked down at you, confusion splashed across his face.
“Smalls--you’re early.”
“I’m early?” you stuck your chin out in disbelief, sure you’d misheard him. “Jake said the party started at eight--it’s eight thirty--I’m late. I was trying to be late.”
You looked over his shoulder and found his house empty behind him. His lips parted and then he offered you a small smile, stepped aside to let you into the foyer of a place that once felt like home.
“They’re fucking with us.”
“What?”
He took your coat as you shrugged out of it, walked to hang it up on the rack in the corner. Over his shoulder, he smiled a little. “Jake said eight knowing that you’d show up late, but knowing it would still be before the party actually starts. I told everyone to come for nine.”
You let it sink in for a minute as you stood across from him atop the marble floor. Jake, scheming, likely with the help of Jessie if not Bryn as well. Now you were stuck here with Harry, no buffer, until one of them showed up or at least until someone else knocked on the door and saved you from humiliation. So much for butting out.
“Great,” you nodded, looking around to take in the sight of the house. Things were still in the same place where you’d left them. A lamp you’d bought up north with your mum still sat on the end table by the couch. The mirror he’d picked out online with Erica still hung above the console table in the hallway.
“D’you want a drink? I’ve got Pinot Noir.”
He was already moving towards the kitchen, like a glass of red wine would soften the sharp edges of your first solo interaction in weeks. He pulled a glass from the cupboard over head, you walked to the drawer where he kept the opener and then froze.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to act like--”
He let out a chuckle, smiled when his eyebrows rose. “Like you used to live here?”
“I never lived here,” you said quickly, picking up the corkscrew and handing it to him.
“How’s the new job been?” He changed the subject quickly, slicing the foil wrapper.
“Good, you know, getting settled in.”
“Yeah? Meet any nice coworkers?”
You nodded, clenched your teeth a little at the small talk. You hadn’t experienced this side of Harry in a long time: the polished, poised, public-facing persona he’d crafted for interviews and red carpets and strangers. Your heart stung a bit when he poured you a glass and slid it forward on the counter.
“We don’t have to do this, you know. I can just head out or something--I don’t want this to be too weird.”
He smiled apologetically, braced himself against the counter. “I’m doing it, aren’t I?”
“Doing what?”
“Being weird,” he laughed. “You know, making small talk and acting like we’re strangers.”
You shrugged, not ready to admit his words were eerily similar to the thought bubbles that hung overhead.
“Adam said we’d do it. Jake too, but I like to think that Jake’s the dramatic one.”
“They said we’d do what?”
He poured himself a glass and took a sip. “Be awkward, put them in the middle, do the shit we used to do when we both liked each other and couldn’t admit it.”
He looked up quickly at the end of his sentence, aware of how your current predicament was quite the opposite.
“They put themselves in the middle,” you reminded him. “They said the same thing to me when we first broke up and acted like we’re the ones creating drama but they’re pretty quick to try to set us up and stir the pot.”
He rolled his eyes. “Our friends, stirring the pot? Never.”
You let out a laugh, one that felt comfortable and not forced. He noticed, apparently, shifted on his feet before he ran a hand through his hair.
“M’kind of surprised you came, honestly. I didn’t know if you’d show up.”
You rolled your eyes a little but laughed. “M’not that much of a dick, am I?”
He shrugged, the dimple in his left cheek made you wonder if this was flirting. He wouldn’t--he couldn’t. After everything that happened you were sure it was the nerves and the scent of his cologne that had you questioning if he was trying to make you feel this way.
But you remembered the promise you made to yourself when you stood in front of your mirror earlier this evening. If you had a moment alone with Harry (which you thought would be unlikely), you’d ask him to share his side of things.
After learning from Adam that Harry actually was trying to move things forward, you realized something: you and Harry were often looking at things from different perspectives. When you saw monotony and repetition in the relationship, apparently he saw stability--enough so to consider doing it forever.
So on top of learning that Harry had been looking at rings, you realized you’d been enough of a prick to not consider how his recounting of the same event might vary drastically from yours, which got you thinking.
You’d never really heard his rendition of the truth from December 29th, 2015, so with a glass of wine in hand and an empty kitchen:
“I actually have a question,” you said this suddenly, his eyebrows arched in surprise but he nodded for you to continue. “Did you--uh, do you remember what you told Jessie and them the night at Kenny’s Tilley’s?”
His mouth pulled up in the corner. “The infamous night at Kenny Tilley’s?”
“Yes,” you rolled your eyes.
“Well we’ve been there many times,” he defended his question.
“Right and they’ve all been so memorable that I would ask you specific questions--”
“Alright,” he relented, leaning forward on the counter to rest his elbows on the granite. He shook his head and pushed his lips out in thought. “I remember being in the bathroom with you,” he said, fighting another smirk.
You nodded. Obviously.
“I remember being on the deck out back with them afterwards.”
“The deck?” You’d never thought much about the rest of Harry’s night--in fact, you’d never thought much at all about his experience before, during, and after. The night, in your mind, had been a carefully preserved memory, frozen in time, the edges of the story faded to black, nonexistent.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I was completely freaked out. It wasn’t a good night for me,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?”
He sipped his wine and his eyes wandered off over your shoulder, like he could see the events coming into view. “Well, I had a pretty uncertain future at that point.”
December 29th, 2015 - 9:42pm
Harry was sat in the backseat of Jake’s car, knees cramped close to his chest when Adam turned around to see him.
“Also--not for nothing--but Y/N and Charlie broke up.”
“They did?”
“Bad one, too,” Jake let out a huff of air in sympathy for their friend. “She’s been wicked upset, but last I heard Jessie had convinced her to come out tonight.”
“When did this happen?” Harry tried to sound uninterested, like he was just asking what anyone else would ask.
“A few days ago, yeah?” Adam turned to Jake.
“Think so,” he shrugged.
Harry pushed his lips out in thought. Were his friends telling him this because they had a suspicion this information was relevant to Harry? Or were they just warning him that Y/N might not be in the best of moods despite the holiday season?
Jake’s car came to a stop by the curb on Kenny Tilley’s street and Adam unbuckled.
“Good that she’s coming out, then.”
“Yeah,” Jake shrugged, reaching for a bottle of vodka from his backseat after he cut the engine, a quick look in Harry’s direction. “She might need to rebound or something, never know.”
“Alright,” Harry rolled his eyes, now clued in on their antics and typical scheming.
“M’just sayin’, mate--you’re the one who’s been asking ‘bout her a lot more.”
“She’s my friend,” Harry tried to reason, climbing out of the backseat.
“Bryn’s also your friend but you don’t ask us nearly as much about her. Same with Jessie.”
“Jessie’s a handful and Bryn’s a lesbian,” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets as he followed them up the front walk. There were already people inside, kids from school that Harry had long known. But now he was here as Harry. There was no more band, no more shows, no more name-dropping of celebrities as a buffer when Harry had no clue how to interact with his former classmates.
“You’re actually helping us make our point,” Jake turned around to watch Harry with amused confusion on his face.
“Can we just go inside, please?”
Adam held up a hand. “Wait, do you want to fix your hair? Bryn just texted and said they’re in the kitchen.”
“Fuck both of you,” Harry nudged them aside and pushed the door open. It was relatively calm in the living room, no one was snogging on the couch and no one was puking in the bathroom--yet. A few waves from old friends made Harry feel like maybe his charm was fading with the band.
Was this it? Now that the band was done and now that he didn’t know what was in store for him--it was just regular old Harry? No more school friends flocking to greet him? Could he even count on the ego boost of Mollie Amsbury throwing herself at him like she did every Christmas?
Harry wasn’t feeling great as he made his way towards the kitchen, but seeing Jessie spot him in the crowd and immediately turn to tell Bryn and Y/N made him feel even more uncertain. She was sat in the middle of them, hands around a plastic cup that undoubtedly had alcohol in it to nurse her broken heart.
Harry offered a smile when he got close. “Hi.”
Bryn and Jessie stood and greeted him with a hug, Y/N seemed to follow their lead but her eyes looked sad and rejected.
“Didn’t know you were coming, H,” Jessie said.
“Yeah, I know--I’m--”
“You’re terrible at keeping in touch,” Bryn laughed. “We know. S’good to see you.”
It felt funnier this time, like chatting with them took more effort on Harry’s part. Smile, laugh, ask about work, their parents. Maybe it was a combination of the band breaking up and Harry’s sudden self-doubt about his own future, or maybe it was the way Y/N seemed to eye him with a level of disdain that he wasn’t quite used to.
“Missed you, Smalls,” his head dipped to the side, an attempt to get a smile out of her.
She scoffed, immediately met by an elbow to the side from Bryn that seemed to make her straighten up. “Yeah--same.”
Harry felt his own eyebrows furrow in confusion and that’s when Jake said: “We’re gonna grab a drink,” before he tugged Harry towards the other side of the room.
Adam got three cups from a stack on the counter and Jake uncapped the vodka he’d brought.
“Okay--is it just me or does no one even care that I’m here? Band breaks up and now no one gives a shit about me?”
“No offense, mate, but…get over yourself,” Jake said as he started pouring. “The girls just didn’t know you were coming, and they’re weird like that. They prefer to get a warning.”
“That I’m coming to a party with my own friends?”
“Yeah,” Adam waved them off. “Don’t let it bother you. Y/N’s been going through it and Jessie and Bryn haven’t really left her side this week.”
Harry rolled his eyes at that. How could someone like Charlie break Y/N’s heart? The one time he met him--which, albeit, was backstage in 2014--the kid seemed a bit dull and honestly, he felt like Y/N could do a lot better. Someone more interesting and funnier and--Harry took the cup of vodka and coke that Jake handed over and watched as Y/N rolled her eyes at Jessie--more like him.
But he did his best to ignore it, he meandered around the living room and answered peoples questions as he caught up and said hello: what comes next? I don’t know. Why’d the band break up? A lot of reasons. Will you ever get back together? I don’t know.
The truth is that Harry was reeling from the turn of events in 2015, and while he didn’t have the slightest clue as to what the future held for him, spending more time with the five people who knew him best felt like a good place to start.
By 12:23am he was more at ease, aided mostly by the drink in his hand and the fact that he spotted Y/N waiting for the loo, eyes closed as she leaned against the wall.
He’d just say hi, ask how she was doing, maybe he should play it cool and pretend he forgot who Charlie was.
“Hey,” he muttered it quickly, her eyes snapped open and she nearly knocked a picture of Kenny Tilley’s parents off the wall.
“Jesus,” she said, a hand over her heart. “Didn’t you see my eyes were closed?”
“Sorry--I--” he smirked, “you weren’t sleeping, were you?”
“I was standing up,” she rolled her eyes, “just waiting.”
He watched her for a second, unsure if he should admit that she’d been occupying more space in his head. Brent Gerring opened the door to the loo and headed back for the living room when Y/N shifted on her feet.
She hesitated for a second but offered an awkward smile. “Well, gotta go.”
“Wait, Smalls,” Harry took two steps into the bathroom, no plan of action and no reason for following her other than a sudden desire to be near her.
He shut the door somewhat sloppily thanks to the drink he still nursed, she made a funny face when he almost tripped over his own feet.
“What was that?” She peered behind him, eyes trailing down to metal object that now lay atop the tile.
“Dunno--” he bent down, returning to eye level with a tarnished piece of gold in his hand. “Shit.”
“Harry--what the fuck did you do?” She grabbed it out of his hand and pushed him aside to inspect the damage. He stepped back, watched as she tried to shove it in place and then wiggled the knob.
“S’locked,” he said, a hint of guilt laced through his low voice. Sure, Harry had come in here with the intent of talking to her, catching up, having a split second without Jessie or Bryn over her shoulder--but he hadn’t expected this.
“Gathered that,” she bit back, gave the knob one more go before she turned to look at him.
Harry shrunk a bit under her stare, realizing he better find a solution to this if he wanted her to ever speak to him again. “D’you have a phone? I left mine in the car.”
“No, I think I gave it to Jessie--so I don’t text Charlie.”
Now was his chance. “Charlie?”
“My boyfriend,” a sigh. “I guess, ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh,” he nodded, making a face like he was just now able to place the name. “Sorry--someone will come. Eventually someone will have to use the loo or notice we’re gone.”
She looked around at the tiny bathroom, hand towels that Kenny’s mum must have picked out, the tiny soaps that people steal from hotels. She slid down to the floor and Harry watched as she brushed her hair to one side of her neck.
“Can you turn the light out? S’fucking bright.” She held a hand up to shield her eyes from the overhead fixture, Harry looked up quickly but then moved for the switch. An audible sigh when he flicked the switch off, he slid to the ground to sit with his knees opposite hers.
“Guess it’s a good time to catch up,” he twisted the ring on his middle finger and forced a laugh.
“I’m fine, Harry.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She averted her gaze for a second, moved to sit on her hands like she didn’t know what to do with them.
“School’s good?”
“Yep.”
“Your parents?”
“Mhm.”
“And Katie, too?”
“All good.”
A moment of hope passed--a voice outside the door that would maybe notice two people stuck inside. Deflated chests when nothing happened.
“So Charlie--was he from uni, right?”
“Yeah,” she spoke in a breathy sigh, almost like she was about to divulge more. She pushed her lips out in thought and was quiet for a second. Maybe she felt his eyes on her face, he took in the curve of her cheek and the way her hair fell in front of her ears. She looked up at him but then back down to the tile beneath her.
“Think it’s over for good?”
“Why are you so interested in my life suddenly?”
This caught him off guard, so much so that his shoulders tensed and he had to purposefully lower them from beside his ears. “Sorry--just...making small talk.”
“Well you’re a little late.”
“What?”
She sat up at this and crossed her arms. “We haven’t spoken in a year, m’pretty sure. You barely even text on our birthdays--you didn’t come to Adam’s gran’s funeral--and yet you show up here and expect everyone to be so thrilled to see you? Did you ever realize that maybe we’re not? Maybe our lives have moved on without you and you don’t just get to be a part of them whenever you please?”
Harry didn’t mean to let his eyes go wide, he had no choice but to swallow and breathe and try to calm his heart from beating out of his chest. He’d long been getting shit from them about keeping in touch--but hearing it come from Y/N with a level of emotion in her voice he wasn’t even aware he could evoke in her--well, that just made Harry get defensive.
Here he was, trying to catch up and get reacquainted and Y/N was acting like he was somehow to blame for her sour mood. What was he supposed to do? Wear a t-shirt that said I come in peace?
“Well, s’not like I’ve been sitting around in my living room, y’know. I’ve been working my arse off for years and now s’just over and I have to answer to you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighed, remembered what Adam and Jake had said: Y’N’s been going through it.
“Smalls, I don’t want to do this.”
“Do what?” she asked, turning towards him again. “Face the shit you left behind? Face the fact that some of us have missed you and waited for you to call or text or even just say hi when you were home?”
Was she crying? Harry suddenly felt in over his head, desperately wishing that someone would knock on the door and save him from having to figure out what to say to a drunk and emotional girl that maybe he was now interested in.
“I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, Harry was certain he’d fucked it all up when she reached for the door and grunted when it was still locked.
“Of course--of course I get fucking stuck in the toilet with you on tonight of all nights. First Charlie, now you. Men who’ve ruined my life!”
The words tumbled out of her mouth with ease, Harry had to rewind internally and play it back, make sure he heard her right. “Wh--I ruined your life?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Forget it.”
Now he was intrigued, now he needed to know what on earth had her so upset with him when all he’d tried to do was say hi and ask how things had been.
“Y/N, what are you talking about?”
She was quiet for a second, shook her head and stared at the cuff of her sleeve. Harry was frozen, hanging on every word as she sniffled through the tears that he could see pooling her eyes.
“You left,” she said quietly, the anger suddenly gone from her voice when she looked up at him. “You left and I didn’t like it because I was--” a drunken sigh. “I had feelings for you.”
Everything seemed to screech to a halt--the music outside, the laughter muffled through the door, the moonlight that streamed through the window. He paid very close attention to the past tense, had, licked his lips and inhaled through his nose.
“Why--why didn’t you tell me?”
She let out a sarcastic laugh, “what was I supposed to say, Harry? Come back from your one shot at fame because I have a crush on you?”
He blinked a few times--it wouldn’t have been that simple, but Harry’s mind raced with possibility when he considered how different things would have been. “I--I didn’t know,” he said.
“Well, whatever.” She stood from the floor and moved over to the window, the words she said almost vanished in thin air when she wiped her cheeks. “S’fucking hot in here and that was a long time ago. S’fine.”
He stood up, too. Y/N moved to open the window and Harry just stared at her, mostly contemplating if he should admit that she was the main reason he came home this Christmas.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Was he staring too much? Was he drunk and an idiot and had he already ruined whatever he’d hoped this could be? He backtracked: “m’not.”
“Okay,” she rolled her eyes and Harry resigned to his seat on the floor. He took another sip of his drink, watched as she started to pace the tiny room.
“Should we bang on the door?” He asked, sensing her anxiety growing with each second.
“Knock yourself out,” she motioned to it.
He reached up, pounded against the wood four times and shouted: “can anyone hear me?”
Nothing--but Harry couldn’t tell if he wanted anyone to come to their rescue. She was angry and upset but this was the most they’d talked in years. He felt pathetic and hopeful all at once when she sat down again.
“Vodka?” He pushed his cup towards her, “kind of gross and not enough juice thanks to Jessie. Adam’s a better bartender.”
She took it and tipped it back, Harry watched as she finished what was left before she put it on the floor in between them and let out a sigh.
He laughed. “Thanks--was, uh, hoping to have at least some.”
“Oh piss off, I declared my teenage love for you. I think you owe me one.”
He laughed at that, tossing the cup into the bin across the small room. He thought back to certain moments, times when maybe he should have realized there was something there.
The way she didn’t seem thrilled about their record deal, the comments about how infrequently he came home, the way she responded less and less in the group chat over the years and how unimpressed she seemed with his fame.
He was about to ask her when it changed--when she stopped having feelings for him if she was presently using the past tense--but she turned around to look at the radiator.
“Is this thing broken? I’m sweltering.”
“Yeah--s’like a Texas summer in here.”
“Right,” she said, her fingers moving to the front of her blouse. “You’ve been there.”
He watched as she unbuttoned not one, not two, but each button, one after another until the skin of her belly was visible between the two sides of green fabric.
“What are you doing?”
“S’hot--too hot.”
“Oh.”
He gulped back whatever sudden arousal coursed through him, blinked a few times and looked away to avoid any heat rising to his cheeks--or anywhere else for that matter.
“I’m probably the last girl you’d expect to see without a shirt, right?”
“What do you mean?” He asked, a smirk pulled out the dimple in his left cheek. He’d never admit it, but Y/N was the first girl he ever dreamt about like that. Year 6--right after they’d all eaten pizza at Jessie’s house for her birthday.
“Dunno,” she leaned her head to the side, the corner of her mouth inching upwards as she seemed to come around. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” He laughed, leaning forward to poke her playfully.
“The cute smile thing.”
“Can’t help it,” he shrugged, the first bit of honesty all night: “you bring it out of me.”
She watched him for a second, Harry did everything in his power to not let his eyes flicker to her lips, he knew they’d taste like honey and he couldn’t bear to think about it in such a small space, the dark fabric of her bra stark contrast to her pale skin.
“Why’d you show up tonight, anyway?” she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Was hoping to see everyone--I meant it when I said I missed you.”
“Hm,” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. Had he said the wrong thing? A moment of silence before she pointed to the door. “Try it again.”
He pulled at it once more but it didn’t give. Her eyes were open when he turned around to see her, brows lifted north like she knew he liked the sight of her.
“If I’m locked in a bathroom with anyone, m’glad s’you.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, instead she kept her gaze on him and let out a scoff. “Right.”
“Really--could have been Nina Victor.” He faked a shiver at the thought.
“Well, ditto.”
A pause, she looked away and then back at him. Harry wondered if there was anything he could say to make it right: I’m sorry, I suck, I hope you can forgive me, I think I maybe like you? She shifted on the floor and then it was quick.
Harry felt her lips against his and a thousand questions flooded his brain when he tasted her--how drunk was she? Did she even know what she was doing? Would she regret this in the morning? Is this the rebound Jake had joked about?
As badly as he wanted to let it happen, he brought his hands to her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Smalls, I just--I don’t--”
“I know,” she said, slumping away from him, “it’s not like that.”
“No, I just don’t think--”
“S’fine, Harry,” she pushed herself back into the wall and Harry watched as her face twisted into sadness. “You don’t have to explain it. I get it--there’s lots of girls for you, and I’m just the one who got left behind when you got too fucking famous for us, right?”
“S’not what I’m saying--you’re not even listening to me Smalls, I’d rather kiss you--”
“Oh God,” she said, scrambling to find the toilet as she got sick and pushed hair out of her face.
Harry grimaced, questions answered: she was really drunk, she probably didn’t know what she was doing, and she very well might regret this in the morning.
He moved closer to her and put a hand on her back, “You’re okay--”
“Don’t touch me,” she cried, twisting beneath his touch to add space between them.
But again--what had he done? Harry watched as she wiped the tears on her face, mascara smudging on her cheeks as she clambered to find her blouse she’d left on the floor. He was frozen, desperately wanting to help but completely unsure what to say or do to make her take a deep breath and relax, and maybe, if he was lucky, hear him out.
“Y/N, are you okay? Why are you crying?”
“I’m fine!” she yelled at him, reaching to flush the toilet and pull her shirt back on in one quick motion. “I’m stupid and drunk and you need to forget everything I’ve said and we can’t ever speak of this, okay? Don’t even talk to me--just go back to London or LA and don’t ever speak to me again.”
“Whoa, Y/N,” he put out both hands to motion for her to slow down. Not speak to her? Ever again? He couldn’t follow her line of thinking.
“Don’t--okay? I shouldn’t have kissed you and I’m drunk and I’m disgusting,” the words were slurred into one run-on, mess of syllables.
Harry was frozen again, shoulders slumped when she buttoned up her shirt and let out shaky breaths. He was about to tell her, admit that she wasn’t crazy and he wanted to kiss her but not like this--not drunk in Kenny Tilley’s bathroom with a bunch of drunk idiots on the other side of the wall.
The door pushed open and the lights got switched on, Bryn’s eyes were wide when she saw Y/N huddled in the corner of the room and Harry on his knees. “What happened? What are you doing?”
“I just--we were stuck in here--and she,” he sputtered out the words, endless sentences with no finish lines.
“Just get out, Harry,” she cried again. He looked to Bryn for some kind of backup or advice on how to make her just calm down.
“Y/N, hold on, just wait, I think--”
“No, Harry, alright? I shouldn’t have said it and now I look even more like an idiot.”
“Smalls, you need to calm down.”
He reached a hand forward to touch her, but she shimmied away and looked up at him before speaking through another sob. “Don’t you have more famous friends to hang out with?”
“Harry, just go, I’ve got it,” Bryn pleaded from behind him. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, forehead wrinkled. “Bryn,” he started.
“Go,” she whispered, a hand on his shoulder to push him out into the hallway. Jake was there, Adam and Jessie arrived quickly behind him, all of their eyes wide at the sight of the commotion.
“Don’t crowd the bathroom, yeah? Give her some fucking space,” Harry barked at them, his feet carried him towards the back porch off the kitchen. Fuming really, angry that what could have been an exciting moment got twisted into something dramatic and stupid and sloppy.
“What on earth did you do?!” Jessie’s tone was accusatory, Harry spun on his heels when Adam pulled the door shut to seal off the party inside. Quiet, cold air, late December hung over the tops of suburban trees.
“What did I do?” He pointed at his own chest incredulously. “Nothing--I didn’t do a fucking thing! We got stuck in there and we were talking and we’re drunk obviously and she said she used to have feelings for me and then she kissed me but then I pushed her off--”
“You pushed her off?!” Jessie scoffed, confused by his words. “Why the fuck did you do that you twat?”
“Because I didn’t want this to happen! If I finally get to kiss her I don’t want it to be when we’re smashed at some stupid party--”
“Wait--what do you mean finally?” Jessie’s voice was less angry now, her lips parted as she waited for an answer. “Do you still like her, Harry? Do you have feelings for Y/N?”
Harry let out a groan, his breath was visible in the night air and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes--no--I don’t know. She just told me to never speak to her again so I can’t really answer that right now.”
Jake’s lips were in a thin line, Jessie turned to see him and then turned to Adam. Their silence was telling.
“Did you know he still has feelings for her?”
Adam shrugged, clinging to innocence. “Well, we told him that Charlie dumped her because we thought, you know--”
Jessie groaned and waved him off. “Of course I know, I was also hoping that it would finally happen.”
“Wait,” Harry turned to Jessie. “You knew she had feelings for me?”
Jessie froze, uncertain what to divulge. Y/N was heartbroken over Charlie, Jessie had been wiping her tears all week--but that didn’t change the fact that Y/N had been in love with Harry for years and now suddenly everyone was on the same page.
Jessie turned to the boys, almost looking for permission to answer Harry’s question. Jake, with a cigarette between his lips, shrugged. “Cat’s outta the fuckin’ bag now, yeah?”
This shocked Harry, sent his heart rate soaring higher than it had been. “You all knew? Everyone knew and no one told me?”
“Guilty,” Jessie offered a pleading smile. “But what were we supposed to do, Harry? You’re jet setting around the world and we’ve been sitting here going to class and getting jobs.”
“When did you find out?”
“That she liked you?”
He nodded, tried to focus on his breathing and ignore the thumping bass line that still managed to seep through the door.
“When you left, years ago, Harry--she was pretty upset. Bryn and I always kind of knew but then she finally admitted it to the boys, too, once you were gone.”
Harry looked at all three of them. Jessie--the biggest mouth of all time and yet she’d managed to keep it shut for five years. Adam--a people pleaser, a solutions guy, someone who should have easily been able to craft a way to get both Y/N and Harry on the same page. And Jake--one of the funniest, most thoughtful and caring people Harry knew.
“Why did no one tell me?”
“She would have murdered us, mate!” Jake shrugged. “And what would that have done? You’ve been gone.”
“When am I going to stop getting shit about it? It’s my job! You’ve all got degrees and flats of your own and I’m left here now with no fucking band, no fucking plan, and now I find out that I’ve wasted years thinking this Charlie guy was actually a threat.”
Jessie pulled back at the emotion in his voice. “You can talk to her in the morning, Harry--”
“No I can’t,” he waved her off, angry and loud as Jake flicked the cigarette. “I fucked it up and it’s too late and now she fucking hates me. I’ve never seen her so angry or upset.”
“She’ll calm down,” Adam reassured.
“No--it’s not--it’s not meant to be, yeah? Would have worked by now if it were, right?”
Harry nodded to himself, hoping that if he said the words aloud he’d have to believe them. Jake and Adam paused, Jessie’s lips turned into a frown.
“You can’t tell her I told you what she said--we can’t--we can’t ever speak of this.”
“Harry--”
“No, Jessie--just leave it, okay? None of this ever happened, that’s what she wants. I missed my chance.”
“Okay,” Adam shrugged.
“Okay,” Jake agreed.
Jessie waited, she eyed each of them, wondering when she should stop trying to play God. Maybe now was a good time. “Okay,” she agreed. “Fine.”
**
You looked at him, lips parted in shock at the details he’d kept to himself.
For all these years you assumed he ran outside and told them all of the things you said: how you cried, how you yelled, how you threw up and made a complete fool of yourself all because of a stupid crush you still weren’t over.
The surprise on your face left Harry to offer you a hesitant smile. “What?”
You cleared your throat, looked down at the glass of wine and wondered when someone else would show up to save you from the emotion that now seemed to course through your veins.
“Nothing--I guess I just figured you would have told them all the gory details and spared me no dignity.”
He frowned at that, still somewhat amused by your confession. “S’not really my style.”
You sat with that for a second, thoughts racing as you absorbed the new version of the same story.
You got too drunk, embarrassed yourself in front of Harry, and he didn’t tell the entire friend group about what a knob you’d been. He kept it to himself, he didn’t repeat everything you’d said.
Maybe that’s why it took Bryn and Jessie so long to put all of the pieces together. For weeks they kept saying: it’s not a big deal, so what? You admitted your feelings, it’s fine.
It was fine because they didn’t know all the nitty gritty. This realization left your mouth dry, you reached for the wine and met Harry’s gaze again.
“I would never do something to hurt you on purpose.”
You nodded, deep down you knew it was true.
But the doorbell rang, pulling him away from the island and into the foyer to greet whoever was at the door. You’d know them, undoubtedly. You smiled and greeted his friends and ignored the pit that seemed to grow in your stomach.
Maybe Adam was right. Sure--Harry struggled with words sometimes and everyone in your friend group had their moments where honesty lacked. But Harry had covered for you that night, just like three weeks earlier at Roman’s.
He told Jessie and Jake and Adam to not bring it up, he didn’t laugh at you or make fun of you and--at the end of the day--he did exactly what you asked of him.
He gave you space: two years of it.
When the rest of the gang arrived, Bryn sensed the heaviness in the house that used to feel like home. After she paraded Briony around and introduced her to the six of you, she tugged you into a corner and lowered her voice.
“What’s up? You seem depressed.”
“I’m alright,” you waved her off. Depressed? Felt strong. Sad because your whole world continued to implode and crumble around you? More accurate.
She and Jessie both knew something was up. While you didn’t have the heart to tell them about the diamond-related detail Adam disclosed a few weeks ago, they weren’t stupid, so they tried to piece it all together and fill in the blanks on their own.
Dinner with them a few nights ago: did he confess his love? Tell you he never wants to see you again? Did he give you another box of your things?
No, no, no. You promised them you were fine and just busy at work, nervous about the release party, admitted that going into the holiday season was more upsetting without him by your side.
In new Jessie and Bryn fashion they left you alone, stopped begging for answers and promised: we’re here if you need us.
Apparently a glass of wine and a social gathering made them more pushy.
“Alright,” Jessie sighed when she slung an arm around your shoulders. Briony had just finished telling a hilarious story about the first time Bryn slept over and walked straight into the wall in the middle of the night.
“What gives, Y/N?”
“Nothing,” you laughed it off, felt heat rush to your cheeks when they all gave you a knowing look. Even Briony seemed hesitant to take your words at face value.
“Bullshit,” Bryn said. “You were the first one here out of all of us, you’ve barely even mentioned you know who since your wild night out.”
“Wild night out?” The piqued Briony’s interest.
“Oh, yeah, babe, didn’t I tell you that Y/N got sick outside a club on a Thursday night a few weeks ago?”
“Sounds thrilling,” she smiled.
“It was a rough night,” you admitted.
“Everything’s been rough lately,” Jessie borrowed your word. “But I’m not buying it.”
“Jess--”
“No,” she shook her head. “This isn’t me prying, this isn’t me being nosy. This is me giving a shit. You’re not yourself.”
When Bryn didn’t say anything, you knew you were caught. You let out a deep exhale, nodded a little bit and scanned all three of their faces.
“As you so kindly pointed out, I was the first one here this evening. Someone told me the party started at eight, so I showed up at 8:30 hoping to be fashionably late.”
“And it started at nine,” Bryn nodded. “You have Jake to thank for that.”
“I might murder him,” you said seriously. “But--aside from Jake being a wanker. I, uh--I asked Harry about the night at Kenny Tilley’s.”
Jessie’s head tilted to the side and Bryn’s eyes grew round in anticipation.
“I didn’t know that he never told you what really happened.”
Jessie’s chin stuck out in question. “What do you mean what really happened?”
“I always assumed he told you all that I was crying and that I threw up and that I basically called him a terrible person and a shit friend and--yeah. I thought he turned around and told you all of the gory details.”
Bryn smiled a little, a tiny laugh when she reached forward to pat you on the arm. “You’re the one who told us all the gory details. Had to piece it together over time, though.”
“Yeah,” Jessie said. “For the first few months we thought you just said you liked him, I mean, that’s what Harry told me on the deck that night.”
Bryn nodded. “And I knew you were crying cause I walked in, but Harry never really told us anything. Just said you didn’t want to talk to him.”
You let out a sigh, the guilt only rising like high tide when they confirmed: Harry hadn’t been as much of a twat as you’d been telling yourself. Blaming him, being angry at him allowed you to build the wall between you. It was easier to be angry at him than at yourself.
“Well, I was pretty hard on him that night. Pretty sure I said he ruined my life. Guess I just thought that he would have made me out to be the bad guy or, I dunno, tell how you stupid I was.”
They both let the new detail settle. Ruin your life? That’s a big accusation.
“Wait,” Jessie said. “You thought Harry turned around and, like, made fun of you? Or called you a twat or something?”
“I would have made fun of me,” you shrugged, an embarrassed smile crept onto your face.
“Y/N,” she sighed. “He’s never done that. He’s never said anything about that night, he wasn’t running around telling your secrets or putting you on blast.”
“I love you, with my whole heart,” Bryn nodded, stifling a laugh. “But you can be incredibly stupid sometimes.”
This pulled a giggle from you, a pathetic one at best.
“We’re not normally this dramatic,” you said to Briony, trying to downplay the conversation she’d just witnessed.
“What?” Jessie let out a cackle. “Yes we are. We’re always this dramatic.”
“Well, we’re working on it,” you shrugged.
“We are,” she agreed, raising her wine glass to clink against yours. “To being honest and butting out.”
Jessie gave you a hug, did as she said and let you be for a while as you sipped your drink and wandered about the living room. Harry’s work friends, a few people you’d met visiting him on tour--they all mingled about over cheese and crackers and offered smiles when you offered sideways hugs in greeting.
It felt mostly normal, every now and then you’d glance at him across the room, wishing things were different but knowing they might not ever be.
It wasn’t until you bumped into one of his makeup artists that you were forced to address the proverbial elephant in the room.
“You’ll be coming on the road, right? At least for some visits, yeah?” She smiled at you genuinely, pink lipstick that you could never pull off.
“Oh--probably just the London shows--maybe. We, uh, we broke up actually.”
Her face fell, a mix of awkward and apologetic. “Oh, Jesus, Y/N, I’m so sorry. He didn’t mention that.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” you waved her off. “Not a big deal.”
Hadn’t mentioned it? Did she not read Page Six? You nodded along when she changed the subject, finished your glass of wine and fetched another. Jake was busy flirting with one of the girls in his band, Bryn and Briony were busy chatting with Harry in the kitchen. Jessie swiped through something on her phone and laughed when Adam said something about that one night in Year 8.
So you were alone. Awkward and isolated as you looked around the foyer, wondering if anyone would notice if you dipped upstairs to use the bathroom. A few girls off to your left, the ones that typically made you insecure at events like these.
The coast seemed clear enough--and your bladder was certainly full enough.
You hiked up the stairs in your stupid heels and hoped that you didn’t look suspicious. You found the bathroom in the hall near the guest room and executed your mission successfully, but once you dried your hands on the hand towel you’d bought at TK Maxx, you couldn’t help but be curious about what other traces of you were still in his house.
Perhaps you wouldn’t have done it without the three glasses of wine, or maybe you would have. But you twisted the knob quietly and shut the door behind you once you dipped inside.
You found the light switch and flipped it up, eyes scanning the room that, for the most part, looked exactly the same as the last time you’d seen it. His bed was in the same place, the same lamps were on the nightstands. The photobooth strips were gone from the edges of the mirror, kisses to your face when you sat on his lap at his bandmates’ birthday. Your iPhone charger was missing from your side of the bed, you knew your drawer in the dresser was empty.
But, the box you’d kept your jewelry in was in the same spot on the dresser.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, padded over and opened the lid. You hadn’t expected it, but inside in the top corner sat the gold bracelet you’d unclipped hastily from your wrist in his driveway and dropped inside the box of his things.
Your stomach sank at the sight of it, a memory of what was and who you were, now abandoned and shut away so he wouldn’t have to see it. What had he done? Gone through the box of his things and put them all away?
Did he leave it on the floor near his front door for a week like you did? Hoping that ignoring it would make it all disappear?
You imagined him, putting every item of clothing back into his closet, putting the books back on his shelf and then--at the very bottom--picking up the bracelet and not knowing what to do with it.
Give it to someone else? Rude, also weird. Sell it? He didn’t need the money. Throw it away? He was too sentimental. So he’d settled, you assumed, with tucking it away and out of sight until he figured out a better solution.
The gold was cool against your wrist when you clasped it into place, still lost in reverie when the door pushed open.
“Hey,” Bryn’s voice pulled you back down to earth. You turned around so quickly you hit your hip on the dresser and bent over in pain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you bit out, rubbing the fabric of your dress. “Hi--”
“What are you doing up here?” She came inside and shut the door.
“Not snooping,” you lied.
She rolled her eyes, “try again.”
“I went pee cause someone was in the bathroom downstairs and I didn’t feel like waiting.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “Implementing your ex-girlfriend privilege.”
Her eyes trailed down to your wrist, you tucked it behind your back when you noticed.
“Is that your bracelet?” She came over and reached for your arm, tugging it forward to see. “Where was it?”
“In the jewelry box,” you pointed. “It looked so sad tangled up in the corner.”
“Honestly--m’surprised he kept it.”
“Me too,” you said.
“You can’t just take it back, though, Y/N.”
“Why not?”
She stepped away and looked at you like you’d gone mad. “Because he literally watched you take it off your wrist and throw it in the box like you were having a tantrum.”
You waited for her to say more, eyebrows raised as if to say and…?
“Meaning he’ll know you came in here and took it if he sees you wearing it.”
“He’ll never even notice, Bryn.”
She looked around the room and shook her head. “You’re mental, truly. You’re going to steal back the gift he gave you for your birthday that you gave back to him when you broke up?”
You lifted your wrist, held it between you in the air and shook it. “Yep.”
She sighed. “Can we at least leave before he finds us up here, then?”
“Fine,” you sighed, shutting the lid to the jewelry box and following her over to the door.
It pushed open though, Jake was on the other side with brows knit together and a quiet voice. “What are you two doing up here?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly, arms crossed in defense.
“Y/N’s stealing back her things.”
“Thanks, Bryn.”
“I thought we were being honest now!”
You rolled your eyes at her. You hadn’t meant for your honesty campaign to come back and bite you in the arse so frequently.
“It was a gift!” You held up your wrist to show him the bracelet, offended by their accusations.
“However you got it, I feel like snooping around Harry’s room isn’t a great look.”
You sighed and knew he was right, let Bryn drag you back to the hallway after shutting the door to his room. Jake turned the corner and, of course, thanks to the wine and your karma, Harry had just ascended the stairs with a petite brunette in tow.
“Hi,” he looked confused, eyes scanning over the three of you as they slowed to a stop. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Bryn said with an innocent smile. “Just had to use the bathroom.”
“All three of you?” Harry tilted his head to the side, suspicion written on his face when his eyes landed on you.
“Yep,” you said, a quick nod to play it off. Distraction: “Hi,” you stuck out a hand to the girl by his side, hoping to seem calm and collected. “I’m Y/N.”
“Uh, right,” Harry motioned. “This is Ruth.”
“Hi,” Bryn and Jake both greeted flatly, unimpressed. She mumbled out a greeting but you ignored her.
“Sorry, there was a line downstairs,” you explained, an awkward laugh when he nodded.
“Got it, s’why we’re up here too.”
“Right, okay,” you nodded, pushing Bryn into motion and towards the stairs. Harry was about to let it go, pointing down the hall to show Ruth where to find the loo.
“Hey, Y/N?” He looked over his shoulder, a sly smile decorated his lips.
“Yeah?” You turned quickly, stomach in a knot when your eyes locked on his.
“Nice bracelet. S’beautiful.”
Jake and Bryn were silent, you hid your wrist behind your back. He wasn’t angry, his eyes were soft and forgiving, Ruth shut the door and all you could mumble was thanks.
**
Briony didn’t know you well, seeing as she’d been dating Bryn for a total of four weeks. So perhaps she was the one you felt most embarrassed in front of as Jessie’s jaw almost hit the floor.
“He noticed it?”
“Of course he noticed it,” Bryn scoffed. “He bought it.”
“Where is he now?” Adam asked, his voice low enough to avoid letting anyone overhear your conversation. The party had thinned out after midnight, Harry made trips to and from the door as he said goodbye to his guests.
You were sat at the kitchen counter now, having poured another glass of wine after your run in with crime. Jake’s arms were crossed over his chest and Bryn still managed to deliver disapproving looks even with her arms wrapped around Briony’s waist.
“Probably with Ruth,” you raised the pitch of your voice to mock, Jessie let out an eye roll.
“Don’t take it out on Ruth.”
“Who even is Ruth?!” You whispered at her, shoulders rising up to your ears from tension.
“She’s friends with his cousin or something, I don’t know. She’s not a threat,” Jessie reassured, a wave of her hand to really sell it.
“Sure--he’s probably already sleeping with her and you guys are finally minding your business so you won’t tell me.”
They all had a reaction to that, minus Briony.
“Alright, maybe you should go home, Smalls.”
You looked at Jake like he was mental. “Go home?” You asked. “I’m not drunk!”
“No, but, you don’t seem to be having a good night.”
His observation made your stomach drop, the fear started rushing in before you could stop the question from tumbling out of your mouth. “Is he seeing someone?”
Jessie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Y/N, do you hear yourself?”
“I do! And I think it’s a fair question since none of you have the most honest track record.”
“We’ve never kept things from you to hurt you, Smalls,” Jake was bothered now, his face twisted into an expression of frustration. “You act like we’re pathological liars.”
“Well you’re not pathological truthers,” you grimaced at how stupid you sounded and sipped at your wine.
“You’ve done a lot of finger pointing lately, you know.”
A sarcastic and snarky tone: “have I?”
“You have,” Jake nodded. “And not for nothing, Y/N--” the use of your real name signaled his anger, “--but you haven’t even looked in the mirror. You’re so quick to call us liars that you haven’t even entertained the fact that you’ve got incredible trust issues and sabotaged your own relationship because of it.”
“Okay,” Jessie put a hand up to his chest in an attempt to calm him down. He let out a huff and shrugged away from her, heading for Harry’s back garden. Adam followed him out but squeezed your shoulder as he passed, a mediocre attempt at apologizing on Jake’s behalf.
Bryn clapped her hands together, “alright, well, love you both, but we’re probably going to head out on that note.” She came to hug you, kissed your head and said: he’ll calm down.
You offered Briony an apologetic smile in farewell and watched them head for the foyer to find their coats, Jessie pulled up a stool next to you and sighed.
“I’m an idiot,” you said quietly, shoulders slumped as you traced the stem of your wine glass with your pointer finger.
She was quiet for a second, put her elbows on the granite and said: “you’re a lovable idiot,” before resting her head on your shoulder.
You let out a huff of air, cheeks flushed as tears welled in your eyes. You could hear his laugh in the living room, a few other voices still lagged behind at the end of the night. Your skin felt prickly, sticky with heat and emotion that threatened to spill over when you stood abruptly.
“I’m gonna go to the loo, yeah?”
Jessie squeezed your hand but nodded, a knowing look on her freckled face. She let you slip up the stairs without another word and lock the door of the half-bath behind you.
Jake’s words stung, but what seemed to weave through your ribs and hurt the most was the fact that he was right.
Harry didn’t communicate well and Bryn didn’t rush to honesty. Adam never wanted to get in the middle and Jessie had too many opinions.
And you--standing beside the stupid TK Maxx towels--had trust issues that lurked behind every corner. You’d been so quick to get upset with them for all of their wrongdoings that you hadn’t bothered to consider your own missteps and the effect that they had.
You heard the front door open and shut, hoped it was Ruth heading out and that you’d never have to see her again. Petty and stupid and immature, you wiped your eyes and cursed yourself for always realizing things too late.
Harry had fucked up and Jessie had fucked up and so had you. Perhaps the crumbling of your relationship wasn’t a direct result of any one lie or event, but a culmination of each of your faults.
A puzzle of fuck ups and mistakes that came together in an untimely fashion. Maybe you were also to blame.
The door latched into place and the noise echoed in the hallway when you decided it was time to call it a night. A few people still lounged in the living room, two of Harry’s bandmates you’d gotten to know well over the last two years. You didn’t hear Jessie--not even Jake--as you descended the stairs and rounded into the kitchen.
Harry stood at the sink, a wine glass in his hand after he rinsed it and tucked it into his dishwasher.
“Where’s Jess?”
He turned at the sound of your voice, an unreadable expression on his face. “She just left, with Jake and Adam,” he pointed a finger towards the door and waited for a reaction.
“They left me here? They left me at your house?”
“Jake was annoyed--dunny why. I told them I’d bring you home,” he said quietly, suddenly aware of the emotion in your voice.
You took an unsteady breath, closed your eyes for a second but nodded in defeat. “Okay.”
This seemed to catch him by surprise. He blinked a few times, lips pushed out as if he expected you to change your mind. He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh--actually, I asked them to let me bring you home. Jessie didn’t want to leave you, but I asked her to.”
Your eyes trailed up to his, the truth hung in the air between you and for a second, you wondered if he’d take it back.
“Why?”
He shrugged a shoulder and the corner of his mouth pulled towards the ceiling. “Kind of wanted to get the bracelet back.”
“You’re a twat,” you let out a small giggle, the tension immediately broken. You could see him relax at that, unaware until that moment of how much power you held over him.
He was quiet for a second, held your gaze until you shifted on your feet and looked at the clock above his stove. “D’you want a ride?”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.”
He nodded, found his keys and said goodbye to the few friends that still hung around. You climbed into the passenger seat and remembered the last time you’d been here.
November, some leaves still lingered on trees when he’d offered to get Thai. Now, the approaching holidays seemed to hover in the backseat when he asked:
“So, are you going home soon?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Probably around the 21st, I think. Are you?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I’ve got some promo stuff in LA when the album comes out, then some back here--but I’ll probably come up there right before Christmas.”
Quiet for a second, you thought about the trips you’d taken together, first class, fancy bathtubs, the private clubs he got to wait in at the airports.
Your own demons lurked nearby, right beside the threat of the holiday season. Trust issues, paranoia, anxiety, impulsive decisions. They mocked you and reminded you of the ghosts of relationships past when he stole a glance in your direction.
“Y’alright?”
“Yeah,” you said, looking over to him. Should you say it? Push the words up and out before they could root themselves any stronger in your gut? “How, uh--how are you doing?”
His right hand rested on the gear change, a tiny smirk when he repeated your question. “How am I doing?”
You nodded quickly.
“I’m doing alright,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” you said quickly, though it wasn’t the truth. He knew this, peered over quickly when the smirk had become a full blown smile. “What?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “You seem...off tonight.”
“Ruth was nice.”
“Ruth?”
“That was her name, right?”
“She’s a friend of a friend,” he told you.
“You don’t have to explain,” you said.
“Smalls--are you alright?”
“Mhm.”
He let out a sigh, turned left onto your street and then let out a small laugh when you unbuckled, hand on the door like you were ready to tuck and roll. He pulled to a stop, put the car in park when he turned to you.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, opening the door.
“Y/N?”
You turned over your shoulder to see him, his features illuminated by the glow from the display in his car. “Yeah?”
You were halfway out the door, one foot on the wet pavement outside your flat when he said: “You could have just asked for the bracelet back.”
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
AN: WOW. Okay I think this is seriously my favorite chapter. I knew from the start of this sequel that one of the biggest moments would be December 29th but from H's POV. This was so fun to write and SO MUCH HAPPENED in this chapter between EVERYONE!!!! Would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you as always for reading!
Jake had said it simply the other night on facetime, toothbrush in his mouth when Harry complained about his realization.
“She’s nice, I dunno, I just don’t feel a good connection.”
“Why not?” his words were muffled and Harry could tell by the look on his face, Jake thought he was crazy. Ending it with Nina Winters?
“We don’t have good banter,” he shrugged absentmindedly. “Don’t really love spending time with her.”
“You haven’t even slept with her yet--” Jake reminded.
“M’aware,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Sex isn’t everything, y’know.”
“Well then what is it you’re looking for? What’s she missing?”
Harry stared at his laptop screen, another email from his manager, another schedule for the next day in New York. “Someone who I’m comfortable with and who’s smart and funny and gets along with my family. Someone who’s like my best friend. And someone who I’m attracted to, obviously.”
Jake spit into the sink, Harry made a face at the noise.
“Sounds like you want Smalls.”
Brows furrowed, Harry tugged his eyes back to his phone. “Y/N?”
“Yes, Y/N,” Jake rolled his eyes. “As if you disagree.”
He thought on it for a second. Right. Sure. Harry had considered that a million times and unfortunately for him, the more time that passed since December 29th, 2015, the more he thought about her.
Jake took his friend’s silence as an admission of defeat, a smug smile when he bid Harry farewell. “Text her, you’re both in New York--have dinner or something. You know she’ll say yes.”
So now, Harry looked out the window at the snowflakes that littered lower Manhattan. Somewhere on this island she was here. Maybe in a cubicle or on the subway or maybe she was already home in her flat watching the news break about the storm.
Nine letters appeared below his message, delivered, but really, Harry felt exposed. He’d gone out on a limb--a shaky and half rotten limb in the tree of friendship, if he could even call it that.
“Hey, they want to run a soundcheck in a few,” Erica sounded from behind him, distracted by whatever email or text she read on her phone. He turned quickly, found her with a clipboard in hand and a smile on her face when she looked up at him. It faded, she could read the hesitance on his face, or maybe she could tell he was nauseous. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he nodded casually. “M’fine.”
“Okay,” she accepted his answer, turned to walk back out the door of the Spotify green room and leave him alone with his thoughts.
“Remember that girl I was friends with, Y/N? From home?”
Erica stopped in her tracks, apparently he wasn’t okay. “Yeah--why?”
“I asked her to come tonight.”
“Here?”
“She lives here,” he shrugged again, suddenly feeling like his decision was stupid. Did Erica think he sounded desperate? Was it a terrible idea? “She might not come, I don’t know.”
Erica smiled, not too much though, in fear of making him more nervous than he already was. “Sounds good--let me know what she says and I’ll make sure she gets a good seat.”
She disappeared down the hall and Harry paced around for a while, rereading the text he’d sent to be sure it was casual and cool.
He knew things hadn’t really ended well--though he preferred to think they hadn’t ended at all. His relationship with Y/N had always been a little hot and cold. In some seasons of life she seemed to think his jokes were funny and enjoyed spending time with him, even if that was in a group or over a good fry-up at Annie’s.
In other seasons, she seemed to be unimpressed by his fame, his charm--maybe even him altogether.
For a long time she was the girl Harry always kind of liked, as a friend, as more, as someone who was funny and nice and wasn’t as obnoxious as Jessie or as condescending as Bryn. And for a while, Harry wondered if one day he’d gather up the courage to kiss her or ask her on a date just to see what would happen, but by the time that desire grew deep in his chest, Harry was busy selling out arenas and booking photoshoots with famous magazines.
Should have been but never was, Harry decided, always liking her instagram posts or smiling to himself when she said something clever in the group chat with their other mates. Should have been, but never was.
He was more excited than he should have been in 2015 when he learned that she’d broken up with her wanker boyfriend--Billy or Charlie or Henry--something like that. He was excited to see her when he showed up at Kenny Tilley’s house for a Christmas party with their other hometown peers, only to be wrought with regret after too many drinks and too many words and too many emotions.
Which is why his heart nearly fell out of his ass when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket mid sound-check.
Hi, thanks for the invite! Whereabouts is it?
He stared at the screen, mumbled the words to whatever song he was singing as if his brain wasn’t wrapped up in the possible scenario at hand: see Smalls for the first time in two years.
He could tell his band was bothered by his mediocre singing and half-hearted emotion when he thumbed out a response, all the while keeping his lips to the microphone to get through the song.
It’s at Spotify, it’s a live recording thing. No worries if you’re busy, but it’s 8pm.
A separate text:
150 Greenwich St 62nd Floor, New York, NY 10007.
He laughed at his own words: no worries if you’re busy. So nonchalant, so relaxed, as if his pulse wasn’t through the roof when she replied.
See you then!
So he finished up his sound-check and returned to the same behavior from before he took the tiny stage in front of an empty audience: pacing. He tried to stomach some dinner but wasn’t hungry, tried to go over the set list again but decided it was best to just let the anxiety happen.
Maybe she’d show up, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d be so angry that she’d ball him out in the green room afterwards or maybe she’d be excited to see him. The possibilities were endless, coated the stage in a thick layer of anticipation when Harry scanned the crowd during the first song, the second, the fifth, the seventh.
Would she blow him off like that? Say she’d be there and then just ghost him? Maybe he deserved it--but she told him to never speak to her again, he’d just been doing what she wanted, right?
The questions swirled round in his head when Erica greeted him backstage, a hushed whisper that had Harry forgetting all about the songs or the fans or the pit in his stomach: she’s in the green room with a friend, roommate, I think.
Thirty-three steps down the hall and then one giant breath in as he pushed the door open. She was there, a jacket wrapped around her frame, her friend with wide eyes on the couch when they both whipped their heads in his direction.
“Hey Smalls,” he said casually, feeling the corner of his mouth pull upwards as he walked towards her. She was frozen, awkward, an uncertain look on her face when Harry wrapped his arms around her.
“Hi,” she finally greeted, eyes meeting his once he let go. Was that awkward? She didn’t even hug him back. Harry cleared his throat and then smiled at her friend.
“I’m Harry. You must be,” he raised his eyebrows at her, reaching forward to make contact as Smalls stood awkwardly between them.
“Alyssa,” she answered quickly, extending her hand and offering a toothy grin in return--much more excited than Smalls, Harry noted.
Another awkward beat when Harry ran a hand through his hair, watched them both for a second and wondered what she’d told Alyssa. I told him I liked him and then threw up?
He looked between the two of them, mouth suddenly dry when he realized that Smalls, despite the time that had passed, looked just as uncomfortable with him as she always had. He was imploding, she seemed to be doing the same, and for a second, Harry wondered if this was a terrible idea and if he should just thank her for coming and get the fuck out of there.
“Good to see you,” she said suddenly, fingers reaching for the zipper on her jacket. “Sounded great out there!”
He smiled at this, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, thank you. Yeah, m’glad you could make it, thanks for coming.”
More silence. Alyssa shifted on her feet and smoothed her hair.
“How long are you in New York for?” Smalls asked, licked her lips quickly before letting her eyes glance down to the floor.
“Another week, actually. Doing some promo here and there. Heading back for the holidays soon though. Y’gonna be home?”
“Yeah--booked my flight a few days ago actually. Heading to Heathrow on the 20th.”
“Nice,” he nodded, averting his gaze for a minute over to Alyssa. Smalls turned to look back at her, but as soon as they locked eyes, she pulled her phone from her pocket and pretended to be occupied by something much more interesting.
So she definitely knew their history, Harry thought. For some reason, that gave him the confidence he needed, a small smile when he asked: “Have you both eaten dinner?”
Smalls nodded in confirmation but Alyssa shook her head, Harry furrowed his brows and fought the smirk that threatened to take over his features. One of them was going to break eventually.
“She means ‘we had a snack.’ You were just saying how hungry you were, Y/N,” Alyssa prompted, her left brow twitching upwards as if to silently communicate something with her friend.
“Uh, we sort of ate.”
He let out a laugh, hoping to calm the nerves in his gut. “Well, I was gonna go to a really seedy place that has the best Pad Thai in the city--if you want to join.”
Alyssa looked to Smalls and seemed to wait for her response, just like Harry did.
“Uh,” she shrugged her shoulders, about to back out. Harry’d long been used to the noncommittal ways of his childhood pal. Apparently, her roommate was too.
“You two go, I’ve actually got a lot of stuff to do tonight. I’ll just get a cab home.” She made her way towards the door and offered a smile over her shoulder. “Text me when you’re on your way home, yeah?”
He could have sworn he saw Smalls offer a nasty glare to her friend, one that only had his lips twitching in amusement when Alyssa offered him a wave.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry called, shoving a hand into his pocket as the door shut behind her. He turned back around and felt the same butterflies he’d been feeling since he was a kid. “Shall we?”
**
It wasn’t like Harry had never been alone with her before. There were plenty of car rides to school functions or moments when they’d get left alone by the others, accidentally making his heart rate soar until she made some kind of comment that made it clear: they were friends.
But the words he’d reminded himself of all night seemed to get lodged in his throat when they sat in the backseat of a black SUV, her pointer finger swiped through 5-star reviews on Yelp. Apparently she didn’t trust his taste in Thai.
Small pleasantries, he asked about her family and filled her in on his. They did the whole how have the last few years been, seeing as that was the last time they spoke regularly or had any clue what the other was up to.
December in New York was cold, she shrunk into her jacket in the cold air and Harry held the door, a bell above it chimed and a bowl of mints on the counter greeted them before a woman appeared with dated menus.
Harry slid into a booth and Smalls immediately poured over the laminated pages: spring rolls, tofu, drunken noodles. He let out a hum, chanced a look in her direction. Was she really going to make it this hard?
She was. Short answers to his questions, surface level conversation after they ordered and nervous laughter until their food was brought out.
“So how’re Jessie and Bryn?” He asked, using two chopsticks to pull noodles onto his plate.
She shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes met his for a second but she looked away quickly.
“They’re good. Bryn is working in finance at some company I don’t even know the name of,” she recounted, following his move to pull a serving onto her plate. “Jessie’s looking into PhD programmes. Can’t stand the thought of being uneducated.”
He let out a laugh at her joke, carrying a bite of food towards his mouth.
“And you’re…”
“At The Scoop, you’ve probably never heard of it, but we love to write about you.”
She rolled her eyes at that, always ready to crack a joke about the insane amount of attention he got. For what, she’d ask, shaking your hips on stage and having obnoxious hair?
The right side of his mouth pulled up as he chewed.
“Well, not me, but, like, my coworkers,” she backtracked.
Harry didn’t know how much to divulge, but he knew all of that. He knew about Bryn and Jessie and he knew where she worked.
“I know it, the website,” he nodded. Another bite, words spoken around chunks of chicken. “I’ve read some of your stuff. Didn’t know if you were still there.”
“You’ve read it?” Her eyes were wide, he smirked and rolled up the sleeves of his brown sweater so as to not make contact with the broken pieces of noodles on the table.
“I have. Pretty good, really. People seem to love you.”
He also noticed that she’d never written a single thing about him. Not his name, not his photo, no trace of him appeared on her author page and, he figured, that was on purpose.
“And you like New York,” he nodded, waiting for an answer despite the fact that he’d already made a statement.
“Love New York,” she nodded. “Excited to go back to London though for the holidays.”
“We’ll have to get everyone together. I know I’ve been,” a lift of his right shoulder out of guilt, “pretty shit at keeping in touch.”
“You’re busy,” was all she said.
“Still.”
“S’fine.”
“S’not, but,” he didn’t finish.
There it was, the small and quick lift of her brows that let him know he hit a nerve. Harry knew her too well to think that it didn’t bother her, and now, as he watched her take another bite before she looked up at him, his heart sank.
Maybe they’d never get back what once was. Maybe he didn’t have the words to apologize and maybe she didn’t have the time to hear him out. Maybe asking her to come tonight was stupid and maybe what was left between them was just a hollow shell of the friendship that used to make him excited to come home and visit.
But Harry hoped it wasn’t.
She derailed the conversation before he could go any further, plastered a smile on her face and asked about the tour, about his album, tried to beat him to the check when he slapped a card on the table.
Disappointment settled in Harry’s chest when she tugged on her jacket and a hat, ready to face the snow that fell from the night sky, but he was desperate to turn the night around.
“Want to walk?”
“Huh?”
He stifled a laugh, “Walk, Smalls, just for fun. I don’t always see too much of the city.”
This caught her off guard, a nervous glance around the room that made Harry feel guilty for trying to extend the evening. Couldn’t blame him for trying, though, right?
“I mean, I have to work in the morning, so.”
“Oh,” his face fell. “Yeah, no, s’fine.”
“I guess, we can walk to my apartment, if you really want. It’s not--it’s like fourteen blocks from here.”
Another sheepish smile from him as he pushed on the door and waited for her to walk under his arm. The snowflakes were smaller when they looked up to see them dance in the flood of street lights. Harry went up to the passenger side window of the car that waited for him, knocked twice before the driver rolled it down.
Gonna walk, not far, I don’t need security.
They fell into step together quite seamlessly, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and wondered if she was leaving just as much unsaid as he was.
“This is where I get my hair cut, actually,” she pointed to a window with empty barber chairs inside, a sly smile tugging at her mouth when he pressed his face up the window.
“Really?”
“No--that’s like--it’s a place for men,” she raised her brows at the stupid look on his face, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound of her laugh.
He smiled and turned back to look at her. A pause for a second, she knew exactly where his mind went.
“Don’t say it,” she shook her head quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth at the same time.
“You’re killing me, Smalls.”
She rolled her eyes but started walking again, picking up her pace to let him know she was annoyed. “I hate that nickname.”
He caught up, an undeniable and unmistakable twitch of his lips that soon became a full-face grin.
“Oh come on, Y/N, s’not that bad,” he reached over to poke her in the shoulder. She shuttered under his touch, shrinking into her scarf when she looked over at him.
“Is too,” she said, biting back a laugh. “You lot are the only ones who ever use that and I’ve never given my actual consent!”
He went quiet, his boots brushing against the powder on the concrete as he tried to hide the smile on his face. Even in silence it felt nice to be with her. Even when she rolled her eyes or had quick comebacks, being around her made Harry feel like he was home. Maybe that’s what he was chasing, maybe that would answer Jake’s question.
The wind blew every once in a while and he’d angle his body slightly to shield her, eyes tracing the skyline as the snowflakes downgraded to specks of dust in the wind.
Harry didn’t mind the way butterflies erupted when he looked at her, didn’t mind how she caught him stealing glances and certainly didn’t mind the way she giggled when he nudged her with his hip as she slowed to a stop in front of her flat.
“Thanks for,” he paused, his lips twitching as he searched for the right label. “Hanging out.”
“Yeah, s’good to see you. I’d uh, invite you up--s’pretty messy, though.”
“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, shaking his head as he looked up to take in the sight of the building. It was shorter than some others, only eight stories on the residential street.
He watched her hopefully, apparently this made her nervous and she stammered.
“Well, I mean, s’late, I know you’re probably busy tomorrow.”
He wasn’t about to let it go that easily. What could have been a trainwreck of a night was only a small collision, awkward in moments but finally more relaxed.
“I have a place a few blocks away. I’ll probably walk home myself, s’a short walk.”
“You have an apartment here?” she asked, her voice smaller than it’d been all night, like sadness had taken some of the volume out when she realized just how close they’d been.
“M’not here often, really,” he said quickly, the emotion on her face made his eyes drop to the snowy sidewalk. He knew just how bad it sounded. “A week or two at a time, few times a year. But, I’d still love to see your place.”
He wouldn’t have fallen out of touch if she hadn’t told him to. He would have seen her more, especially after all of that, but she cried and refused and Harry was left with a heaping of guilt so big he wondered if he’d ever be the same.
She looked up at him now, a sigh before she bit at her lip, nodding slowly. “Uh, yeah, okay.”
She fished for her keys in her pocket, he followed her to the lift and climbed inside, riding in silence until she turned left and stopped atop a welcome mat.
She keyed in quietly, took a few steps inside before turning to face him, pulling the hat off her head. “S’not much, but it’s home,” she looked around. A small couch and armchair in the center of the living room. A modest-sized TV, a small table and two teal chairs by the kitchen in the corner.
Harry took it in, pictured her typing away on her laptop, pen in her mouth and glasses on. Maybe she’d sit cross-legged on the couch, maybe she’d sip wine with Alyssa at the table and laugh about their workdays.
“S’nice,” he smiled, bringing his eyes back to hers. “Feels homey.”
The door to Alyssa’s bedroom creaked, her figure emerging from the light that seeped through the crack. “How’d it--oh, hi!” Her eyes widened when she saw Harry. “How was dinner?”
They spoke at the same time.
“Good,” he said.
“Fine,” was her response.
Aylssa crossed her arms over her chest awkwardly, he looked between them both and offered another smile. Smacking his lips together, he looked around the room once more, his eyes finally landing on Smalls.
“I’ll see you--yeah? I’m here for another week, we could do dinner or something?”
Apparently this caught her off guard, she parted her lips to speak but only nodded. He smiled again, selfishly liking the effect he had.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she watched as he headed for the door he’d just entered through.
“Nice to meet you again, Alyssa.”
“You too,” a dazed look still on her face as she watched him reach for the handle.
“You can find your way down? And your way home?”
He crossed the threshold back into the hallway, his lip curling up. “I’m good, Smalls.”
“Okay.”
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Bye,” she said, one last look in his eyes before she shut the door.
**
Present Day
You didn’t expect your Thursday evening to go like this. You didn’t expect to be throwing a tequila shot back and you certainly didn’t expect to be throwing your ass in a circle to Single Ladies at 9pm.
“S’a bit early for twerking, no?” Katie looked on in horror. Hattie--her trusty London sidekick--watched with less judgment but just as much shock.
“We’re old now, by midnight we’ll all have heartburn,” you reminded her, a roll of your eyes when Bryn reappeared with a new drink.
“It’s got your name on it!” She wiggled it in front of your face, laughed when you reached excitedly and took a gulp.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Jessie pointed a finger, “but I like it.”
“Alright, well someone make sure she doesn’t throw up, yeah?”
“Oh shut up,” you made a face at Jake. “I’m just letting loose, having fun--isn’t this the type of shit you lot have been wanting me to do?”
“Yeah, responsibly, though.”
Adam scoffed when Jessie punched him in the shoulder. “Oi--why is wanting to drink responsibly a bad thing?”
“It’s not, but when was the last time Y/N wanted to go to a club?”
They all made a face at that, apparently there was enough suspicion about your weeknight request that they’d decided to ignore how strange it was.
Bryn tried to corner you in the loo a half hour prior to ask why on earth are we here and why do you want to get drunk? Katie and Hattie were curious too, Jake and Adam seemed the most into it, and that left Jessie.
“Alright,” she reappeared beside you with another shot. “Someone at the bar bought these for us because they said you have a nice ass.”
“Me?!” You took one of the shot glasses from her with a smile.
“Well you’re the only one throwing it in a circle, so, yes.”
They all laughed at this, you chose to believe it was with you, not at you--that would just be sad.
It had been a shitty two weeks. Two weeks since Harry dropped you off in front of your flat and you realized that pretending you didn’t miss him didn’t actually change the way you were feeling.
You downed the shot that Jessie handed over, Bryn groaned when you didn’t wait for Jessie to take one with you, and that’s when Katie finally had enough.
“Alright--what has gotten into you?”
“Me?”
“No, the other person here who’s suddenly manic and throwing back shots.”
You let your eyes roll to the back of your head, stuck out your tongue at your little sister when Jessie intervened.
“I think Katie’s just asking if you’re alright.”
“I’m great!” You smiled at the six of them. “I’m fantastic, why?!”
“You’re a bit of a hot mess,” Bryn put a hand on your shoulder, her watered down version of the truth stung when Katie took it a step further:
“Is this about Harry?”
“What about him?”
“Oh I don’t know,” Katie shot back. “You miss him, you saw him at that party.”
“You what?” Bryn asked quickly. The middle of the dance floor didn’t seem like a good place for this discussion. “Where’d you see him?”
You let out a dramatic groan over the music. All you wanted to do was throw your hands in the air because you were a single lady!
“You saw Harry?” Jessie’s head was suddenly close to yours.
“Alright, it’s not like he fell off the face of the earth.”
“No,” Bryn agreed, “but he hasn’t come to dinner the last two weeks and Jake said he was weird when he saw him last weekend.”
You peered over your shoulder, “you saw Harry last weekend?”
Jake paused for a second, pulled into your conversation when he looked between you, Bryn, and Jessie. Were you all being honest? Jake couldn’t tell.
“Yes...no?” He grimaced at Bryn. “Yes. I did.”
You nodded, lips in a thin line to show that you didn’t care. What did they talk about? Did he tell them he’d seen you? Did he tell them about Charlie?
“Okay,” you nodded.
“Oh come off it,” Katie gave you a playful shove. “You’re not dying to know what he’s been saying about you?”
“How do you know he’s even been saying things about me?” You challenged.
“Because he has,” Adam said absentmindedly, apparently he’d had just as much to drink as you had.
You all whipped your heads in his direction, he offered a hesitant smile when he realized what he’d said.
Jessie and Bryn watched you closely, waiting for a reaction as you nodded. Calm, cool, collected. Okay. Right. Of course he’d talk about you with them. They were his friends, too.
“Right,” you said, a forced smile at Bryn when she offered you a sympathetic frown. “I’m going to get another drink.”
It was weird and they all knew it, the new attempt to respect privacy and boundaries and not share every tiny morsel of information like you’d previously done for the last decade plus. None of them chased you, they let you wait at the bar in peace for another glass to be slid your way.
The music kept blaring and Katie and Hattie seemed to loosen up as the night went on, less embarrassed by your dancing before the club had even filled out.
By 11pm Bryn was rolling her eyes, ready to go home. We all have to work tomorrow, she reminded. Jessie was keen on staying and Adam headed to the bar to get another round when she disappeared to the bathroom with your sister.
“Y’alright?”
Jake, of course. You turned to see him in the darkness, felt the vibrating of the bass in your chest when he sat next to you in the oversized booth. The room started spinning when the strobe lights turned on, you figured you deserved to sit this one out.
“Yeah--drunk.”
He laughed, “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”
For a moment he didn’t say anything, broke his gaze from you as you ripped the paper napkin into tiny shreds, like your dignity. Symbolic.
“Okay, ten second pity party, go.”
“What?”
He looked at you, unimpressed. “If you need to feel bad for yourself because you don’t get every piece of information, now’s your chance. I’ll listen and be supportive and play along.”
“Don’t be a dick,” you told him, eyes narrowed.
“M’not,” he said, defensive. “I get it. This is weird. It must be hard.”
You didn’t get a chance to reply, Adam appeared beside you bright-eyed, fingers stretched around three shot glasses. “Hi!”
“Oh god,” you wrinkled your nose at the sight.
“You’re the one who asked for them!” His shoulders rose in innocence.
“I know, I know,” you waved him off, regretting the request you’d made only ten minutes earlier. “Isn’t it clear by now that I make shit decisions?”
“What?” Jake’s forehead wrinkled, he didn’t catch your subtle admission.
“Never mind.”
Adam set the shots down on the table and sat across from Jake, who now let out a sigh. You wiped at your eyes and hoped your makeup wasn’t too smudged from sweating.
You peered over at Jake, pout on your face for three seconds until he figured out what you were up to.
“No, no Smalls, do not look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Adam asked, perking up.
“She wants to know what happened when we saw Harry.”
“Oh come on,” you whined. “I thought we were all being honest?”
“I thought we were butting out,” he corrected you.
“That includes being honest.”
“Does it?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.
“It does!” You informed them. “Seriously--what could have happened that you wouldn’t tell me about? Did’ya smoke some weed? Watch footy all night? Have a slumber party?”
They both rolled their eyes at your pestering, Jake let out a huff and turned to look at you.
“We talked about you.”
“Me?” It was the answer you’d been hoping for, but the butterflies in your stomach still took flight. “What about me?”
“Nothing,” he offered you a sarcastic grin. “Just how great you are.”
“Adam,” you shifted your mission, new target. “How was it? Did he seem weird? Did he mention seeing me at the party?”
“He mentioned a lot,” Adam said with a nod, eyes on the shots in the center of the table. “Said it’s been hard, obviously.”
“Adam,” Jake warned.
“What’s been hard?” You spoke quickly, scooching closer to Adam.
“Smalls, you know he loves you.”
“Does he?”
“Would he have started talking to ring designers over the summer if he didn’t?”
Almost like a bomb went off, the music faded out and the rest of the club became a blur, flashing lights and fog machines disappeared when Jake let out a groan.
“For fuck’s sake, Adam, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Adam’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d said. They both watched you, frozen, lips parted and heart nearly beating out of your chest. Was this what a heart attack felt like? You pushed Adam out of the booth and grabbed your purse on the table.
Ten steps towards the door, Katie tried to grab your arm when she saw the look on your face and the emotion in your eyes. You shrugged her off, another fifteen until the cold November air was drying the tears on your face.
You rounded the corner, passed the line of girls in skimpy clothes hoping to get inside. No jacket--another shit decision--and tried to catch your breath once you were far enough away from the door.
“Y/N wait,” Jake was behind you now, Adam in tow.
“No,” you said over your shoulder. “It’s fine. I don’t want to know anything.”
“You don’t?” He asked incredulously, a bit mocking when you turned around.
“Of course I do, but what good is it? He obviously doesn’t want to be with me if he didn’t tell me any of that, right? He obviously hates me and obviously this is never going to work out so I should just get over it.”
Adam had the shot glasses in his hand, somehow he’d managed to make it by the bouncer with all three glasses sloshing over the sides as they followed you out in haste.
You let out an awkward laugh when you saw them, he offered an apologetic smile.
“Did you know back then?”
“That he was thinking about proposing?”
You nodded.
“Don’t you think one of us would have stopped you from being an idiot and breaking up with him if we knew?” Jake made a face at you like you were crazy.
Adam stifled a laugh and leaned back against the side of the building. “He didn’t tell us until after you’d already broken up and after that terribly awkward dinner when he got food poisoning.” He rolled his eyes at the stupid excuse.
Your mouth felt dry, the world seemed to keep spinning as you stood, paralyzed by regret and confusion. Jake finally reached for the shot glasses in Adam’s hands.
“Why didn’t he tell me that, though? I told him the day after we ended it that things seemed weird between us and--”
“And then you would have thought he was lying about that just to save his arse,” Adam reasoned. “Using ‘but I was going to propose’ as a way to stop you from dumping him? He’s an idiot but he’s not that stupid.”
You looked away, embarrassed that you were that predictable.
“Look, you didn’t hear this from us, okay?” Jake handed you a shot, you knew the watch around his wrist had been a birthday gift from Harry two years prior. “He’d kill us if he knew we--he,” a finger in Adam’s direction, “told you that.”
Adam happily took his shot glass and clinked it against yours, still buzzed enough to not grasp the gravity of the conversation at hand. You brought the liquid to your lips and grimaced as it burned its way down your throat.
An immediate gag reflex, apparently your body decided you’d been enough of a twat for this lifetime. The contents of your stomach came back up, you turned around and barfed directly onto the pavement beneath your feet.
Adam and Jake both moved away from you instinctively, grimacing when you coughed and then stood up. One of them shoved a napkin in your direction, you wiped at your mouth and stood up.
Sad eyes when you looked at them. The only thing that stung worse than the combo of tequila and vomit was the truth: you fucked up.
“Can I have that ten second pity party now?”
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
Harry felt like the tables had turned. When he pushed the door open to the Red Lion pub, his heart was pounding in his chest with nerves so high he would have thought he was about to take the stage in front of all his musical heroes and then some.
He wasn’t used to being nervous anymore. In fact, he was typically the calm one and everyone else was excited and stammering and had hands shaking with anticipation. He shrugged out of his jacket and wondered how much of a wanker he was for feeling more at ease when everyone else was nervous to see him.
The fresh coat of snow in Holmes Chapel had made the roads slick, the winter air was a good excuse for the heat he felt rush to his cheeks when he saw them all at a booth in the corner--but especially her.
It was a new feeling, one that seemed to grow each time he saw a post on instagram about her uni adventures or heard what she was up to from his mum or the other women in her book club. Tidbits here and there from Mrs. Northcut--who lived down the street and worked with Y/N’s mum--had Harry lingering in the kitchen or offering to put on the kettle whenever his mum had friends over.
In all honesty, Harry was nervous about seeing them, period. Sure, maybe there was a new swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Y/N was around that made him feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, but he wasn’t stupid: he knew he wasn’t good at keeping in touch and he knew he was going to hear about it.
“Hello, hello!” Jessie saw him first, stood to wrap her arms around him as Jake hurled an insult.
“Nice of you to join us, wanker!”
“Sorry m’late--my sister had the car.”
“In a band with platinum albums, but shares a car with his sister when he’s home for the holidays,” Bryn pulled a face but still squeezed him tight.
“Hey--I texted! I gave a fair warning!”
“You could text for this but not when my gran died, I see how it is,” Adam shoved Harry with an elbow and moved out of the way so Y/N could sneak by.
“Maybe one day when we meet up it won’t start with the reminders of how much I suck--”
“Maybe one day you’ll stop sucking and we won’t need to remind you,” Y/N retorted when she opened her arms to greet him.
Harry liked tugging her into him, keenly aware of how her shoulders were the perfect height for his arms to wrap around. She pulled back and looked up at him with an apologetic but smug smile, knowing her comeback had been spot on.
“Touche,” he admitted.
“Alright, alright, have a seat,” Jake pulled out a chair when they all filed back into the booth. “How’s being home?”
“Good,” Harry nodded. “Much needed. Nice to get a break before we hit the road for a tour in the spring. But how’s everything here--and in London? Everyone’s good?”
“We’re not rockstars but we got to class and work and do boring normal people things,” Jessie smiled.
They took turns like that, went around sharing their updates and catching each other (or, really, Harry) up on their lives and clinking their drinks against each other every time someone ordered another round.
Harry felt comfortable, always pleased by how easily he fit back into their puzzle like he’d never really left. At least, that’s how he hoped it felt.
Eventually they ordered food and stole chips from each other's plates like they’d long been doing, Adam humble-bragged about an internship and that’s when someone let it slip.
“Don’t know what’s more surprising,” Jake pointed at Adam. “The fact that you’re the first one of us who’s climbing the corporate ladder, or the fact that Y/N finally has a boyfriend.”
“Oh piss off,” she gave Jake the finger and leaned back in the booth. “You’re jealous because you haven’t gotten laid in almost a year.”
“Oi, don’t rat me out like that in front of my friends,” Jake leaned forward and lowered his voice for comedic relief.
“You have a boyfriend?” Harry looked at Y/N, his hands suddenly felt clammy under the table.
“Sure does,” Bryn answered. “He’s proper fit too, name is Charlie.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at Bryn’s words but then looked over to Harry. “He’s nice--we literally just started dating a few weeks ago.”
“M’sorry,” Jessie smiled, “wasn’t yesterday your 17 day anniversary?”
She was embarrassed by that, wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Oi, will you come off it? He was just kidding when he said that.”
“We’re just happy for you,” Adam nodded. “And happy that we don’t have to hear how badly you want a boyfriend.”
They all let out a laugh at that, even Y/N managed to let one slip through with an eye roll. Bryn eventually tugged her away to the bar, if I don’t switch to beer now I’ll be puking like Harry did on the train to London in Year 10.
Harry hadn’t meant to follow her across the room with his eyes, the way her hair swayed behind her back, the way her head tilted to the side when Bryn made a joke and they waited for the bartender to pass their drinks across the counter.
“You okay?” Jake’s eyes were narrowed as he watched Harry, a smirk tugged at his lips when Harry cleared his throat and looked over to Jessie and Adam, still sipping their cocktails.
“Yeah, sorry--tired, a little jet-lagged still. Did, uh--have any of you met Charlie?”
“Yeah,” Jessie shrugged. “He’s fine enough, kind of daft, but--she’s happy.”
Harry fiddled with the straw wrapper in between his fingers, head tilted to the side. “Is she?”
Jake and Jessie looked at each other, Adam leaned back in his chair when his eyebrows arched. Somehow, apparently, they were all thinking the same thing.
“Do you--are you asking because you’ve got feelings for Y/N?”
“What?” Harry pulled his head back at Adam’s question--had he really been that obvious? “No--I mean, I dunno, she’s got a boyfriend. M’just curious.”
Jessie sighed and offered a small smile, but Harry noticed the tinge of sadness in her eyes when she admitted: “she really likes him, H. She’s had a rough few years in the love life department, to be honest.”
“I think he’s good for her,” Jake shrugged, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly to soften the blow.
“No, yeah, I get it,” Harry took a swig of the beer in his glass, let his eyes flutter back to Y/N at the bar. The growing curiosity about the girl from his hometown was likely a silly case of the what ifs--what if Harry hadn’t left? What if he went to uni like the rest of them? Would he be the one that Y/N was giggling about in pubs?
He pushed the thought out of his mind like he’d been doing so often lately and reminded himself that in just a few years, all of his dreams had come true. Sure, maybe there were questions or curiosity about what could have been, but that night as Harry laid in bed and waited for sleep, he realized he was too late. So instead of focusing on that, he tried to focus on everything that had gone right.
**
October brought a crispness to the air that still caught you by surprise, leaves crunched beneath your boots and London glowed with an autumn afternoon. You officially had three days under your belt as an On-Air Correspondent for E! News and a pep in your step as you made your way back from the cafe on the corner.
You were due on-site for an evening assignment near Buckingham Palace at 5pm, so with your phone and laptop tucked in your bag, you headed back to the office for hair and makeup in order to be ready when Reed--the cameraman on the assignment--arrived at your office for departure.
The revolving doors danced into motion as you approached, the lobby of the tall skyscraper downtown was peppered with indoor plants and leather couches. You flashed your badge and smiled at the person behind the security desk, pushed through the turnstile and waited for the lift to ding in arrival.
It was one of those moments where you should have felt it coming, you’d been feeling cheery enough over the last few days that it should have been easy to guess that something would pull you back down to earth.
The doors to the lift parted and he looked just as surprised as you did--mouth slightly ajar as if he forgot how to speak. The woman beside him paused, looked to you and offered a questioning smile.
This jerked him into motion. “Hi--Y/N, hi.”
You stared up at him, cleared your throat and forced a smile at the woman, no clue who she was. “Hi--what are you doing here?”
“BBC Radio’s on the seventh and eight floors,” he explained. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” you nodded, remembering your words to Bryn and Jessie only two weeks earlier. I’ll tell him about the new job. Had they really chosen now to stop gossiping and take your requests seriously? You reached for your badge and awkwardly held it up. “I work for E! News,” you told him. “Tenth through twelfth floors.”
His face faltered a bit but he rebounded well. “Wow--uh, sorry,” he turned suddenly to the blonde-haired woman in a navy dress. “Y/N, this is Wendy Schaefer, she produces the Breakfast Show, Wendy, this is Y/N L/N. She’s--we grew up together. She’s a friend from home.”
“Nice to meet you,” you extended a hand, forced a grin to hide the way his words stung. Just like that, he’d reduced you to a blip on the radar, a chapter of his life that was no longer present tense.
His hair looked shorter, you nodded as Wendy greeted you and made small talk about the office building you shared. His hands were in his pockets, dress pants and a colorful shirt transformed him into the version of himself you’d grown accustomed to a long time ago.
Distant, professional, poised, polite. Harry at an arm’s length, Harry who you’d sooner see on the telly or in a magazine--not the one who fell asleep on your couch or kept a change of clothes in the drawer on the top right.
“I’ll see you ‘round, yeah?” Harry said casually, like bumping into each other in public didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. You swallowed, nodded, muttered a farewell to Wendy and hurried into the elevator to catch your breath.
Why did it throw you for such a loop? You were the one who broke up with him--not the other way around.
Maybe it was the uptick in tweets and headlines lately. Jeffrey had put out the statement and your direct messages were immediately flooded with questions: What? Why? How? When?
The entire world seemed to be questioning why you broke up, and as much as you hated to admit it, the questions swirled around in your head whenever you tried to outrun them. Was it the right choice?
Things with Harry had gone downhill, that was a fact. You felt distant and unsure of the next step and the cherry on top of all of that was learning that all your friends were more dishonest than you thought.
But here they were, now, not telling Harry about your new job and somehow doing exactly what you’d asked of them, and it only seemed to bother you more. Now when you walked in the room and Jake and Adam were talking about him, they easily changed the topic and quietly shifted gears to hold their healthy boundaries.
You’d gotten what you wanted, but it only made you feel more disconnected from Harry than ever before.
On Thursday night that week when Bryn cancelled dinner because of a date, you found yourself typing up another draft of the Gigi feature when Jake and Adam did exactly what they’d been doing.
“Oi--did you hear that Harry’s booking tour dates for next summer? Said we could go out to California with him if we--”
Adam seemed to make a face when you looked up from your laptop, Jake trailed off and they both seemed frozen.
“You’re allowed to talk about him,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, eyes back to your screen as you typed.
“Yeah, but--” Adam didn’t seem to have much to say, his eyes landed on your face when you watched him expectantly.
“But?”
“S’weird--you’re both so…” he looked to Jake for help.
“Weird,” Jake nodded.
You readjusted, pulled your knees up to your chest. Apparently this conversation was happening.
“What are you on about?”
“Well, you both do this thing where you act like you don’t care when we talk about the other but then you both ask these weird questions, pretending like you’re not really invested in the answer but we all know you are.”
“He’s asking about me?”
Jake lifted his beer in the air and motioned towards you. “We rest our case.”
You rolled your eyes. “Well maybe it’s because you lot are always so dramatic, trailing off mid-sentence whenever you mention him. Harry said…” you dropped your voice an octave to mock them.
“Hey, s’hard to figure this out for us too. Our two best friends break up and you both act like you don’t care and like you can just be friends but when you’re in the same room it’s obvious that you’re both still in love with each other--”
Jake smacked Adam in the chest and you let out a scoff from across the room.
“We’re not still in love with each other.”
Adam pushed, “you don’t love him? You’re really going to try to sell us that rubbish?”
“Can we not do this?” Jake looked between the two of you, pleading.
“I don’t even know how to answer that question.”
“It’s a simple question, Y/N,” Adam offered a phony smile. “Do you still have feelings of love for him?”
You let out a huff of air, turned back to your laptop for a second like you were about to ignore him, but your chest was on fire and your eyes stung and you felt a lump in your throat. You couldn’t shake the thought of him since you ran into him, couldn’t ignore the headlines that were blowing up now that the news had officially been broken and, after all, your heart was too.
“Fuck’s sake, Adam, you made her cry.”
“M’not crying,” you said.
“Tears on your face typically come from crying--”
“Of course I love him!” You turned to see them again, wiping at your eyes quickly. “Do you think I wanted to break up with him? Do you think I wanted to end it? I mean--a part of me did but most of me didn’t! But it wasn’t going anywhere and we hadn’t even talked about moving in together and he’d never even mentioned getting married or anything like that. I would have preferred that we stayed together and actually moved forward but it didn’t seem like it was going to happen.”
They were both caught off guard, Adam’s eyes were wide and Jake’s lips were parted like he couldn’t form words if he tried.
“So of course I love him, but love isn’t enough sometimes.”
A moment of silence, you let out a shaky breath and Jake took a sip of his beer.
“S’deep.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you try to talk to him about it more?”
“I did try, Adam! He got mad at me whenever I brought up my feelings and he sucks at communicating. And then I found out he lied, and Jessie lied, and you two twats did too, if you forgot.”
Again, you found anger bubbling inside of you as you explained the feelings that shipwrecked your relationship. If it wasn’t any of their business, why did you always explain yourself?
They could sense your frustration, Jake stood from the couch and came to put his hands on your shoulders. “We don’t mean to get you all riled up. We love you.”
“I know,” you nodded, swallowing the emotion.
“And besides, Harry’s not a words guy.”
You both turned to look at Adam, who now typed out a text on his phone. When he noticed all eyes on him, he cocked his head to the side: “what?”
“Not a words guy?” You asked. “He writes bloody songs for a living.”
“Yeah but--he’s better with action. Words are not his love language,” he let out a laugh as if what he was saying was obvious.
Jake walked back towards the couch and sat.
“I’m lost,” you admitted.
“Y/N,” Adam sat up and looked straight at you. “Remember your trip to LA with Harry when you wrote the feature for your old job?”
“Yeah,” you looked at him through narrow eyes, unsure where he was going with it.
“You said something to me on the phone, once, that made me think about that trip of yours. You said it took him forever to admit that he had feelings for you.”
“It did,” you reminded. “Years--almost a decade.”
“Okay,” he held up a hand to cut you off. “You’re missing the point.”
“What’s your point?”
“He wasn’t telling you how he felt because he was trying to show it,” he widened his eyes and stuck his chin out. “You always got so upset with him when he wouldn’t text on our birthdays or say that he missed us, but when he came home he got us amazing gifts or paid for our hotels in London to come see his show.”
“Money doesn’t buy love, Adam.”
“No--but acts of kindness are a way of showing it. Gift giving--that’s a thing. Haven’t you read those books our mums are always on about?”
“What books?” Jake asked, equally as confused.
“The love languages shit!” he held his palms to the ceiling, flabbergasted at the lack of emotional intelligence in the room. “It’s not shit, actually--s’quite good. Harry just doesn’t have the love language you want.”
You hesitated for a moment, thought back to the trip to LA and the time in New York, the way he’d send Roger to come get you, the flowers he’d bring home when he was away for a few days.
When you moved back to London and settled into a new routine, anxieties ramped up when you noticed the absence of certain words: marriage, moving in, future.
Had you been missing the subtle but certain proof that you and Harry were moving forward despite the lack of language to articulate it?
He spent that first Christmas at your parents’ house, always offered to bring you on the road when he’d travel for work. He kept your favorite tea at his house and he always left your toothbrush in the holder beside his, no matter how long it had been since you’d last stayed over.
He didn’t shy away from mentioning you in interviews when his love life came up. He bragged about your accomplishments to his friends and included you in decisions about redecorating his house and gave you access to his Google calendar.
“Shit,” Jake broke the silence, pulling your eyes over to the two of them, still sat on your sofa as rain splattered against the windows.
“Shit what?” You asked.
He sighed, lifted one shoulder as if to apologize in advance. “He’s right.”
“‘Course I’m right,” Adam said simply. “Just because he wasn’t communicating it in the way you wanted him to doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”
**
You stared at your phone on the table in front of you, the same picture lit up the screen with his name up top. You’d only gotten the text from Naomi a few minutes earlier, pulled up the feature on The Face’s website, read through it four times even though you wrote it.
The buzzing mocked you: too afraid to pick up? Can’t face the music? Regretting all of your decisions?
Your thumb slid across the glass and Adam’s words from a few nights before echoed in your tiny flat: He’s not much for words of affirmation. His language is gift giving, you just have to know what his love language is.
“Hello?”
“Hi--uh--s’me.”
“Hi,” you said. “I just saw that it went live.”
“Yeah--only a few changes from the last draft.”
You’d sent it to Jeff only 48-hours earlier, cc’ed Harry as if an email didn’t feel cold and distant.
“Apparently Donna doesn’t think I’m too shit at my job,” you joked.
He let out a timid laugh, maybe he also felt the shift between the two of you when you said:
“I wouldn’t have actually written something that made you out to be a twat.”
“I know,” he said.
You wondered if he knew it, what Adam had told you. Was Harry aware that while words weren’t always his strong suit, he did his best to show you how he felt? Were they having the same conversations with him?
The pit in your stomach that you felt last week when you saw him in the lobby had only grown since then. Now it was the size of an apple rather than a walnut, and when he cleared his throat, you almost wanted to tell him that you missed him.
“Well, I--I’ll let you go. Just wanted to let you know it’s up.”
You scrunched your nose a little. It was your feature. Of course you knew when it was set to be posted when it’d go out in print.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you next week maybe, Thursday?”
“Yeah,” you nodded to yourself. “Maybe.”
But you didn’t see him on Thursday. Held up in a meeting, was all he’d sent in a text to the group when Jessie groaned and ordered a second glass of wine.
“How obnoxious,” she rolled her eyes.
“I was in the middle of the story!”
“We’re listening,” you nodded at Bryn, ignoring Jessie’s theatrics.
“You’re not bothered by him waiting until now to tell us he’s not coming? We’ve been waiting to order for almost thirty minutes!” Jessie leaned forward on the table.
“No, Jess--s’not a big deal.”
She narrowed her eyes at you, scanned your face like she didn’t believe your words.
Bryn launched back in: “Anyway--so, I didn’t know if I should because the second date’s a little quick, but I kissed her and she said she had a great time.”
“Of course she had a great time,” you reached over to pat your friend on the arm. “You’re a catch.”
“Gonna bring her round at some point?”
“‘Round you shits?” Bryn laughed and took a sip of her cocktail. “Maybe.”
“You should bring her to the party at Harry’s,” Adam suggested.
Your brow furrowed and you could feel them all look at you.
“He’ll invite you,” Jake reassured. “He just brought it up the other day.”
“To everyone but me?”
“No,” Adam shook his head, turned to Jessie. “Did you know about it?”
She looked from you to Bryn and then to the boys, guilt on her face. “Yeah.”
Your heart sunk a little when you reached for your glass of wine. “S’fine--he doesn’t have to invite me to everything.”
“Yes he does,” Jessie said quickly. “M’not going to a party of his if he doesn’t invite you,” she said. “That’s low.”
“He’ll invite her,” Jake rolled his eyes. “It’s not for another three weeks or something.”
“What’s it for?” You asked.
“Album wrap.”
“He’s done?”
“Almost,” Adam told you. “S’in the final round of mixing he said.”
You nodded--familiar with the process and the words Harry would throw around. Mixing, mastering, he’d play you the same song three different times and promise they were all different. One has a background vocal after the second verse, one has louder drums, the other has a different effect on the vocal.
“You should bring her, Bryn, we’d love to meet her,” you hoped they’d let you change the subject without much fuss.
Of course Jessie didn’t.
“You’re not mad that he’s blowing us off tonight and that he hasn’t invited you yet to his wrap party?”
Jake shifted uncomfortably and you let out a sigh before looking at Jessie. You had two options: lie through your teeth and tell her you didn’t give a damn what Harry did or go out on a limb and offer the truth and transparency that you were hoping for in return.
“Being mad won’t do me any good,” you shrugged. It was true, but it wasn’t total truth and transparency. Bryn sensed it.
“What’s going on?” she asked you, her head pulled back in skepticism when you feigned innocence.
“Nothing,” you shrugged causally.
“Bullshit,” Jake coughed into his drink and then eyed you over the rim.
“Alright, come off it,” Bryn crossed her arms.
You let out a quick sigh, clenched your teeth together as you tried to figure out what to say. You didn’t have to, though, Bryn’s eyes went wide and she leaned forward to touch your arm.
“You miss him?”
“Do you want to get back together with him?” Jessie lowered her voice and leaned forward.
Jake and Adam looked smug, you narrowed your eyes at them both. “You didn’t run back to the group chat to tell everyone what I said the other night?”
“Hey,” Jake lifted his hands in innocence. “We’re minding our own business now.”
You let out a snort of a laugh, Jessie tagged in.
“He’s right, y’know! Just the other day Harry asked if you’d mentioned that you ran into him at work and I didn’t say a single thing to him! Moved right on and changed the subject.”
“So he brought it up?” You looked at her quickly, desperate for a peek inside Harry’s mind.
“None of your business,” she made a face at you, pulling a laugh from the rest of them.
Another sigh, Bryn sipped her drink and Adam offered you a knowing smile.
“I don’t know how I feel right now about it all. I recognize, after a good kick in the arse from Adam, that I...”
They all waited, even Adam, with arched brows and expectant glances.
You backtracked, nervous that your words would get misconstrued or you’d get a lecture. You weren’t in the mood for either of those possibilities.
“Maybe I miss him a bit, I guess.”
Quiet, they looked at each other and you waited for someone to break the silence.
“Nothing? I admit that and you all choose now to not have anything to say?”
“S’not that we don’t have anything to say,” Jake said. “Trust me.”
“Yeah,” Bryn shrugged. “We just know that our meddling never seemed to help. So we’re butting out like you wanted.”
You leaned your head back against the booth and groaned. Yes--what you wanted. You couldn’t forget what a stink you’d made about it and they’d never let you.
And now, armed with a new download of The Five Love Languages on your kindle, a tiny part of you wished one of them would repeat to Harry that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to miss him.
**
Bubbles danced towards the top of the glass, a pale yellow elixir that didn’t work any magic on your mood. You hadn’t really planned on coming.
Naomi and Tyler promised it’d be fun, they’d gotten the second-hand invite from Kira, one of the senior writers at The Face. But now, when Naomi downed another shot and Tyler laughed obnoxiously at the story a cute guy from a BBC podcast was telling, you wished you were in bed with a face mask on.
You hadn’t expected there to be so many people, first of all. A small get together, that’s what it had been billed as. You should have known by now that the celebrity definition of small varied greatly from your own.
A few of your co-workers had mentioned it to you, a journalist’s wet dream, one of them had laughed at the vending machine earlier that week. They must have forgotten, though, that you’d spent plenty of time rubbing elbows with Britain’s big names.
So there you stood, champagne flute in your right hand, phone in your left as you debated feigning illness and calling an Uber. Naomi, who’d now made a new blonde friend, tugged your wrist towards the living room.
“Natalie’s going to show us Roman’s game room!”
You offered a nod in pretend excitement, trailed behind her as if you hadn’t already seen it once when Harry brought you along to party the year before.
Again, maybe you should have felt it coming, a shift in the air or a buzzing in your chest. Instead, you rounded the corner and walked right into his shoulder, wobbling on your feet a bit when he steadied you with a small smile.
“Hey--hi,” he said, eyes flickering to Naomi as she trailed off to play pinball on an antique machine.
“Hi,” you bit out, looking past him to see who he was talking to. A face you recognized, sure you’d met before. “Hi,” you waved. “Nice to see you!”
“You too,” the man smiled, Alex, Bryan? Something like that.
“I was just going with Naomi,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder. Why was he here? He wasn’t in the journalism crowd nor did he have any reason to be showing up at an event that was meant to be on your turf.
“Right, yeah--I’ll see you later, maybe.”
A tight-lipped smile at both of them before you scurried away, blew out a huff of air and noticed that the farther down the hallway you got, the quieter it became and the less overwhelmed you felt. A swig of your drink to shake off the interaction.
The venue tonight might have been his friend’s house, but were you crazy to think that a networking event for young journalists in London would be a Harry-free zone?
Solace in a guest bedroom—dark except for the moon, glowing through the window. Two French doors and a balcony that overlooked the driveway, cool air was relief when you wondered: when would being around him start to hurt less?
“Feels like I’ve seen you more since we broke up than I did when we were together,” you heard his voice behind you, quiet and low when he stepped out onto the balcony.
You let out a sarcastic laugh, finished the last of your drink before shrugging. “You realize that only supports my reasons for ending it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, lifting his eyebrows at the truth of it. He turned away from you and looked up to the sky, hands on the railing. “Thanks, by the way, for not telling everyone how much of an arse I am.”
You weren’t quite sure what he was referring to. The Gigi feature, the statement, the tweets that seemed to be circulating the internet saying it was over a long time ago, sexism is everywhere, Harry’s too busy, what really happened?
“When?”
“When I had food poisoning,” he smirked.
“Oh,” you recalled the night, the sadness in his eyes in the bathroom, the way he said we like it still felt natural. “Sure.”
“I know it’s been weird between us, and, uh--sorry, for not trusting you with the feature.”
“Did you read it?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Thanks for not smearing me?” He phrased it like a question, eyes narrowed like he didn’t know what you wanted from him.
“M’not that much of a twat, Harry.”
“I’m aware,” he rolled his eyes. “Just--you know--didn’t want to be painted like the bad guy.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that more, then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions you should think before you act.”
“I don’t want to fight, Y/N.”
“Then why’d you come out here? Every time I see you now it’s like I don’t know who you are. One second you’re nice to me and then one second you’re being a dick.”
He let out a huff and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Kind of hard to figure out what we are now, yeah?”
“I thought we were friends, Harry--isn’t that what the statement said?”
“Now you’re upset about that?”
“I’m upset about all of it!” You admitted, voice tense and emotional. It was true--you were upset about all of it. The way it ended, the way it felt, the uncertainty now of what you were and what it all meant.
He was quiet, dropped your gaze after a few seconds, didn't reply, just nodded and stared off into the night. You were about to leave him there, unsure how to go back to being friends or being strangers or being somewhere in between. It was cold and dark and while you’d certainly needed a minute to gather your thoughts after walking straight into him in Roman’s kitchen, you felt more prepared to face the party and schmooze your way into the hearts of the London journalism crowd.
“Y/N?” You turned at the sound of your name, shoulders stiff and lips parted in shock when you took in the smiling face that stood across from you.
“Hi--oh my God--what are you doing here?”
“I write for BBC Sport now--big upgrade from the Camden New Journal,” he admitted with a shrug.
Harry also turned at the sound of the balcony’s third occupant, though it took him longer to place him. When it registered, you felt his body stiffen beside you and his eyes land on your face as they both waited for you to say something.
“Charlie--uh--Harry, you both remember each other,” you motioned between them, chest suddenly tight with anxiety.
Harry had never been a fan of Charlie, which was something he didn’t make clear until you’d been together for months and saw his post on Twitter about the new job he’d just mentioned. Sure, you didn’t expect Harry to have any sort of pleasant feelings toward Charlie--seeing as most of their interactions had been in the green room at Wembley--but the conceited smirk on Harry’s face now left you almost speechless.
Harry stuck his hand out when Charlie finally dragged his eyes over. “Right, mate, how are you?”
“Good, yeah--crazy running into both of you,” Charlie bit out, an awkward gesture with his hands when he said: “sorry to hear about the break up.”
Harry waited for you to speak, you nodded slowly, unsure of what to say or how to say it or if you should just hurl yourself off the balcony and hope that you didn’t land on one of the nine Teslas you saw parked out front when you’d arrived at Roman’s. Surely they couldn’t all be his.
The only thing worse than running into Charlie at a party was running into Charlie at a party right in the middle of bickering with your now-ex-boyfriend who apparently was just as bothered by the surprise encounter as you were.
“S’actually all a misunderstanding,” Harry said quickly, arm around your shoulders when he forced an awkward shrug. “Yeah, terrible when that happens.”
“Oh,” Charlie nodded, masking the surprise on his face quite well. “Thought I saw something from your camp confirming—“
Harry let out an over dramatic groan. “Ugh! Crazy that magazines take ‘statements,’” he bent his fingers in air quotes, “from anyone, right babe?”
You were frozen, face red with embarrassment when Charlie waited for some kind of reaction from you. All you could manage was a nod.
“That’s great, yeah, glad to hear you’re still--”
“Going strong,” Harry finished for him, another squeeze to your shoulders. “Right, lovie?”
You looked up at him quickly, the pet name made heat rush to your cheeks and a terrible pit form in your stomach.
“Right,” you looked up at him, heartbeat picking up when you felt the warmth of his body against yours.
“Well,” Charlie fumbled a bit, another awkward glance in your direction when you let your left arm wrap around Harry’s waist. “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi,” Harry offered him another smug look.
“Hi…” Charlie nodded, almost as perplexed by the exchange as you were. “I’ll uh, see you both later? Good to see you, Y/N.”
You both muttered farewells, watched as Charlie turned on his heel and headed back into the party. Once he disappeared down the hall, you pulled away from Harry.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said quickly.
“I know,” he shrugged. “Wasn’t about to let him be a twat to you, though.”
“He wouldn’t have been a—”
“He’s a twat, Y/N,” his eyes were disapproving, a knowing look on his face when you let out a sigh.
“Okay, well, I was gonna head out I think.”
“What? Why?”
“Cause I don’t want to be here,” you said honestly. “I’m exhausted and I certainly didn't plan on seeing him--”
He nodded in understanding.
“--or you, for that matter.”
His face faltered, like being categorized alongside Charlie was an insult.
“You’re both my ex-boyfriends,” you reminded, a condescending look in his direction.
“Yes--I got that part,” he laughed, albeit a little briskly. “Just, I dunno, haven’t seen you in a while. Thought it’d be nice to catch up.”
You were quiet for a second, laughter from inside when the song that floated out of the speakers changed. The night was cool--if you hadn’t been so flushed from anxiety, the air would been have been to crisp to stand on the balcony and admire his features in the moonlight.
“Yeah--I mean, we can.”
“Do you want to go get some Thai?”
You rolled your eyes, fought the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Nowhere here’s as good as Thai Jasmine.”
“‘Course not,” he agreed, a coy smile. “But there’s a good place over in Hackney.”
He grabbed his coat and keys, you followed him back through the living room and told Naomi and Tyler you’d catch up with them later. They both smiled excitedly when they saw Harry waiting for you by the door. Relax, it’s nothing, he’s just giving me a ride home.
His car purred to life and the passenger seat was too far reclined, you wondered who’d taken your usual spot when he accelerated onto the dark suburban street.
It felt stupid to glance in his direction, wonder what he thought about the fact that you agreed to spend time with him, just the two of you. He eyed you from the driver’s side, smiled a little when he caught you looking.
“Maybe you should just take me home,” you said quickly.
“What? Why?”
“Because, Harry.”
“‘Cause why?”
“Because we broke up,” you said the words like they were news to him, like they’d pop the metaphorical balloon of his heart and like you wanted to watch him deflate. “Because you don’t go on dates with your ex-boyfriend after he lies and tells your other ex-boyfriend that he’s still your boyfriend. I don't think I should reward dishonest behavior.”
He blinked a few times at your rambling, parted his lips but then you spoke.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Lied to Charlie? Why not?”
Your heart ached at the truth--because it felt too natural and too right--so you settled for a watered down version. “Because it felt weird. And lying is wrong.”
He ignored the thinly veiled reference to his own mistakes. “You don’t owe Charlie anything.”
“I never said I did.”
“Well I don’t see why it was a big deal then.”
“I didn’t say it was a big deal, I just said you shouldn’t have done it.”
He let out a frustrated noise, shook his head like you couldn’t see him. He turned on his signal to head in the direction of your neighborhood. “Fine”
“Fine?”
“I’ll take you home.”
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
The carpet in Jake and Adam’s flat was soft beneath your feet, mystery stains here and there were visible as you sat on their couch. Beer, wine, god knows what else had been spilled atop the rug Adam definitely had since uni.
“So when do you have to give your notice?” Jake asked before he tossed a handful of crisps into his mouth.
“Tomorrow, I guess, right?”
He was happy for you, agreed with Bryn that you didn’t need to feel guilty over leaving The Face. This is the corporate world we live in, he’d reminded. We’re all climbing the same ladder.
“Yeah--you’ll start at the start of the month?”
“First week, yeah.”
It was a lot of change, your mother had been sure to point that out when you called her to tell her the news: both about Harry and the job offer. She didn’t say much about either, probably assuming you were getting enough unsolicited advice from your friends and your younger sister, who was now cross-legged on the floor in front of you.
“Aren’t you nervous you’ll fuck up on live telly?” Katie asked, reaching for the bag of crisps that Jake held. “People will definitely make you a blooper reel of all the times you mess up.”
Jake found this hilarious, let out a quick laugh at the thought before Katie snatched the bag away from him.
“Wasn’t nervous until now,” you rolled your eyes.
“You’re going to be fine,” Jake reassured. “You’re a great writer and you’re great in front of a camera--don’t you remember all those stupid videos she and Bryn used to make when we were younger?” His question was pointed at Katie.
She looked up at the ceiling as she racked her brain, elbow deep in the crisp bag. “The ones where they’d make stupid adverts for some class project?”
“We got good marks on those, just F-Y-I,” you retorted.
Katie reached for her phone when the screen lit up, Jake changed the channel on the telly, and for a split second, life felt almost normal.
Until Katie said: “Uh--Hattie just sent me a link to The Sun where they’re talking about you and Gigi Hadid getting drinks?!” She lurched forward onto her knees and crawled closer to show you. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because it was literally two days ago,” you held up a hand to urge her to calm down. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”
“That’s what she told me when I was waiting outside her flat for details when she got home,” Jake eyed you.
“I thought Harry was all upset about the cover story?”
“Yeah and he doesn’t know about this so--”
“What did you talk to her about?”
“Life--work, I dunno. I told her that Harry and I broke up.”
Jake’s eyes went wide.
“What? Was I not supposed to say that?”
“No, I--I just didn’t know you’d told her.”
“Well it’s not a secret. Harry and Jeff were already talking about making a statement when I saw them the other day.”
“A business meeting with your ex-boyfriend,” Katie wiggled her eyebrows. “S’kind of hot.”
“Ew,” Jake made a face at her. “You’re like--twelve.”
“I’m twenty-two you twat!”
“Alright,” you cut them off, not in the mood to deal with their bickering. “Can we not?”
They both quieted, Jake made a face at Katie when she gave him the finger but didn’t push her any further. “Have you heard at all from him or Jeff about a statement?”
“No--m’not sure what they’re going to say.”
“You know Harry,” he shrugged his shoulders and smirked a little. “Vague, short, probably won’t say much of anything.”
“S’true,” Katie agreed. “Probably won’t say much at all, unless you rip him to shreds in your Gigi feature.”
The maniacal grin on her face pulled an eye roll from you when you reached for a blanket. “M’not going to rip him to shreds.”
“He seems convinced you’re planning on it,” Jake was looking down at his phone, eyes wide when he looked up and realized the gravity of his words.
“What did he say to you?”
“Yeah what did he say?” Katie echoed.
Jake rolled his eyes. “I thought we were all working on our communication?”
“Then you should be more careful about letting details like that slip--now spill it,” you readjusted and watched him with eager eyes.
“S’a bit hypocritical--” Jake mocked.
After you’d hung up with Harry a few nights earlier, his words echoed in your head: I just think we care about each other too much to be like this.
A few weeks ago you would have agreed. A few weeks ago you couldn’t have imagined feeling so betrayed and so confused by the one person who brought clarity to your life.
And a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have to bug Jake to hear Harry’s opinion or thoughts--you would have gotten it directly from the source.
Jake let out a breath, the discomfort on his face made you deflate a little when he said: “he just doesn’t want this to become a huge thing--he’s private, Y/N, you know that.”
“I’m not going to put him on blast in this feature,” you said. “He read one stupid thing in my draft and assumed it would get published. Donna would never let me say vagina.”
“Why’d you say vagina?” Katie pulled her head back in confusion.
“S’beside the point,” you waved her off.
“I’m not going to repeat everything he said to me,” Jake watched you for a reaction. “But I’ll tell you that he doesn’t want your break up to be petty and dramatic and headline worthy.”
You bit your lip, fiddled with the remote on your lap before looking up at him.
“I get it--and I don’t plan on ripping him to shreds,” you looked down at Katie. “But I’m not going to sugar coat the topics that I talked about with Gigi.”
Katie raised a hand to remind you she was out of the loop. “Which were?”
“Sexism, dating someone famous and how that affects your career.”
“Oh,” she said slowly, looking over to Jake.
“Oh what?”
She shrugged and offered you a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you could rip him to shreds if you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to,” you sighed.
Jake tilted his head like he didn’t believe you. “Are you sure?”
“Am I angry? Yes. Am I sick of how much his career has affected our relationship and how shitty of a communicator he is? Yes. Doesn’t mean I want to ruin his life.”
They both fell quiet, either under the assumption that continuing the conversation would only get more of a rise out of you, or simply deciding that whatever you chose to write would fall on you and you alone.
So the next morning, during your meeting with Donna over a latte and a scone you’d brought in for her as an attempt to smooth things over, you informed her that your Gigi feature would be your last publication for The Face and that the last Friday of the month would be your final day.
She took it well enough, said she was disappointed to see you go but excited to see you grow, which Naomi swore was probably the nicest thing to ever come out of her mouth.
“I mean it, when Lily Norton left she basically just waved her off and hired someone the same day.”
You laughed as she followed you down the hall. “Well, hopefully whoever she hires in my spot isn’t an idiot.”
Tyler, who had apparently let himself into your office, took his feet down from the coffee table when you and Naomi walked in. “Who isn’t an idiot?”
“Whoever is Y/N’s replacement,” Naomi replied, taking a seat beside him on the plush sofa.
“Ah, right, the dreaded rehiring process,” he said, closing his laptop. “Or you could work two jobs and never leave us.”
You ignored the way he batted his eyelashes at you, a pleading smile when you sat at your desk and shook the mouse of you computer to wake it up. A new email at the top of your inbox:
Thanks for your patience as I worked with Harry and the rest of the team to come up with a statement. It will be released to People, E! News, and begrudgingly, The Sun. Please see below and let me know if you have any questions.
Harry and Y/N L/N have chosen to go separate ways, but remain close friends who care very much about each other. They ask for privacy at this time.
Thanks,
Jeffrey
__
You stared at the screen, a lump in your throat you didn’t expect and a clamminess on your palms when you rubbed your hands on your pants.
Tyler, who noticed the shift if your demeanor, tilted his head to the side. “Y’alright?”
“Yeah,” you looked up quickly, clearing your throat and reaching for your water bottle. “Just, uh, got the statement from Harry’s manager,” you confessed.
They both flew out of their chairs and across the room after Tyler shut the door, hovering over your shoulder to read through it. Tyler, who chose to mumble the entire thing aloud, took a step back when he was finished and sighed.
“Wow. Kind of blunt.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel about that?” Naomi asked, hands on her hips.
You thought on it for a second, twisted a ring around your middle finger and let your tongue trace the inside of your cheek. “I mean, feels a little sugar-coated, but,” you shrugged, “I guess I didn’t expect them to say we hate each other or never want to see each other again.”
Naomi gave you a knowing look. “You don’t hate him.”
“Of course not,” you said honestly. “But I don’t like him right now.”
“I think it’s the best case scenario,” she reassured, walking back to her spot across your office and pulling her computer back onto her lap.
“Uh, not to rain on anyone’s parade,” Tyler raised a hand timidly, “but--did he say they’re releasing it to E! News?”
Your lips parted, eyes sweeping back over the screen to see the words you’d somehow missed.
“Fuck me,” you leaned you back in your chair. “I haven’t even started and there’s already a shit storm brewing.”
“Hold on,” Naomi said. “They know you’re dating him! They know what they got themselves into. They brought it up in the interview.”
“Yeah, but it’s not a good look to be making headlines right before I start a job, is it?”
“Y/N,” Naomi said your name calmly, she sat up straight and watched you seriously. “Your level of celebrity is part of what makes you a good journalist. Whether or not you like that, other people do. They listen to you more and care about what you think because of your connection to Harry.”
You bit your lip, slumped in your chair as Tyler walked back to join Naomi. “She’s not wrong.”
“I know,” you groaned. “I know.”
**
Of course you got there first. Of course you were left to browse the hell hole of twitter to see how fast the news was spreading after the statement was released. Of course you were sitting in the back at a table for two when Jessie hurried in from the cold, scarf wrapped around her neck and a hat pulled over her auburn hair.
“Sorry, tube was jammed and it just started raining and I nearly had to fight an old woman up the stairs to make it over here,” she let out a huff of air.
You looked up at her with wide eyes, partially overwhelmed by the speed at which she spoke, but also uncertain how to greet her. You were too angry to hug her, but less angry than you’d been the last time you saw her. Obviously you’d gathered up enough courage to meet her for a cup of tea--which is what you reminded yourself of when she unravelled her scarf and sat opposite you.
“Sorry--doing that thing again when I go a million miles a minute,” she let out an awkward laugh.
“Hi,” you nodded, a deep breath to stay composed.
“Hi,” she said. “Thanks for meeting up.”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Tea’s good--I got chamomile.”
“Right,” she looked over to the counter. “Should I grab some? D’you need anything else?”
You shook your head, watched as she found her wallet in the tote bag that had once been slung over her shoulder. You chipped at your nail polish while she ordered and paid, stood awkwardly near the till until she was passed a steaming cup of tea and brought it back to your table.
Once she settled and once you let out another awkward breath, she looked up at you.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“What?”
She let her shoulders rise and fall as she fumbled with the string of her tea bag. “I know you’re upset and I know you’re still mad at me and I get it. I would be mad at me, too.”
You felt your eyebrows involuntarily arch. Jessie, swooping in with a partial admission of defeat? Not what you expected.
“You would be?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “I’ve been a shit friend. Not on purpose, but still.”
You watched her closely, she averted her gaze and leaned back in her seat. Jessica Alby was not the type of person to own up to her mistake this easily. She was stubborn and strong-willed and she often didn’t know when to shut up.
Characteristically, she took your silence as a cue to keep going.
“Before you say anything, though, I want to explain a few things, okay? I know you don’t have to hear me out and I know you don’t owe me anything,” she said, acknowledging the angry things you’d said the last time you saw her. “But I just want to be honest with you. I owe you that.”
You nodded, unsure if you needed to give her verbal permission. She took a deep breath and you took a sip of your tea, only to fill the silence and to appear more comfortable and confident than you were feeling.
“I’ve fucked up a lot when it comes to you and Harry--and I’m sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t support your relationship because I always told you to get over him.”
She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“You were so in love with him and so hurt when he left--and then constantly hurt over and over every time he fucked up because he got too busy. And when we found out he had feelings for you we never wanted to ruin what you had with Charlie because you were happy for the first time in a while. You and I are different, if I was in your shoes I would have cornered Harry in that bathroom and told him how much he fucking sucked,” she let out a huff, apparently angry on your behalf. “Sorry, anyway--”
You noticed the discrepancy in her words, contemplated interrupting to tell her you did tell him how much he fucking sucked, but she kept going.
“Like I told you at Bryn’s: I was incredibly drunk when I kissed Harry and I would like to say that the alcohol is 98% responsible for my actions, but--” she shrugged her shoulders. “That was back when no one would shut up about him. You were obsessed with him and so was everyone else from home. My stupid, drunken self got too curious and I think I did it because I wanted to know what it was like to be the one that people were talking about.”
You scrunched your nose in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She looked embarrassed, brought her eyes up to you like it was hard to admit. “When I found out that Harry had feelings for you I was jealous--and not because I had feelings for him, just because at that point it felt like you two were constantly orbiting around each other. You liked him, then you didn’t, then he liked you, then you and Charlie broke up. I guess I felt like everyone always cared so much about it and like we all just revolved around the whole will they or won’t they that I started getting annoyed and feeling bad for myself that no one seemed to care about my love life. And I guess I was jealous that you always got so much attention because of your history with Harry.”
“Attention?” This rubbed you the wrong way. “How was I getting attention?”
“I mean aside from the fact that every conversation we’ve had about him since 2010 also included you in some way,” she paused, looked around the room as she thought through her words. “When we were kids, I always got a fair share of attention because I’ve got a mouth on me like no other, right?”
You nodded. Jessie won class-clown in Year 5, she got voted Playground Prime Minister by your peers in Year 3 because she wasn’t afraid to go shake everyone’s hand. She’d always been a fiery and fierce human.
“But then Harry got famous and people were more interested in him, and then you were in love with him so that got a decent amount of buzz, too. Then the back and forth between you two was so dramatic none of us could ever shut up about it!” Her smile faded when she looked at her hands. “It just felt like as we got older no one cared about me or my love life anymore.”
Her words twisted a knot in your stomach. As fucked up as Jessie had been, her disclosures brought the picture into view. She’d always been more popular than you and Bryn, if only for her boisterous laugh and her ability to carry on a conversation with anyone.
Was it possible that your bright and bubbly friend was just as insecure as everyone else? Her charismatic persona just a front that--albeit sometimes obnoxious--protected her from scrutiny and self-doubt?
You’d all get on Jessie’s back about her fondness for theatrics, she was comfortable in the spotlight and she never shied away from sharing her opinions--clearly.
But it made sense: of course she liked being the center of attention, especially if it made her feel admired or wanted or popular. You looked at her across the table, a wave of compassion washed over you when you realized that as different as the two of you might be, Jessie was no stranger to the insecurity that you’d always known. She just handled it differently.
“And when I had just started my job and had drinks with Jade it just kind of slipped out that I knew him--which she thought was incredibly cool of course.” She shrugged, the look on her face told you she knew it wasn’t a good excuse: “And so I told her I’d kissed him once cause I guess, I dunno, I wanted to make friends and wanted her to think I was cool.”
“Jessie--knowing Harry or--” you gritted your teeth as the phrase left your mouth, “kissing him--that’s not what makes you cool. And everyone cares about you. No one ever stopped! People from school might have moved on because teenagers have the attention span of a fruitfly,” you laughed. “But we have always loved you and cared about you. We cared so much that we hated Oliver because we knew he was an asshole and not good enough for you! But you had to see that for yourself--just like Harry and I had to get out of our own way and figure things out on our own.”
“Right,” she nodded through guilty eyes. “I mean it when I say that I love the two of you and want things to work--I always have. I think it was just hard for me back then to understand why you wouldn’t just tell him how you felt or really force it into action.”
“Because I’m not Jessie Alby,” you leaned forward. “I’m my own person and just because I don’t do everything the way you would do it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I think eventually I started to realize that I had to butt out, but I chose shitty moments to do that because my idea of butting out was not telling you that I kissed him. And when Harry suggested we not say anything about it when he moved to New York, I figured it was best to just let history be history.”
You let out a sharp laugh at her comment, which seemed to only confuse her. “I’ve never been able to let history be history,” you admitted, eyes on your own teacup as Jessie watched you.
“What do y’mean?”
“I’m the one who made such a big deal out of the night you locked us in the bathroom,” you brought your eyes up to her and stifled a smirk. “Which was a real twat thing to do--”
She offered a frown in recognition of her crime.
“But I almost ruined what Harry and I had in New York because it took me so long to get over it. I mean, I didn’t speak to him for two years.”
“Oh I remember,” she laughed a little. “But that night was hard for you, and I’m sorry that I thought leaving you guys in there was a good idea.”
“If I’d been less plastered it might have been,” you admitted.
“I’m sorry I thought that trying to orchestrate things between the two of you or giving my opinion or getting involved--” she rolled her eyes at herself, “--would help. But it only hurt both of you and that’s never been my intention.”
You opened your mouth to speak but she held up a hand to stop you.
“M’not done,” she laughed. “I’m sorry that I’ve been a shitty friend and let my own stuff get in the way of actually supporting you and being there for you.”
There was silence for a moment, she let out an exhale that sounded like she’d been holding it for weeks.
You smirked when you brought your eyes up to her. “How hard was it to admit all this?”
“Almost bloody impossible,” she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’ve had to do some serious soul-searching and it turns out I can be a meddling, self-absorbed twat,” she laughed. “My affinity for being the center of attention and in charge can be a great trait--but not when I’m an idiot.”
You stifled a laugh but nodded. “And my affinity for being an indecisive pushover probably made it hard for you to mind your business,” you teased. “I know the six of us are a unit, but we’re different people, Jess--we all need to butt out a little bit.”
“That’s my proposal to you,” she nodded, straightened up in her chair and clasped her hands together like she meant business. “I will do my best to butt out and stay in my lane, and if you think I’m not doing a good job, all you have to say is Iguana and I’ll shut up, no questions asked.”
“Wh--”
“Maybe some questions asked, like in private or a few days later, but I swear I’ll shut it if you say Iguana.”
“What? Why Iguana?” You smiled.
“Because the woman sitting behind you is wearing a jacket that’s hideously Iguana green and I’ve had to ignore it this whole time but I can’t anymore,” she said seriously. “Please turn around and tell me it’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.”
You turned around slowly, grimaced at the sight of her fluffy jacket. “That’s like, almost baby-poo green,” you agreed.
She nodded and twisted her features into one of disgust. “That’s a better descriptor,” she told you. “But Iguana’s a better code-word.”
You smiled, “deal.”
**
Bryn was surprised that afternoon when she opened the door to find both of you on the other side. For a second you thought she was about play stupid and act like she had no clue the two of you had plans to meet for tea.
But in a trailblazing effort of honesty, Jessie admitted on the tube ride over that Bryn had spent hours yelling at her over the last two weeks and put her through an apology bootcamp to ensure she wouldn’t put her foot in her mouth during her monologue.
“Glad to see you can stand being in the same room again,” Bryn teased, corking a bottle of wine after you’d placed a mobile order for take away.
“Oh she’s never living it down,” you smiled at Jessie across the room. “I can forgive her for being a fucking idiot, but it doesn’t mean she wasn’t a fucking idiot.”
Jessie let out a laugh, toed her boots off and sunk into Bryn’s sofa. “Yeah, not my shining moment in life.”
Bryn came out from the kitchen and put her hands on her hips. “I have a question--and you can’t be mad.”
You joined Jessie on the sofa and pulled your knees up to your chest. “No promises…”
“If you’re not angry with Jessie anymore, does that change anything with Harry?”
You closed your eyes in frustration and let out a groan. “Guys--will there ever be a day where we can hang out and not talk about Harry?”
“Oi, we’ve had plenty of those days,” Jessie defended.
“I already told both of you that what happened between me and Harry was about more than just the fact that you two were drunk and stupid.”
“I know,” Bryn pleaded. “I just know feels bad.”
“Feels bad?” You made a face. “How do you figure that?”
“Because we had dinner,” she said the words quickly and casually, turned back to pour the wine.
“I’m sorry, you what?” You perked up at this, waiting for more of an explanation.
She stole a glance in your direction before she decided to face the music. Wine glasses in hand, she came to join you in the living room. “I had dinner with him a few nights ago. Nothing crazy, just figured he might need a friend.”
You weren’t upset she’d seen him. At this point you knew quite well that your break up with Harry wasn’t about to change any of the other dynamics in the group. You didn’t want or expect that, but it didn’t stop your gut from twisting into a knot.
“Well, I appreciate you being honest and telling me.”
Jessie looked between the two of you, wine glass in hand. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask what they talked about?”
You looked at Bryn and then Jessie. “No--I don’t--I shouldn’t know. I’m butting out,” you borrowed your own words from earlier.
Bryn’s eyebrows arched in surprise, Jessie looked impressed as she sipped her wine and nodded. Quiet for a second, an awkward pause as you all turned a new leaf. Was it any of your business? Maybe not. Was it killing you to keep your mouth shut? Absolutely.
“Is anyone going to acknowledge the elephant in the room?” Bryn said suddenly.
Both you and Jessie waited for her to say more.
“The statement,” she said as if it were obvious. “I got a notification from E! News today.”
“Oh, right,” you groaned. “Jeffrey emailed me and I approved it. Felt weird and not completely true, but--I wasn’t going to fight him on it.”
They both nodded, somehow knowing you had more to disclose.
“I, uh, also have some career news,” you spoke slowly, watching for a reaction. “Speaking of E!--they offered me a spot here, in London, and I accepted.”
“What?!” Jessie beamed, her eyes lit up. “That’s insane, Y/N! You’ll be on live telly and everything?”
“Sure will,” you forced a grin.
“You’re going to smash it,” Bryn reached over and patted you on the thigh. “Have you told Harry?”
“No,” you said quickly. “I will though, you don’t have to tell him.”
“Alright,” Bryn nodded, raising her glass into the air. “Cheers to a new job and new honesty and--yeah. I love you two idiots and I’m glad you made up.”
“Me too,” Jessie smiled. “Here’s to a new chapter of all of us butting out.”
You raised your glass and smiled, caught the kiss that Jessie blew to you from across the couch.
“Oh--also, Harry said he’ll come to dinner on Thursday,” Bryn informed you, a nervous smile. “Surprise!”
A few nights later, she knocked on your door right before 6:30pm. She’d offered to swing by yours beforehand so you didn’t have to show up alone--which only made the knot in your stomach grow with each step you took towards what Jessie swore was the best Indian food in all of London.
She’d asked about work and told you about a funny article she’d read on The Scoop the other day, but she waited until you turned onto the block of the restaurant to ask: “Feeling alright?”
“As good as I could be.”
She knew you’d talked to him on the phone. She knew it would take everything in you tonight to be polite and cordial.
“It’s going to be fine. I think this is good. We’re friends, we’re all friends, yeah?”
Your hands were warm in your pockets and when the restaurant came into view, you wondered if your jacket was too warm for late September or if you were just undeniably nervous. “Yeah,” you forced out.
“Can I tell you something?”
You looked over at her, eyes riddled with anticipation when she laughed. “Relax, it’s not bad.”
“Well I’ve just about had my fill of finding shit out from you lot--”
“Jessie and Harry talked.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that she also had tea with him and I know she apologized to him for meddling.”
You let this sink in. On one hand, hearing this from Bryn made you question why Jessie hadn’t told you in the first place.
“When was this?”
“Few days ago, I think. She said she wasn’t going to tell you because she wants to respect that you and Harry are separate people.” She put Jessie’s words in air-quotes and let out a laugh. “I’m not telling you all this to talk about her behind her back or keep doing this shit of secret keeping. I just think you should know that she’s trying to make amends.”
You raised your eyebrows at the word, uncertain how you felt about Jessie’s actions and your overall feelings.
“It has to mean something that Jessie--who is never one to shy away from public praise--didn’t tell you that she met with him. Typically she’d sing it from the rooftops if she knew she did the right thing just because it was the right thing to do.”
Bryn wasn’t trying to sound completely team Jessie--you knew that. If anything, she was team everyone.
“I know you coached her before she talked to me,” you admitted, chancing a look in her direction.
“Of course I did--you think I trusted her to figure it out on her own?” Bryn laughed. “Jessie’s a good person deep down, but she’s not the best at talking about emotions or reflecting on her mistakes.”
“Clearly.”
She tugged the door open with a smile and found Jake and Jessie in the back of a dimly lit restaurant. A corner-booth in the back with hooks on the side for your coats.
“Hi,” Jessie offered a hesitant wave in your direction when Jake shifted down to make room.
“Did you both walk?”
“Sure did,” Bryn answered Jake before she leaned in to ruffle his hair with her hand. “How was work?”
“Stupid,” he complained. “Per usual.”
The bell fastened to the top of the door chimed when Adam and Harry came in from the sidewalk. That’s when you felt everything shift.
“Hi,” Harry said as he approached, his eyes scanning everyone’s faces before landing on yours.
“Hi,” you mumbled out, thankful your greeting was drowned out by Adam’s laughter when Jessie cracked a joke about his hat.
“Ready for winter or what?”
“You never know how cold it’ll be at night now,” he explained, sliding into the booth beside you. “Smalls,” he patted your thigh in greeting.
Harry slid in behind him and graciously took a menu from the waitress that had followed them over.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Jake’s question felt pointed, eyebrows raised as he waited for someone to reply.
“Great, Jake,” you offered him a forced smile, pulling laughter from Bryn and Adam.
“Glad we’re all doing this,” Bryn added--a subtle acknowledgement of the current state of affairs within your social circle.
“S’not gonna be weird, is it?” Jake lowered his voice now and leaned forward, eyes mostly on yours.
“No,” Harry said quickly, a glance in your direction.
“Not at all--s’fine,” you agreed.
“Totally fine,” he nodded.
Was he doing it on purpose? Did he have to be more fine with it than you were? Mind-games weren’t exactly Harry’s specialty, but after reading the statement from Jeff and knowing he’d told Bryn he wanted to join the gang tonight, you couldn’t help but wonder.
“Absolutely fine,” you tested him.
“Yeah--100% totally cool.”
Jessie looked over to Bryn and rolled her eyes. You let out a cough and then picked up the menu. If this is how he wanted it to be, game on.
“So, Jess--what’s good here?”
“The chicken tikka masala is great,” she nodded.
“I think I’ve been here before,” Harry said as his eyes scanned the room.
“Yeah?” Bryn asked. “When?”
“On a date actually,” he paused--seemingly for dramatic effect--then nodded a few times and continued to survey the room.
Adam looked between you and Harry, then to others to see if anyone else was as uncomfortable as he appeared to be.
“--A long time ago, 2014 maybe.”
Jessie let out a sigh of relief, thank god it wasn’t recent. But now you had to prove you didn’t care.
“Charlie used to love Indian food,” you remarked, menu still spread open in front of you. “His tolerance for spice was out of this world.”
“Was it?” Harry eyed you curiously.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “used to order Phaal Curry all the time.”
Jake slumped and rolled his eyes as if he knew where this was going.
“Hmm--I’ll have to try it,” Harry closed his menu and then smiled across the table at you.
Bryn leaned forward to intervene. “Harry--it’s really hot curry--”
“Oh Brynnie,” he waved her off. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, Harry--you shouldn’t, you won’t like it anyway,” you watched him and tried to give him a knowing look, one that he apparently didn’t understand now that you weren’t his girlfriend.
“I think I can make a decision for myself, yeah?” He looked around at all of you, playing it off like this was no big deal. “Might be single but m’not an idiot.”
You ignored the last half of his comment, rolled your eyes and let out a sigh. You looked back to the laminated menu--which apparently gave the rest of them permission to let it go--and did your best to pretend Harry’s presence in the booth didn’t make your stomach twist into a knot of nerves every time he opened his mouth.
He ordered it, you ignored the defiance and confidence in his voice when you each went around and smiled at the waitress. Not your boyfriend, not your problem.
Which was easy to abide by, until:
“I think he’s going to throw up,” Adam said as he rushed back to the table, his nose scrunched in disgust. “I couldn’t do it, m’sorry.”
“You go, then,” you nodded at Jake and let your shoulders slump in frustration.
“Me?” He pointed at his own chest. “Are you mad? M’not going in there--one sniff and I’ll throw up too!”
You rolled your eyes at him and looked over to Bryn and Jessie. Neither of them made any movement or offer and when you scanned each of their faces again, you groaned. “Seriously? I have to go in there and handle him throwing up because he’s a fucking wanker and had to order the food I told him to not order?”
Silence.
Jake sipped at the end of his soda and Bryn fumbled with her napkin.
“For fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, nudging Bryn with your hip to let you out.
The bathroom was hidden in the back, a dark corridor with beige walls and a sticky floor. Noise from the kitchen floated overhead when you pushed the wooden door with a black placard--men--open.
Harry leaned against the only stall, urinals in the corner and a musty smell that made you immediately regret the decision to join him.
“I’m fine,” he said without making eye contact, voice low and hoarse.
“Yeah?” you eyed him up and down. “Beads of sweat on your forehead and red cheeks beg to differ.”
“It wasn’t the spice, maybe it’s food poisoning.”
You looked over the toilet--all clear.
“Have you thrown up?”
“No.”
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not food poisoning.”
“I feel like I could throw up,” he informed. “My entire body feels like I just ran a marathon and I might collapse.”
“I told you it was too spicy for you.”
He looked at you quickly but then brought his gaze back down to the floor. His sleeves were rolled up, hair disheveled. You swallowed down the attraction and cleared your throat.
“Alright, well, if you’re not getting sick m’gonna go back out there,” you turned for the door but:
“Wait--”
“What?”
“I can’t go back out there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Harry Styles hides in bathroom after ordering meal that was too spicy ‘cause he’s a fucking idiot,” he motioned overhead to imitate a headline.
You smirked at his admission. “I thought you said it was food poisoning...”
He rolled his eyes but moved over to the sink. “You get the point.”
“So--you’re going to continue hiding in the bathroom so people don’t know you’re hiding in the bathroom?”
“Can we just go home?”
You blinked and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
“Me--I mean, can I go home? Can you call Philipe or someone to come get me?”
You froze, hands stiff by your side as you wondered where the line was. Could you call one of his drivers if you weren’t his girlfriend? Could you cover for him, problem solve, help him sneak out the back like you’d done so many times if you weren’t going to crawl into the sheets beside him in an hour’s time, turn out the lights and tell him you loved him?
“Never mind,” he shook his head. “I’ll do it--just, tell them I’ll see you all later.”
With that, he wiped his mouth, checked his reflection, and disappeared out the door and down the hall, presumably out to a back alley where they took out the rubbish and hosed off the kitchen mats.
You waited a few seconds, unsure if he’d be back and unsure of what had just transpired, but then you realized the men’s room was no place to question the interaction and, now, your own sanity.
Jessie’s brows furrowed when you reappeared at the booth, sliding in next to Adam.
“How is he?”
“He--uh,” you waved a hand and tried to come up with an explanation. “He went home, he’s not feeling well.”
“He’s an idiot,” Bryn remarked. “Should have listened to you.”
“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t think it was the spice. He said he’s not feeling well anyway.”
Jake watched you from across the table with skepticism, pushed his plate away.
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
You shrugged, the words coming out of your mouth when you realized that no matter how angry you were or how petty you wanted to be, you’d probably always cover for him.
“Food poisoning, I think.”
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
Harry knew he hadn’t been great at keeping in touch.
He knew his friends were probably annoyed and he knew that he deserved it, but he also knew that inviting them to a concert, giving them backstage passes, and then bringing tons of alcohol to Adam’s party was a pretty good bet to get them back on his good side.
So as confident as Harry felt about his attempt to right his previous wrongs, he found himself with a knot in his stomach when he walked into the green room that night and saw them.
Adam and Jake were always happy to see him, they seemed less bothered by Harry’s new fame and how it shifted the dynamic of their friend group. They hugged him excitedly and only made a few jokes about the outfit he’d been forced to wear.
“You look like a Barbie doll,” Jake stifled a laugh, clapping Harry on the back with force.
“A stylish Barbie doll,” Jessie tried to soften the blow.
“I know,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Look--I don’t always get to pick everything I wear, alright?”
“We’re just glad to see you,” Bryn smiled. “Barbie Blazer and all.”
Harry ignored their jabs easily and pulled them all in for hugs, and then, Smalls.
“Hi Smalls,” he smiled down at her, hands on her shoulders when a smirk tugged at his lips. “Have you grown?”
“Oh piss off,” she laughed, shrugging away from his touch. “An inch or so since the last time you came home probably. Which was...what, a hundred years ago?”
Ouch--Harry pulled a face before he rolled his eyes, quick to let the insult roll off his back. He was getting used to it, slowly but surely, yet for some reason it always cut a little deeper when it came from her.
“Alright, alright,” Harry didn’t feel like spending too much time on the elephant in the room: his newfound career in the limelight seemed to put a wedge between him and his hometown friends. “I’m the worst friend ever, I know. You guys remember the boys, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jessie said with a casual shrug of her shoulder, a flirty smile in the direction of his bandmates had Harry making a mental note: check in on that later.
Jake rounded the corner of the sofa and sat down, offered a wave to Liam when Adam and Niall embraced.
It made Harry happy to see his old friends and his new friends spending time together, minus the shouting that insured when Louis and Jake got too heated about a recent football match or when Adam seemed to dominate everyone in table tennis. So when Jake and Adam headed that way, he turned to Smalls and realized someone was missing.
“Smalls, your sister isn’t here?”
She looked up at him with a hint of pink on her cheeks, “oh, no--my mum wasn’t too keen on the idea of me bringing a thirteen-year-old into Manchester and back, I guess.”
“No?” He smirked. “Can’t imagine why.”
Harry had always loved teasing her--something about the way her eyelids fluttered in annoyance or the way she seemed to blush at the slightest of comments made his smile stretch across his face.
He’d always had a soft spot for her, less boisterous than Jessie and much less of a know-it-all than Bryn. She could give Harry shit when he deserved it but she was also the one who listened and cared and had a laugh that Harry missed more than he expected when he moved to London.
Which is why, Harry thought, he found himself more intrigued by the girl who sat behind him in Chemistry. Afterall, distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Now, in the green room, she gave exactly the reaction Harry had wanted when she crossed her arms and stifled a frustrated laugh. “Alright, shut it.”
“Are we giving Y/N shit about the time she lost Katie?” Bryn perked up as she watched Adam bounce the ball beneath his paddle.
“I cannot believe I missed that,” Harry smiled.
“Better get used to it, H, you’re missing a lot these days,” she shot back with an antagonising grin.
Y/N, he’d noticed, also seemed to be the least impressed by his fame, the most annoyed by his departure, and he couldn't help but wonder why she seemed absolutely displeased when he told them all that he’d lost his virginity.
Now when he made trips home or met up with the gang, Harry realized there was something about Y/N that felt different. Something pulled him in and simultaneously pushed him out, maybe it was the way she’d smile up at him and then embarrass him five seconds later.
Whatever it was, Harry felt it that night in the green room and again in Adam’s basement when he listened to Mollie Amsbury drone on about school. He made awkward eye contact with Y/N a few times across the room--she was standing in a corner with Zach Bramhall and then eventually Bryn, but apparently she couldn’t read his mind and didn’t know the way he was looking at her was a silent cry for help.
Mollie was nice--more popular than Harry had been in school--but with two mixed drinks in her, she seemed keen to keep telling him all about their teachers from Year 9 and who in their class was now sleeping with who.
Harry didn’t really give a shit. Harry was more interested in spending time with his own friends and laughing at their stupid jokes about their teachers and their accounts of the school’s drama. Maybe his tolerance for Mollie was lowered with each sip he took of his drink, but at this point, he just needed a way out.
Niall was playing flip cup with a group of boys on the far side of the basement, Liam was too busy talking to Kayla Kirkendahl to even notice that Harry was practically drowning.
Luckily, Jessie walked by him as she headed for the stairs up to the kitchen, he grabbed her wrist and made a pleading face. “Jessie--you said you had to show me something, right?”
Mollie stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked to Jessie, who nodded despite looking confused.
“Right…”
“Great, okay--sorry, Mollie, we’ll catch up later, yeah?”
Harry tugged Jessie away as Mollie nodded, a huff of exhaustion when Jessie looked him up and down.
“Y’alright, champ?”
He shook his head, “she’s sweet, but she’s brutal. Doesn’t shut up--I swear, she can talk to herself for hours.”
Jessie let out an intoxicated giggled as they wove through their peers. “You say this to another girl who can talk to herself for hours.”
“You’re different,” Harry shrugged it off, climbing the stairs with her in tow.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I can tell you to shut up.”
Jessie knew it was true and accepted his answer, though she couldn’t help but wonder if Harry’d ever found her to be as annoying as Mollie.
She knew she was loud, knew she had a penchant for keeping conversations alive. Her mom always said she’d make a great lawyer, but at 17, Jessie was starting to wonder if that was just as much of an insult as it was a compliment.
She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as they found Bryn and Y/N blocking their entrance to the kitchen on the landing of the stairs.
“Hi,” Harry looked up at them.
Y/N was frozen, her lips parted like she’d seen a ghost. “Hi, I--uh, I’m gonna get some air,” she nodded at Bryn and then headed for the front door.
Harry felt his eyebrows dip. “She alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s grand,” Bryn laughed and dismissed Harry’s question. He chalked her word choice up to the liquor in her cup.
“Mollie’s already being annoying,” Jessie told Bryn as they all made their way over to the kitchen counter. The bottles of booze that Harry brought were neatly lined up, and based on the levels inside, everyone in Holmes Chapel preferred vodka over gin.
“Could have called that one,” Bryn rolled her eyes and poured more into her cup.
Adam showed up and stuck his head between Harry’s and Jessie’s. “Can someone help me nicely tell Zach and Emma to stop dry humping on my mom’s fridge?”
“I will happily tell them to piss off,” Bryn lifted her cup and followed him over.
Harry checked his phone as Jessie poured another drink. The contents splashed up over the edges and she laughed when she used a pot holder to wipe up the spill. She took a big gulp and grimaced.
“Maybe have some water?” Harry suggested, his nose scrunched at the look on her face.
“I will, I will--where do you think Adam has a phone cord? M’almost dead.” She picked her phone out of her pocket and showed Harry the battery.
“Somewhere underneath the pile of clothes on bean bag chair, m’sure,” Harry said.
“Alright, come,” Jessie tugged his arm and made her way into the living room, down the hall, and pushed open the second door on the right.
Adam’s room was a deep blue, posters lined the wall and just as Harry suspected, the ever-steady pile of clothes was present on the bean bag chair in the corner. He flicked on the light switch and the door latched behind Jessie.
“Not to sound like Bryn--but when did he clean this place last?”
“Probably last year,” Harry laughed. “Or the year before.”
Jessie walked over to his bed and pushed some coats aside, flopping back on the mattress with a sigh.
“Show was good,” she said.
“Thanks,” Harry wandered over to the window that overlooked Adam’s street. Y/N and Jake were outside, the cherry of a cigarette visible through the dark as a cloud of smoke floated over their heads. “This might be a weird question, but--there’s not something going on between Y/N and Jake, right?”
“Y/N and Jake?” Jessie let out a sharp laugh, “no fucking way. She’s kind of seeing Nolan Truscott I think.”
For some reason this answer didn’t make Harry feel any better.
“Oh.”
“Why?” she stared at the ceiling when Harry turned around and spotted Adam’s phone charger.
“Just curious--don’t you need this?” He held up the white chord and dangled it in the air between them.
Jessie picked her head up off the mattress and her eyes lit up. “Right!”
She hoisted herself up and came to fetch it, plugged it in behind Adam’s desk and then set her phone down. “Jesus--didn’t realize how loud it was out there.”
“You’re also drunk,” Harry laughed.
“You are too,” Jessie accused with a smirk.
Harry thought on it for a second, he was definitely feeling the effects of his third drink, but the sandwich he wolfed down before the show probably helped a bit.
“So Y/N and Nolan Truscott?”
Jessie rolled her eyes at his question, why did Harry care so much about who Y/N was talking to or seeing or anything of the sort?
Of course Jessie hoped her friend’s crush would materialize into something real--but at this point, Harry seemed distracted by other famous women and his rich neighbors in London. And besides, Y/N had made such a big deal about moving on that Jessie hoped she meant it. If only to avoid further disappointment when Harry inevitably met someone and had a lavish wedding that was written about in every tabloid on this side of the Atlantic.
Jessie looked up at him and wondered, for a second, what it was about him that everyone found to be so charming. His moppy-curls were a bit too long, his teenage growth spurt made him a bit awkward and lanky, and worst of all, she once saw him burp his way through the alphabet, though he only made it to M.
He was handsome, he was kind, but Jessie decided it was mostly the band and the song and the screaming girls that made him so appealing.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry asked, suddenly aware of the way Jessie’s eyes had seemed to glaze over.
“M’not,” she shook her head. “Sorry, zoned out.”
She picked up her phone and laughed at a text she’d received. Harry wondered, for a second, how Jessie always managed to be the life of the party. Harry himself had been a bit of a class clown before he left school, but Jessie rivaled him like no other.
She was outgoing and energetic and, in his insecure moments, had the qualities Harry thought he lacked. At first being famous was fun, and on most days it still was. But now when he came home and had to dodge Mollie Amsbury, he sometimes wished he could fade back into anonymity, or at least channel Jessie’s ability to never get tired of talking or laughing or being the center of attention.
She put her phone down and looked back up at Harry, unaware he’d been watching her for the last few seconds.
Her eyes fluttered down to his lips and then she leaned in. Harry didn’t know how he felt about it at first--not the worst kiss he’d ever had but also not the best. Their bodies pressed together momentarily, Jessie felt stupid as soon as she felt his tongue swipe her bottom lip. He cupped a hand around her face but then pulled away.
Jessie’s eyes were wide, she let out a cough and said: “sorry--that was--”
“Weird,” Harry laughed.
Relief, Jessie sighed. “Fucking weird, I don’t know why I did that.”
Harry shook his head. “Drunk, things happen, but, uh-- we should”
“Never do that again,” Jessie nodded, trying not to laugh.
“Agreed,” he held out a pinky to lock with hers and smiled.
“Let’s never speak of it, either, yeah?” Jessie eyed him hopefully. “Just uh--would probably freak a few people out.”
Harry nodded, pretending like this never happened was probably best for everyone. Jake and Adam wouldn’t let him hear the end of it and Bryn and Y/N would have a thousand questions. “Sounds good.”
“Alright, I retroactively accept your suggestion of water,” she laughed.
They headed for the door and down the hall, coming face to face with Jake and Y/N as they came inside from the cold.
“Oh hi,” Jessie clutched a hand to her heart when they nearly bumped into them, “you scared me.”
Jake removed his arm from around Y/N’s shoulders when Harry asked: “Where were you two?”
“Just having a chat outside,” Y/N said before tossing the question back at Harry. “Where were you two?”
“Harry left his phone in Adam’s room,” Jessie said quickly. “Wanted to make sure no one got a hold of it.”
Jake let out a laugh, “too many celebrity tits on there?”
“Oh piss off,” Harry laughed, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
“Alright,” Jessie waved them off, taking a step forward to link her arm with Y/N’s. “Need another drink?”
So much for water, Harry thought.
**
Y/N L/N (9:21pm): We’re long overdue for a facetime date, so look at your calendar and get back to me.
Y/N L/N (9:21pm): Also, just a heads up that Harry and I broke up. Not a big deal, doing alright so far. I can fill you in later!!
Your phone clicked shut as you let out a sigh, feet folded beneath you on your sofa. Carly was likely still at work due to the time difference, and in the 18 months since you’d worked for The Scoop, Carly had gotten two promotions, a cat, and a boyfriend. Needless to say, it took her much longer to reply to your texts now.
And you’d never really imagined a world in which you had to give friends and family a heads up about something so the media didn’t get to it first, but here you were, scrolling through your contacts and sorting everyone into two categories:
Can read it on Twitter or in The Sun, who really gives a shit?
Would absolutely, positively murder you within seconds if they found out via social media or newsstand headline
Carly fell in the second.
Curiosity had finally gotten the best of you after a frozen pizza had been your Tuesday night date. Besides, Jeffrey’s words had been echoing in your ears since he’d said them: people are starting to talk after those photos.
There wasn’t much, yet. A few tweets with speculations that things weren’t so peachy in paradise after you were seen leaving the club with a permanent frown on your face. Two articles in various magazines detailing your night out for a close friend’s birthday.
Another search of your name yielded no more results, just various pictures of the two of you over the last two years. The side of your head walking beside him into a hotel on his tour last summer, the two of you holding hands outside a swanky restaurant in New York before you moved.
The internet was an eternal treasure chest of memories, you’d learned. Some good, some bad--but nonetheless a time capsule you could always access after a glass of wine.
Your phone buzzed and you assumed it was Carly, but an unrecognized American number taunted you until you unlocked it.
(212)347-9090 (9:24pm): Hi Y/N! It’s Gigi! Totally random, but I’m still in town and had a last minute meeting get cancelled. I know it’s late so you can totally say no, but any chance you’d be interested in grabbing a drink somewhere? Happy to talk about the feature more, too!
You read it a few times, sure that it was Jake or Adam playing a stupid prank with a newly downloaded app from across the hall. You stood up off the couch, tossed a sweatshirt over your braless figure and went to pound on their door.
“Excuse me--I’m sorry to break up whatever dumb shit you’re up to in there, but can you please not target me with your stupidity on a weeknight?”
You heard footsteps before Adam tugged it open, his eyes narrowed he took in the sight of you.
“What?”
You rolled your eyes and walked by him, taking a seat at their kitchen table. Jake was stood in front of the microwave, hands on his hips when he looked at you.
“I got your stupid text--very funny.”
They both looked at each other.
“What are you talking about?”
You paused, surveyed both their faces to see if they’d crack under pressure.
“You mean to say that you’re not the ones pretending to be Gigi Hadid texting me and asking me to get a drink tonight?”
Jake’s eyes went wide and he stuck his head out in shock. “What? No--that’s not us, Y/N!”
“I was about to get in the shower and he’s trying to make a microwave cheese toastie,” Adam explained.
“Holy shit,” you stood up quickly, bolted back out their door and across the hall to yours. They followed behind quickly, froze in your living room when you searched for your phone on the couch cushions.
“No one’s pranking you, Y/N--you just got asked on a date by Gigi Hadid.”
“S’not a date,” you rolled your eyes. “Just a drink!”
“Well stop telling that to us and text her back!” Adam shouted.
You picked up the phone and stared at her message again, thumbed out a reply and tried to play it cool. She picked a spot and said she could meet you there in 30 minutes, so you tugged on a blouse and a skirt and Jake pretended to choke at the amount of dry shampoo you sprayed into your hair.
They watched you get into an Uber and promised to blackmail you forever if you didn’t give them a full update. Your teeth chattered from the cold and from anxiety as you hurried through the rain and into the hotel bar, all the while rehearsing things to say you were doing instead of admitting you’d housed a personal pizza and a glass of Pinot Noir before she’d texted.
She was seated in the back, a tiny table like Harry always requested, with a martini in front of her. You tried to slow your breathing as you approached, but she caught you and laughed like you were old friends.
“Are you out of breath?” She reached across and squeezed your hand in greeting.
“It was raining out, I don’t do well in the cold--”
“Funny you live in London, then,” she laughed.
You looked around at the high ceilings and dimly lit room, slinking out of your coat. “Thanks for, uh, inviting me, s’a lovely hotel.”
“Are you kidding me? Thanks for saving me from my hotel room and a solo McDonald’s dinner,” she teased.
You let out a laugh and leaned back in your seat, thankful for her honesty and calm demeanor. “I was in sweat pants doing serious damage on a frozen pizza when you texted,” you admitted as you shrugged out of your coat. “So--I should be thanking you.”
“I love that for you,” she nodded. “Order a drink so we can cheers to a new friendship.”
You smiled at that, felt a rush of butterflies in your stomach at the label. Friends? She sipped at her cocktail and a waiter approached with a napkin over his wrist to take your order.
When he disappeared to fetch a Moscow Mule, you confessed: “I, uh, actually thought your text was a prank from my friends across the hall.”
“No you didn’t!”
“I did!” you laughed. “They were very excited to learn that I was interviewing you for my cover story, huge crushes on you. They’re boys, obviously--well, not obviously, my friend Bryn is as gay as they come and she’s also obsessed with you.”
You wanted to smack yourself across the face in embarrassment--as gay as they come? You winced at your gracelessness but Gigi only laughed.
“You should have brought them!”
You pulled a face and shook your head. “M’going to pretend you didn’t say that so I don’t get murdered tomorrow.”
“Well I’m just glad you weren’t busy with Harry or work.”
Right--which category did Gigi Hadid fall in? Find out on the internet, or tell her--right here, right now--as she used the olive skewer to stir her drink?
You forced a tight-lipped smile. “We actually broke up this week--but s’fine, kind of felt like it was headed that way for a while.”
“Oh, Y/N--I’m so sorry, I had no idea--”
“Yeah, no, hasn’t really gone public yet.”
You didn’t like the way she offered you a pity smile, but you could tell it was genuine. “Well, hey--as we said the other day. Boys are stupid and relationships are crazy difficult.”
“True,” you nodded.
“D’you think it’s for good?”
The waiter appeared with your drink, you thanked him and took a sip before answering.
“I forget if I told you, but I’ve known him forever, we’ve got the same friend group from back home. It gets a little messy sometimes seeing as my friends are his and none of them know when to stay out of each other's business. God love ‘em, but that’s been hard.”
She frowned, “yeah--being in the public eye can be really hard on friendships too.”
With an already wounded ego this week, you didn’t feel like reminding her that your level of internet fame was no match to her international fashion model status.
You didn’t know how much you should divulge to her, seeing as she was still a stranger and also the girlfriend of Harry’s ex-bandmate. This was the kind of situation that often had Harry’s or Jeff’s voice playing on a loop in your head: you never know who might repeat what you say.
Even broken up Harry’s career still controlled what you could disclose and to whom? You took another sip of your drink and felt the anger grow inside of you.
Gigi made an effort to get to know you--she asked about New York and why you left, told you about where she grew up and how much she loved horses. You weren’t sure if she purposefully avoided talking about Harry, but being able to talk about things other than your love life was a welcomed reprieve from the last few days and your typical partners in conversation.
You were shocked to find out that she knew your old boss, Whitney, and even more surprised to hear that she’d read your work before and was excited to learn you’d been assigned her cover at The Face.
By 11:30 she offered to have her driver bring you home and sweetly swatted your hand away from your wallet when you paid out. I’m the one who pulled you away from sweatpants and pizza.
Camera lights flashed when you walked behind her towards the car. It was a similar level of blinding that you’d experienced before with Harry, but he didn’t have legs like hers. You slid into the backseat beside her and then the car lurched into motion.
“Surprisingly that’s not as bad as New York,” she laughed.
“That’s what Harry says.”
She offered a sympathetic smile when she turned to face you. “Have you talked to him at all?”
“No,” you shook your head, deciding it was too soon to admit you’d emotionally showed up at his house only 36-hours earlier. “I’ll have to see him at some point but--might avoid it for as long as possible.”
Your phone buzzed on your lap and pulled your attention away from her. You swiped to open the email and despite Gigi having already labeled you a friend, she couldn’t read the look of surprise on your face.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah--sorry--just a work email.” You clicked it shut and smiled.
Partially true.
Y/N,
We understand your inability to relocate to Los Angeles and would be happy to discuss with you the possibility of a position at our London satellite. If you’re interested, let’s set up a call soon to discuss further details.
**
The next day after work you found yourself at Bryn’s flat making a list of pros and cons. A childish way to make a decision, she told you, but at this point, you felt like you didn’t know which way was up and which was down.
She asked a million questions after you disclosed the details of your most recent social event and in between scribing for you, she’d wonder aloud: what kind of hotel does Gigi stay in? What kind of impression did you make on her if she asked you to get drinks and offered to extend the interview? What did she smell like?
It took a lot of redirecting and a lot of deep breaths.
The list, so far, was as follows:
Pros of E! News on-air job
On-air, a career goal for sure
Higher pay, they’d informed you of the salary over the phone earlier in the day
Live reporting!
A bigger company than The Face, more international?
More opportunities to cover pop-culture (your favorite thing to dissect for a living)
Cons of E! News on-air job
Leaving Naomi and Tyler
Less writing
Potential of having to talk about Harry/more opportunities for a conflict of interest
You looked up from the piece of paper you’d ripped from a notepad at her place, now it sat atop your kitchen counter as you waited for water to boil.
It was undoubtedly a good career move, something you’d long been interested in, and Bryn had assured you that whatever guilt you felt about leaving The Face was unnecessary. A pang of sadness when you realized you couldn’t call Jessie, this was a moment when you would have happily welcomed her strong opinions.
You opened a box of pasta and dumped some into the pot when your phone dinged to signal a new text.
Harry S (6:31pm): Read over the transcript and rough draft you sent to Jeffrey. Honestly worried that people will read it and think dating me is miserable.
Your heart was in your throat in a matter of seconds, skin prickly with emotion as your thumbs hovered over the screen.
Y/N L/N (6:32pm): Well to be fair it wasn’t always a walk in the park.
Harry S (6:32pm): You realize that if you write an article smearing me they’ll cover both of us in the news, right?
Y/N L/N (6:33pm): It’s not smearing you, it’s an honest conversation we had and a think-piece pertaining to sexism in celebrity and pop culture.
Harry S (6:33pm): And your admission that dating me has negatively impacted your personal and professional life…
Y/N L/N (6:34pm): I’m nothing if not an honest journalist 🤷♀️
Harry S (6:34pm): Bad press is bad press for both of us
Harry S (6:35pm): Don’t you think we should avoid things that will just bring bad headlines?
Y/N L/N (6:35pm): I’m not changing my article so you don’t have to deal with media backlash
The sound of your pot boiling over made you abandon your phone on the counter. Shit, shit, shit, you tugged it off the burner and found a tea towel to wipe up the spill.
Once you got it back under control, you saw the screen of your phone light up with his contact photo, a knot in your stomach let you know you might not be hungry for dinner anymore.
You swiped your thumb to answer it. “What?”
“Hello to you, too.”
“What do you want, Harry?”
“I want to talk about this feature--isn’t that what we agreed to the other day with Jeff?”
“Pretty sure I agreed to talk to Jeffrey,” you informed. “But go ahead.”
“M’not trying to be a dick, Y/N, okay? But you’ve never wanted our relationship to be making huge news so I’m a bit confused as to why you’re now going to drag me through the mud.”
“Harry,” you said his name calmly and then let out a sigh. “I am not dragging you through the mud by acknowledging the fact that your status as a musician and celebrity has affected my career.”
It felt stupid to explain it to him, it was something he’d been more than willing to acknowledge before.
“Y/N,” he mirrored your tone. “Hard to agree with you when one of the sentences you wrote in your draft is: Sure--as Gigi explains--dating a talented musician has it perks, but the downfalls are easy to count: lack of privacy, grueling schedules, and the constant need to remind just about everyone that you’re more than the vagina he has sex with when he’s not in meetings or on tour.”
“Well, it’s a rough draft, Harry--m’sure Donna wouldn’t let me actually publish that. I’ve just got to get the creative juices flowing.”
He let out a sigh, one that suddenly reminded you that despite his flaws and missteps, he was still human. He still had emotions on the other end of the phone and he was probably right that referencing your--or Gigi’s--vagina was probably not a great idea.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Jessie.”
You were quiet for a second, stirred the pasta in the water and waited to see if he had anything else to say.
“Are you there?”
“Yes--I just don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Alright, listen. I can’t stop you from breaking up with me and I can’t stop you from writing this feature however you want, but please remember that you’ve worked so hard for your career to be what it is. You built it before I was in New York--” another sigh. “I don’t want to be petty with you, alright? If we’re actually ending this I don’t want it to be stupid and dramatic and immature.”
You clenched your jaw at his insults cloaked as adjectives. “Kind of feels like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Y/N I can admit I fucked up, alright? But I don’t want to put our friends in the middle or feel like I can’t ever see them because you’re upset with me.”
You couldn’t help yourself: “Sounds like you think they’d take my side.”
He let out a groan, for a second you wondered if he would hang up on you. But you softened when he said: “Actually I just think we care about each other too much to be like this.”
A pause, bubbles in the pot floated towards the surface and across the living room was his spot on the sofa.
“Fine,” you said, your voice less angry.
“Fine?”
“I’ll send another draft to Jeffrey in a few days--but I’m not about to write a glowing review for you. That’s not even what this feature is about. My job is to write about Gigi and the things that she and I spoke about. I won’t let you and your manager dictate it. Showing you the transcripts or the draft is just a courtesy.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay.”
“I’ll--uh, talk to you later, yeah?”
You hung up then, but only because you didn’t know if you would.
Jessie Alby (6:45pm): Can we please talk soon?
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
AN: HI FRIENDS! Sorry this chapter took a minute!!!! I am so excited to be sharing this story with you all and it means so much to get messages and hear how invested people are in my characters, so thanks for always reaching out and sharing your thoughts, feelings, opinions, questions, etc. Hope everyone is having a lovely October!!!!!
You ignored the texts from Bryn, Jake, and Adam the rest of the day. You drew the shades in your flat and watched one of the stupid soap opera’s Alyssa had turned you onto and instead of calling your mum or your sister, you fell asleep at 7pm and then woke up at 3am.
Mostly, you tried to swallow back tears and remind yourself that if you lived without him for so long, you could do it now.
Bryn finally convinced you to come over to hers on Sunday and the rainy weather made you even more resentful of climbing the stairs to her walk-up.
You knocked three times before she opened the door and smiled timidly.
“Jesus, it’d be nice to get a lift in here, yeah? Feels like I climbed Everest.”
She stepped aside and you shrugged off your jacket, Jessie was seated on the couch in the living room and looked just as surprised to see you.
“What--is this some kind of set up, Bryn?”
She didn’t answer Jessie’s question, instead she looked at you to see if you were equally peeved.
“M’not doing this,” you said quickly, motioning to Jessie. You reached for your jacket after setting it on a hook, but Bryn slapped your hand out of the way.
“Yes you are,” she nodded before looking over to Jessie. “And you are too.”
“I have nothing to say to her,” you informed them, crossing your arms over your chest when Bryn moved closer to Jessie who sat in an armchair near the window. She eyed you with a displeased look, Jessie rolled her eyes and eventually, you huffed and took two steps closer to them.
“Jessie, do you have something to say to Y/N?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?” Bryn was annoyed now. “You’re not sorry?”
“I might be if she didn’t lose her shit on me at the club and not even hear me out.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Jessie--I don’t have to hear you out. Don’t you understand how terrible this is? You snogged the guy I’ve loved forever and didn’t tell me. What kind of friend does that?!”
“You told us that night in the car on the way back from his show that you were over him!”
You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, s’not my fault you were dumb enough to believe me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jessie faked a smile. “Didn’t know I had to assume you were a liar.”
“I’m the liar in this situation? Do you hear yourself?!”
“Alright, will you two quit it?” Bryn looked less than pleased as she stood in her living room, hands on her hips like a frustrated parent.
“If you believed that I was over him Jessica why did you purposely withhold the truth from me for nearly a decade?”
She let out a short huff of air from her nose, crossed her arms, and turned away from you.
“I’ll answer for you,” you snarled. “Because you knew I was full of shit. You knew I was in love with him and you were selfish as always and wrapped up in yourself and you knew it was wrong.”
“Do you know how obnoxious and ridiculous it’s been being a side character in your saga for the last fifteen years? You love him, you don’t, you hate him, you don’t!” She let out a groan and paced atop the carpet.
“Well the saga’s over, alright? I’m not doing that anymore. It’s been stupid and painful and I can’t do it anymore,” you clenched your teeth to hide the emotion as your voice shook. You didn’t want to cry in front of Jessie, show how much it hurt to be betrayed by someone who knew you almost your whole life.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bryn asked, her voice much more steady than yours or Jessie’s.
Jessie’s head whipped in your direction when she stopped compulsively walking, you felt a knot in your stomach when you licked your lips. You cleared your throat to appear composed: “we broke up. I broke up with him.”
“Great, so now that you two broke up you’ll expect us to never speak to him again just like last time? That’s so petty, Y/N, honestly. I’m sick of our relationship with Harry having to revolve around yours.”
You looked at her with disgust on your face. “I’m the petty one? Pretty bold of you to say after you kissed my boyfriend and lied about it for years.”
“He wasn’t your boyfriend back then because you didn’t have the guts to tell him you were in love with him!”
“Both of you shut up!” Bryn yelled, her hands in the air like she could strangle either one of you. “Jessie, you’re a twat for kissing Harry and not telling her. Y/N, you’re a twat for breaking up with him over it.”
You didn’t mean to say it, but with anger coursing in your veins and Jessie Alby directly across from you, it just slipped out.
“That’s not the only reason I broke up with him.”
“Well then why did you do it?” Bryn pressed.
You let out a sigh, crossed your arms over your chest and figured that there was no point in being dishonest, especially if it’d make you a hypocrite.
“Because I got a job offer in Los Angeles. I turned it down but he was all upset about it and it didn’t--I didn’t feel like we were going anywhere. It doesn’t feel like we’re getting more serious.”
Bryn looked confused. “When did this happen?”
“Last week.”
Now Jessie piped up. “Why did you get a job offer in LA?”
You looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Because people think I’m good at my job.”
“I mean: are you looking for a new job?”
“No,” you shrugged. “Someone reached out. It was with E! News.”
“Holy shit,” Bryn mumbled.
“Yeah, and I turned it down like a fucking idiot for that wanker,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction of Harry’s neighborhood. “I should have taken it.”
“Why?” Bryn asked.
“Because he kissed this wanker,” you pointed at Jessie.
“She is a wanker,” Bryn nodded, holding a hand up when Jessie scoffed. “But you know she loves you and you know she’d never do anything to purposely hurt you.”
“Then why did you kiss him?” You turned to look at her, eyes pleading for even the slightest crumb of the truth.
She let out a big breath, shook her head. “Because I was drunk and stupid and I don’t know--I guess a part of me wondered what was so intriguing to you about him. Everyone was so obsessed with him once he was in the band and you pretty much always had been. I was curious--and off my face.”
You scrunched your nose at the thought of them kissing. In Adam’s house? With you on the other side of a wall somewhere? Jake and Bryn nearby too?
“For the record, it was maybe three seconds and I immediately felt nauseous. We laughed at how stupid and gross it was and I vaguely remember pinky-promising that we’d never even think about touching each other again.”
You eyed her for a second, hesitant to admit her words felt reassuring. You looked at Bryn. “You’re willing to back her up on this one?”
She raised a hand as if she was being sworn in. “I can truthfully say that when she told me it happened she looked utterly disgusted.”
“It was like kissing my brother.”
“I don’t care!” You said quickly. “I don’t care that it was disgusting because you shouldn’t have even done it. It was selfish not to tell me and stupid to do it. And even stupider to tell your fucking coworker--"
“Did you actually break up with him?” Jessie asked, the anger now diminished in her voice.
“Yeah, Jessie, I did. Knowing that he couldn’t be honest with me over something like that just makes me worry that there’s other stuff he’s not honest about. I mean, does no one remember the whole Nina Winters thing?”
Bryn pushed her lips out at that, like she’d forgotten all about the other moment of dishonesty you’d already witnessed from Harry.
Sure, whatever romance he’d had with the American model was short lived and barely got off the ground. But when you found out on the internet that his relationship with her and the start of your rekindling overlapped, you were heartbroken and knew you had no one to blame but yourself.
Which is exactly how you felt now. How could you have been so stupid for all these years to think that you and Harry were meant to be?
“He’s not a liar, though, Y/N,” Jessie said.
“Omitting the truth is still a shitty thing to do.”
“Yeah, but--you’re really going to throw it all away because I was a drunken idiot and he didn’t want to ruin what you guys finally had when you reconnected?”
“Yep,” you said it simply, like it wasn’t a huge decision and like it didn’t rock your world. “Trust me, it hasn’t been a walk in the park.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We’ve been fighting a lot and I think back in New York we were wrapped up in the excitement of hanging out again that we thought an actual relationship could work, but--”
You cut yourself off, unsure why you were explaining yourself to Jessie. She shifted under your angry glare and watched as you finally sat on the sofa. She looked more guilty than Harry, somehow, her freckled face was nervous and uncertain when she watched you.
“What, Jessie? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just feel bad--I didn’t mean to fuck stuff up for you.”
“It’s been fucked up before this, alright? S’just icing on the cake.”
“Are you okay?” Bryn came to sit beside you, pushed her glasses up on her nose and reached a hand for yours.
You sighed, “I don’t know. Doesn’t feel real. I’m stupid, I guess, right? I thought that being in a relationship with him would be magical and exciting and--I dunno--I guess I fantasized about it for so long I never realized that it’s actually extremely difficult and time consuming and not normal at all.”
“You didn’t know how hard it would be,” Bryn tried to reassure you.
“Someone like him isn’t mean to be with someone like me.”
“How do you figure?” She asked.
“He’s jet setting around the world and I work a nine-to-five.”
Jessie was still timid when she spoke, like she was metaphorically walking on eggshells as she pieced a sentence together. “You’re saying all of this like you haven’t known him forever--you know he’s not just some stupid celebrity.”
“He’s been acting like one lately,” you said quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest and settling into the couch. Bryn took this as a cue to shove a blanket your way and head for the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“So maybe you need to just talk things through, have a come to Jesus moment!” Jessie reasoned.
“Why are you so adamant about working it out? You've never wanted us to be together and you wouldn't shut up about how bad of an idea this was in New York when we first started hooking up!"
She shrugged her shoulders, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Well now I’m hurt, Jessie! And it’s partially your fault!”
“Hey,” Bryn poked her head out of the kitchen to hold you accountable. “There’s more going on here and you know it.”
“Of course there is,” you admitted in a whine--you weren’t trying to deny that. “Harry and I got off to a weird start when I found out he was dating someone else at first! Then I found out that all of you had lied to me about him having feelings for me at some point. So there’s always been this weird level of dishonesty lurking in the background--we were built on a foundation of lies!”
Jessie rolled her eyes at your theatrics, you rolled your eyes in response and Bryn let out a sigh.
“When did you start to worry that you weren’t serious enough?”
“When I realized that he could go days without seeing me and not be bothered. And when I realized I couldn’t.”
They both offered sympathetic frowns at that, Jessie shifted in her seat. “You don’t think you should talk to him about that?”
“I thought I should, but then he got all bothered one night when I said being his girlfriend was hard and complained that he’s busy.”
“Maybe this is just a rough patch,” Bryn shrugged.
“Or maybe it’s proof that we’re not meant to be.”
“It’s you and Harry,” Jessie reminded. “Of course you’re meant to be.”
You didn’t reply, afraid that opening your mouth would let the tears build more quickly and race down your cheeks. Bryn brought you a cuppa and you traced the pattern on her throw blanket, wondering if you’d made the biggest mistake of your life or if you were saving yourself future heartbreak. After all, the higher you climb, the farther you fall.
You walked the long way home, the pavement between your boots felt grounding. The thought of sitting in your flat alone on a Sunday evening felt more depressing than walking in the rain so you did a few laps around your block just to avoid the leftovers he’d left in your fridge last week and the phone charger on his side of your bed.
You didn’t know what this would look like: would he still come to Thursday night dinners? Would he still reply in the group text? Would he show up at your flat again in a few days to talk things through or beg you to come to his to try to fix things?
Monday morning was cloudy and Naomi and Tyler could tell something was up, a group chat from Adam and Jake around lunch let you know somehow they’d been clued in.
Adam Penter (1:12pm): 🙁
Jake Newcomb (1:14pm): Double 🙁
Y/N L/N (1:15pm): 🤷♀️
You didn’t know if Harry had told them or if Jessie couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Maybe it was Bryn, or maybe Jake did have his ear pressed against your door and heard the news for himself.
They knocked at yours that night with a pizza and a pint, hesitant smiles told you they came in peace.
They sat on the floor around your coffee table, the evening news muted as Adam handed you a beer.
“How much do you already know?” You eyed them suspiciously, not wanting to repeat all the details if they’d already heard most of it from someone else.
Adam looked at Jake like he was contemplating how honest to be.
“Please just tell me--I can’t take any more lying.”
“I thought we were calling it omitting the truth,” Jake teased, using your words from your conversation with Bryn and Jessie, his way of admitting they knew a decent amount.
“We know a little bit,” Adam waved Jake off. “But we’d rather hear it from you.”
You sighed, bit into the slice you held in your hand. Not as good as New York but it would do. “Do I really have to explain it all if Jessie or Bryn or Harry already told you?”
“Fine, fine,” Jake backed off. “But answer this: do you love him?”
You sipped from the green beer bottle and looked at him with a blank stare. “Jacob,” you said his name in warning. It was a stupid question, you didn’t know why he would make you answer something so obvious.
“Can I ask a different question?” Adam cleared his throat. “Were you really going to move to LA?”
“Oh Jesus, again--no privacy with you freaks.”
“Well that’s a big deal, Y/N, to not tell us about that,” Jake remarked.
“I hadn’t even gotten the offer until like five days ago.”
“You just got back to London!” Adam shrugged.
You narrowed your eyes at them. “I didn’t take it--not sure if your informant told you that.”
“He did,” Jake mumbled.
“You talked to Harry?”
“Of course we talked to Harry,” he said quickly. “What do you think we did on Sunday when you were at Bryn’s?”
You used a napkin to wipe grease from your fingertips. “How is he?”
“Angry,” Adam said. “Upset. A bit of both.”
“Does it not matter to anyone that I wasn’t happy? You know how he can be--he’s busy and he doesn’t communicate well. He didn’t text you when your gran died,” you motioned at Adam.
“No one is saying he’s perfect,” Jake admitted. “He’s an idiot, he’s a wanker, we know that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be with him. You’re a wanker too.”
“I didn’t let you guys in here to put me on trial, you know.”
“We love you,” Adam said. “We want you to be happy and we think Harry is a part of that, even if it’s been hard lately.”
You rolled your eyes, appreciated that Jake took it upon himself to unmute the telly and change the topic of conversation by sharing a stupid story from the office. They left before 9pm and you locked the door behind them, hoping that the desire to call him or go to his would fade overnight.
When you got to work the next morning, you were surprised to see an email from Harry’s manager in your inbox.
Tyler looked up from across the room when you scoffed, your notes from the Gigi interview sprawled out on the coffee table in front of him.
“What?”
“Listen to this email: Hi Y/N, wanted to connect with you over a few things. One--there were a few tweets that surfaced over the weekend from people who saw you getting into a car after a night out at Reign. I would assume more will come (along with headlines and media coverage alike) as news about the separation spreads. Maybe we can talk at some point about making a statement--unsure of Harry’s thoughts on this but I’ll talk with him as well. Also, let’s find a time for the three of us to meet for coffee to discuss your Gigi cover when you have a first draft.”
You’d told Tyler and Naomi the news, they were equally as upset as your friends and equally convinced that this was temporary.
Tyler’s eyes were wide when you looked up from your screen, waiting for a reply.
“News about the separation?" He pulled a face. "That sounds like something a divorce lawyer would say.”
“Of course even breaking up with Harry is a whole ordeal, nothing the man does is simple or normal.”
He ignored your words and came to read the email over your shoulder, his bleached blonde hair messy after he ran his hands through it a few times. He was quiet, looked down at you in between letting his eyes trace the words on the screen.
“What?” You finally asked when he headed back for his seat across the room. You knew he had something to say.
“Just--dunno--you’re really sure you can’t be with him anymore?”
You pressed your lips together and leaned back in your chair. The question everyone was hurling at you, the words that echoed in your mind late at night when you tried to sleep and forget the events of the last few days.
Justifying your own feelings and explaining your frustration was getting old now. You hadn't even had room to breathe since everything exploded and Jessie and Bryn and Jake and Adam and Tyler and Naomi and Alyssa didn’t need to understand. It didn’t need to make perfect sense to them and they didn’t have to like it.
“Not right now, alright?”
“Not right now, like you don’t wanna chat about it or not right now as in you can’t be with him right now?”
You thought on it for a second. “Both.”
“Hi,” Naomi knocked on the door and stepped inside, three white cups in a drink holder from the cafe down the street. “Figured if we were going to map out this cover story and finish our weekly deadlines we probably need some caffeine.”
“Y/N just got an email from Harry’s manager,” Tyler ratted you out before Naomi could even hand you the coffee.
“Oh?” She looked towards you. “Saying?”
“I’ll have a chat with them about the cover, and then about making a statement about the separation,” you put Jeff’s words in air-quotes and then took a sip.
“You don’t think Donna will pull your cover if you and Harry make a lot of news, do you?” Tyler’s question caused both you and Naomi to freeze.
“She coudn’t--” your shoulders slumped. “Could she?”
Naomi winced and tilted her head side to side. “She’s done strange things before, but, I don’t know. I don’t understand half the decisions she makes.”
You let out a sigh and leaned back in your chair. “Well fuck me. Now I have to play nice with Harry to avoid major headlines.”
Tyler made a face in your direction. “As if you were going to not play nice.”
“You know what I mean!”
He did, they tried to reason with you and talk through scenarios for the meeting to help you feel more prepared. They even stayed late to help you type up the transcript and get started on an outline.
But when you walked into an office building near Kensington a few days later, you wished they could attend the meeting with you to help settle any nerves.
You could hear his voice from down the hall, low and quiet when you rounded the corner and tried to steady your breathing. Jeffrey was seated on one side of a conference table as you approached, his sentence trailing off when he smiled and stood to welcome you. Harry sat a few seats away with his hands in his pockets, his eyes finding yours for a split second before he looked away.
“Hi Jeff,” you said, swiveling your head towards Harry’s, you swallowed and wondered if your cheeks looked as red as they felt. “Hi Harry.”
“Hi,” he said with a quick nod, a formality like you were just another business partner.
“So--thanks for coming, Y/N. Obviously we just wanted to chat about if-slash-what Harry might say in a statement. I mentioned in my email that people are starting to talk after those photos.”
You took a seat and smoothed out your dress, Jeffrey opened up his laptop and typed a few things.
“And we need to listen to the interview,” Harry reminded, his words prickly.
“I was getting there,” Jeff held up a hand to stop whatever tension was already building. “But yes, he’s right, we need to do that.”
“Okay, I just typed up the transcript, so I can send it to you.”
“Great.” Jeff nodded, his short answers made you think the two of them had already agreed to make this go as quickly as possible. “Any opposition to Harry making a statement addressing the split?”
“Uh,” you looked over to Harry, he kept his eyes on the ground as he twisted a ring on his finger. “No, I guess not.”
“Great,” he said again and smiled softly, apparently the meeting was going more swimmingly than he’d expected. “We can work on something with the team and get back to you? Send you a proof beforehand?”
Jeffrey looked to Harry, lips in a thin line when he brought his eyes back to you. You knew what he was saying: I can send you a proof so we don’t have to spend any more time with you two in the same room.
“Sure,” you offered him an apologetic smile.
“Okay--” Jeff looked at both of you. “Harry, we’ll work on something and I’ll discuss it with Y/N. Y/N, you’ll send us the transcript and we’ll give notes, and then we’ll handle the article when it’s closer, yeah?”
You nodded again, hands clasped on your lap like you were getting scolded by a teacher. Why was this meeting even necessary if all you’d accomplished was that you’d stick to the plan you’d already come up with? This all could have been done over email.
You felt Harry’s gaze on you before he spoke. “Jeff, can we have a minute?”
Jeff stopped typing, his eyes flickered to you and then back to Harry. “Sure--yeah. I can, uh, I’ll go down and get the car. Y/N--we’ll connect over email.”
Another nod, your mouth felt so dry you weren’t sure if you could pry your lips apart at this point. Jeff gathered his things and mumbled something about meeting Harry in the lobby. You weren’t sure what you expected, but when Harry leaned over to pick up a box that had been sitting on the ground beside him, your brow furrowed.
“What’s this?”
He pushed it towards you on the table.
“Your things from my house.”
“Oh.”
“Figured you’d want them back.”
His nonchalance made something in you snap.
“Harry, do you even understand why I broke up with you?”
“Not really,” he answered honestly and blank-faced.
You rolled your eyes. “Because you’re not good at communicating. You lie or you don’t tell me things and then I find out and it seems even more suspicious because you can’t just open your bloody mouth and explain how you feel or what’s going on.”
“Well I tried to communicate on Saturday at yours but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Right, I’m always the one not listening,” you crossed your arms. “What excuse could you possibly have for--hmm, let’s see,” you lifted a finger to count. “One, the time you dated Nina Winters and didn’t tell me you were seeing her. Two, kissing Jessie and, what do you know, not telling me about it. It feels really great to find out things about my boyfriend from our friends.”
He seemed to shrink a bit at your words, like he’d forgotten about Nina and the fight you’d had in New York when you felt betrayed and confused and heartbroken. He stared at the table, and when it was clear he didn’t have anything to say, you stood up.
“I should have told you sooner about the job interview and I’m sorry that I didn’t. But I can’t keep playing this game with you and our friends of who knows what. I know we met in primary school, Harry, but I’m not interested in having an elementary relationship with you anymore.”
You picked up the box on the table and headed for the door. You thought, and maybe hoped, that he’d have something else to say. An apology, a retort, even an insult would feel better than the silence that echoed in the hall as you made your way to the lift.
But as you’d said, Harry wasn’t any good at communicating.
**
You were practically fuming when Bryn showed up around 6pm that evening, shoving shit in a box so Harry would know you meant business. A glass of wine had already been poured and Alyssa was on FaceTime when you opened the door.
“Hi Brynnie!” Alyssa waved through the screen. “Y/N’s finally lost it.”
“Finally?” Bryn laughed and shrugged off her coat. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
Alyssa made a face at your friend’s British slang but let you fill her in on your meeting: first Jeffrey said, and then Harry said, isn’t that stupid?
Bryn watched with wide eyes as you took a gulp of wine from the glass you’d already been drinking. “S’a bit early for that, no?”
“Did you not hear anything I just said? I’ve had a rough day.”
Alyssa let out a laugh at your feral behavior, watched as you shoved t-shirts, sweatpants, trinkets, headphones, books into a cardboard box.
“So you’re stooping just as low as he did and bringing him a box of his shit?” Bryn asked.
“Precisely.”
“And what exactly is the point of that?”
“To make him realize how serious I am about all of this.”
“Y/N, he was a dick, for sure, okay? But don’t you think you two are above this?”
Alyssa’s words made your head swivel in the direction of your phone. “Above this? He started this!”
“I think Alyssa just means that you guys will probably talk some stuff out, right? Fine, right, if you don’t want to get back together you won’t--but, maybe you should hold off on…” Bryn paused, looked over at the box and motioned with both her hands in a circular fashion. “This.”
“Are you implying that I should be the bigger person?” You stared at your friend (the one who was on the same continent) and watched her expectantly. “Cause it’s past that now, yeah? He showed up to a meeting with Jeff and gave me a box of my things that had been in his house. That’s low.”
“It is low,” Bryn admitted. “And if you really think this is the right thing, then I support you.”
“Then get your boots on--we’ve got a bus to catch.”
She did as she was told: said goodbye to Alyssa and pulled on her shoes, soon trudging behind you down the street. You gave her more details on the bus ride over, your knees knocked together as you rode over the bumps on your way north and out of the city.
You knew she didn’t think it was a good idea--the way she nervously picked at her nails made that clear. But she walked faithfully behind you when you climbed down the stairs and out onto his street, your arms wrapped around the box you’d found tucked in your closet from when you’d moved back across the Atlantic.
There was no way he’d be home. It was too early in the afternoon and he’d been dressed in your meeting like he had other places to be. Bryn had coached you on the bus: open the gate, drop it on the step, turn around, leave.
Now she stood behind you as you punched in the entry code, a smugness washed over you when you realized he hadn’t changed it to deny you access. It hummed as it separated, she let out a noise of disapproval when she trailed behind you towards his front door.
“Probably should have texted him, no?”
“I don’t owe him a warning, Bryn. We’re just leaving this and getting out.”
She didn’t reply, instead just rolled her eyes when you looked at her over your shoulder and offered a snarky smirk.
The sky was cloudy and your heart beat rose when you neared the front door, cars on the street provided enough noise to cover your stealth mission. You set the box right in the middle of his front step so he wouldn’t miss it, immediately feeling lighter when you turned around and no longer felt the weight of it in your hands.
“Okay, hurry up,” she ordered, hands in her pockets.
“I’m hurrying, relax,” you shot back, hopping down the steps. You were about to tell her to not get her knickers in a twist--the same language she’d used earlier at your flat--but the color drained from her face when you heard the door open behind you.
“Hi,” he said quickly, hood up over his head and a hand in the pocket of his sweatpants when you spun around to see him. "Long time no see."
Bryn offered an awkward wave but waited for you to speak.
“Hi, we were just, uh--dropping off your things.”
He bent down and picked it up, eyed the contents before he picked up a book he’d left at your house.
“I already had it packed this morning,” you lied.
“Did you?”
“I did,” you nodded. “Would have brought it to the meeting but--I forgot.”
He nodded slowly, the emotion on his face was hard to place but you knew he wasn’t pleased. “Sure you’re not just being petty and bringing this over cause I gave your stuff back?”
It took you a second to get the words out, offended by his accusation and even more bothered by the truth behind it. Even broken up, he knew you well.
Instead of answering his question, you lifted up your wrist. “Oh, here, forgot this.”
You unclasped the gold bracelet he’d given you for your birthday, took four big steps towards him and held out a fist. He put his palm up towards the sky and watched as you dropped it inside.
“You’re giving this back to me?”
“Yes,” you said simply. “S’not mine.”
“Yes it is,” he eyed you suspiciously. “It was a gift.”
“Well I don’t want it,” you shrugged, second-guessed the anger-fueled decision now but nodded confidently as if it didn’t hurt to see him.
Harry looked up at Bryn when she shifted uncomfortably on her feet and shrugged. “Sorry--we didn’t think you’d be home.” You made a note to reprimand her later for apologizing, but for now you returned to your spot beside her.
He threw a thumb over his shoulder, “yeah--heard the gate alarm.”
“This was her trying to sneak in,” Bryn laughed.
“Well I could hear you bickering...” he said casually, apparently unperturbed by your presence.
“Okay, well, there you go.” You interrupted their exchange. “Those are yours now.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Bryn clapped her hands together. “Glad this was so uncomfortable for all of us.”
You turned on your heels and tugged her arm back towards the sidewalk, hoping you didn’t have to wait too long for the bus to come.
He stood there for a second, watched as you both crossed the street and headed for the corner. Leaves fell from the trees overhead and you shrunk into your scarf when the thought occurred: you never thought this would be your relationship with Harry.
By the time you broke and looked back over your shoulder to see him, the door was shut, and he was gone.
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
AN: YIKES! again, pls remember that we're just at the beginning of this story before coming for me in my inbox lmao!!! also check out the playlist if you like to be up in your feelings.
You called Harry three times that afternoon to tell him you declined the job offer. He didn’t pick up.
Eventually he replied to your call me please text.
Harry S (3:21pm): Can’t talk on the phone, sorry. What’s up?
Y/N L/N (3:22pm): I emailed the people at E! and told them I’m not taking the job.
Harry S (3:22pm): Oh
Harry S (3:22pm): Okay, thanks for letting me know. Can we talk about it later? I’ll be home tonight if you want to stay at mine?
Harry S (3:23): Flight lands at 11:30pm
Y/N L/N (3:23)pm: Sure
Harry S (3L24pm): Have fun at Jake's birthday tonight
You were less than satisfied with his reaction and response to the news, so by that evening--when you were sat in the living room of Jessie’s new flat and already regretting your choice of shoes--you only partially wished he was there.
“What’s got you so quiet?” Bryn asked from the doorway to Jessie’s bedroom. She held up two shirts, contemplating which to tug on.
“M’just tired.”
“Busy week, though, right? Finally met with America’s Next Top Model,” Jessie joked.
“Have you seen her? She’s not next,” Bryn corrected. “She’s it.”
“She was really nice,” you repeated what you’d already told them. “It went a lot better than I thought.”
“Did Harry have a thousand questions?” Jessie capped her mascara and then switched off the light in the bathroom. She came to sit near you on the couch.
“Not really--I mean, I told him it went well and that everything was rather tame.”
Bryn picked a fuzz off of the shirt she borrowed and looked in the mirror. “He was obviously just worried that she’d repeat negative things Zayn’s said about them, or the band or whatever.”
“Right,” you rolled your eyes. That was always where Harry’s head was at: work. Instead of seeing how huge of an opportunity this was for you, he focused on the things that could go wrong for him.
The growing distance between you was something you’d share with your best friends, right? Something you’d seek advice around or just even complain about over a cuppa or a cocktail. But with Bryn and Jessie and Harry and Jake and Adam, it wasn’t that simple.
You weren’t afforded the same luxury as a girl with a separate friend group from her boyfriend’s--you weren’t able to say how strange things felt unless you wanted to deal with the backlash: they’d all freak out, everyone would get awkward, people would feel like they had to pick sides. You wanted to avoid that at all costs.
You tried to push the thoughts out of your head, crammed into the back of a cab and finally found Jake and Adam inside the club with a few other uni friends. By the time you started questioning how rude and unsanitary it would be to take off your heels, Jessie squealed.
“Oh!” she perked up quickly, eyeing a text on her phone. “I forgot to mention that my coworker Jade is coming tonight, you’ll love her, she’s great. She just said she’s here,” she started scanning the crowd for her friend.
“How great?” Bryn wiggles her eyes in a suggestive manner, pulling a laugh from both of you.
“She’s fit--no clue who likes to sleep with though,” Jessie eyed Bryn. “You’ll have to battle Jake for her if you like her.”
“Jake always gets the cute girls,” Bryn let out a whine, you rolled your eyes and sipped at the vodka drink in hand before patting her on the shoulder.
“Only if they’re straight.”
“Right, which is always, lately.”
“Hi!” Jessie greeted, her arms wrapped around her new coworker when she made her way through the crowd. “Guys, this is Jade,” she tugged her into your circle.
“Hi,” Bryn said, a smile in the new girl’s direction. Long brown hair, darker skin, beautiful gold eye shadow. Bryn was smitten before you could even extend your hand in greeting.
“Hi, I’m Y/N.”
“Jade,” she nodded, “nice to meet both of you. I’ve heard a lot from Jessie--is the birthday boy here? Should I say hi before I get a drink?”
“Oh, he’s somewhere,” Jessie waved. “Go grab something and I’m sure he’ll turn up by the time you return.”
“Great, I’ll be back,” she waved at all three of you over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd of bodies to head for the bar that was hidden somewhere behind the fog machine and flashing lights.
Bryn immediately grabbed Jessie’s elbow. “Are you kidding?” she said through gritted teeth. “She’s not fit--she’s incredibly fucking attractive and you didn’t think to give me a head’s up? I would have worn something more revealing.”
“Ouch,” Jessie tugged away from Bryn’s clutch and rubbed at the point of contact. “Relax--I told you, I have no idea if she’s gay.”
“Who’s gay?” Jake’s head was suddenly beside yours, Adam nudged his way in and draped an arm around Bryn’s shoulders.
“Aside from our lovely pal, here.”
“Why am I always the token lesbian?” she made a face at him.
Jake looked at you with confusion and then back to Bryn. “Because you’re the only gay one.”
“And thank God for that,” Bryn didn't miss a beat. “None of you are cool enough to be a lesbian.”
“I still don’t know who we were actually talking about,” Jake reminded.
“My coworker Jade--she just got here--she works in my department but she’s also still getting her PhD. She’s great but we don’t know if she’s gay.”
“And she’s coming back so everyone act natural,” Bryn rushed through the words, smiled again when Jade rejoined and introduced herself to the boys.
Jake and Adam were pulled away by friends, another round of shots at the bar in celebration. Jake had offered to buy you a drink, but you declined, still keen on watching Bryn try to gather up her cleavage to test Jade.
Besides, Jessie was rehashing her last failed relationship and it felt a bit rude to dip out right when she was getting to the best part of the story.
“He was a terrible human, irresponsible, lazy, going nowhere, honestly. But he had a huge dick--which was great, until he put it in Y/N’s little sister’s best friend.”
Jade let out a laugh at that and you saw Bryn roll her eyes--you’d both hated Oliver and it took Jessie a while to see his true colors.
“How on earth did that transpire?!” Jade asked.
“We were in uni--Katie, that’s Y/N’s sister--had come to town with a friend for Y/N’s birthday and we went to a club and a few drinks later we found them in the loo going at it.”
“We all knew it wouldn’t last but Jessie’s a stubborn one,” Bryn patted your friend on the shoulder.
“He was human garbage,” you agreed.
“Hey,” Jessi pointed a finger at you. “You’re not wrong, but that was the greatest sex I ever had. S’the type of stuff I play in my head late at night,” she wiggled her brows.
“Right,” Jade laughed. “As if that time you drunkenly made out with Harry Styles isn’t plenty of fuel for whatever fire you’re burning.” She lowered her voice when she said his name, looked at you and Bryn without the slightest clue to the weight of her words.
You blinked a few times, sure you’d misheard her over the noise of the dimly lit club. Your ears playing tricks or the vodka already straight to your head. “What?”
Jessie’s face was the brightest shade of red you’d ever seen it, her eyes doubled in size and her lips parted when you looked between the two of them.
“Did you not know that?” Jade giggled, an elbow into your side playfully. “Isn’t that the juiciest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes landing back on Jessie. “It is.”
Jade turned to Jessie. “You have a friend from home who’s dating him now, right? Who is she?”
You weren’t trying to be dramatic, you certainly weren't trying to cause a scene. You had no other option than to head for the door to escape the music and the sticky floor and the sweaty bodies.
If anything, you needed fresh air and some water, perhaps to sober up and understand the implication of the words that her new coworker had just muttered with a sly smile.
You felt her grab at your wrist, yanking it out of her hand as you wove through groups of friends. “Don’t follow me,” you said over your shoulder, trying to keep your voice tempered enough to avoid any stares from other patrons.
This was all a part of the curse: now you were well known enough to have someone whip out their cell phone and document any hint of drama if they recognized who you were. That was the last thing you needed in a moment like this.
“Y/N, wait, you don’t even know what she’s talking about.”
“What’s there to know, Jessie?” You spoke over your shoulder, pushing the door open and immediately feeling the relief of the cool air on the sidewalk.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she skid to a halt in front of you.
“Really? Because it sounds like once upon a drunken time you snogged my boyfriend.”
“Well obviously it was ages ago, it’s not like you were together when it happened!”
“Oh, thank God,” you said sarcastically, suddenly unfazed by the volume of your own voice. “Because it’s not like I was in love with him for decades before that.”
Bryn appeared in the night air, arms over her chest as she looked between the two of you with wide eyes. “Alright, everyone calm down--”
“Jessie kissed Harry!” You pointed at your friend’s chest, tone accusatory as you felt tears well in your eyes. "How am I supposed to be calm about that?"
Sure, maybe it was five years ago, ten, maybe even twelve for all you knew. But the reality was this: the boy who you’d been in love with had kissed your smart-mouth best friend before he ever kissed you and somehow along the lines both of them neglected to mention that this had occurred.
Your mind was racing now, breath picking up speed as you turned around on the sidewalk to pace. Is this why Jessie was always so adamantly against you and Harry ending up together? Is this why she got annoyed with you so often in uni when you’d bring him up and why she pushed you to just get over him?
You whipped your head back to Bryn. “Why are you not equally as shocked by this?” She couldn't answer your question before your lips parted in shock. “You knew? You knew that Jessie and Harry--”
"Will you quiet down?" Bryn reached for your arm and tugged with force, causing you to stumble to a stop in front of her. "The last thing you need is for people to overhear you and for there to be headlines all over The Sun tomorrow morning, yeah?"
You let out a grunt of frustration, paced along the concrete again when Bryn tried to speak some sense into you.
A moment of silence before Bryn let out a breath--apparently pleased at her own ability to shut you up. “In her defense, it was a really long time ago and they were both drunk and it was basically meaningless.”
“Basically?!” You whisper-hissed.
“It was meaningless, Y/N,” Jessie nodded, her words pleading. “We were drunk and you had been all upset about--”
“I was upset and that meant you should kiss the boy I was pining over for our entire lives?!” You got louder and more emotional with every word.
“Okay,” Jessie shrugged, her eyes flashing over to Bryn. “Maybe I should go.”
“Maybe you should go,” Bryn nodded in agreement.
“You should both go,” you looked at them quickly, emotions flooding through your brain. Your arms were still crossed, you paced on the sidewalk and unfortunately, the mindless counting of steps did nothing to calm your pounding heartbeat. One, two, three.
Bryn let out a disappointed sigh--you weren’t sure why she thought you’d want her to stay if she’d known and kept another secret from you. Was there no such thing as honesty in this friend group?
They both retreated back inside the club, you contemplated calling Harry and ripping into him. Who cared if he was in the studio or at someone’s house or somewhere on a jet over the Atlantic. You’d barely heard from him over the past few days and now this?
Jake passed Bryn and Jessie on their way in, his eyes curious when he placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. He let the door shut behind them, took a few steps over to lean against the exterior wall of the club and watch you pace. “Do I want to know?”
“No.”
He stifled a laugh, let his smirk turn into a frown when you looked at him with daggers in your eyes. “Okay--let me ask again. Are you alright?”
“No.”
“This will be a lot easier if you just tell me what’s going on--we all know I’m a great listener.”
You ignored his joke and let your shoulders rise towards the sky in exasperation. “Well, as if my relationship wasn’t already on the rocks between Harry’s schedule and my schedule and all the bullshit that happens when you date someone who’s stupid and famous--”
Jake was taken back by the words that bubbled out of you. He held a lighter up to the butt and nodded so you’d continue.
“Come to find out that apparently sweet old Jessie and stupid, stupid Harry got it on once.”
“Got it on?”
You shrugged, maybe you were being dramatic. “Made out.”
“Oh, in 2011? Or 2012?”
“It happened multiple times?!” You took a giant step toward him.
“No! No,” he laughed a little when he pulled away from you. “I just don’t remember the year.”
“Well for fuck’s sake,” you sighed. “Glad to hear everyone knew. You lot are a bunch of liars--pathetic, stupid, ignorant liars.”
He ignored the insults you hurled, likely chalking it up to the alcohol you’d already consumed and the frustration you’d been feeling towards Harry.
“Alright, I’m sure she probably said the same thing and I’m sure you didn’t believe her, but it really was not a big deal. They were drunk, it was stupid. Pretty sure Harry said the next morning it felt like kissing his sister. And he’s never said that about you, for the record.”
You rolled your eyes. Maybe not before. Maybe now he was feeling distant and not attracted to you and maybe now this was just another wedge that was coming between you.
“Why wouldn’t she tell me that? Why would none of you tell me that if it wasn’t a big deal?”
“Maybe because we all wanted to avoid this.”
You shot him a threatening look, to which he only sighed.
“Oh, the tangled web we weave,” his words sounded like they were from an American Soap Opera script--Alyssa had made you watch enough one weekend you’d practically memorized half of the plots. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it agains the brick wall.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged a shoulder, the smug look on his face let you know he liked being the one you took drunk advice from. “You’ve known Harry forever, of course there’s going to be weird shit like this that pops up.”
“You say that as if him kissing Jessie is not a big deal.”
Another shrug.
“How is that not a big deal?!” You pressed.
“M’not saying it isn’t, I get how shitty it is that no one told you,” he was defensive now, words a bit slurred. “But don’t you think if there was something between Jessie and Harry, it would have already happened? I mean, come on, Jessie would never wait around like you did.”
“Ouch.”
“I just mean that she’s the most impatient human on the planet. You were extremely patient while Harry figured his shit out,” he tried to soften the blow.
His words stung a little, but you knew he was right. If they were actually interested in each other or if there was some kind of chemistry between them (aside from the way Jessie liked to smack him upside the head when he said something stupid), there was no way Jessie would be able to keep her big mouth shut or not force them into action long before you and Harry wound up the courage to sleep together after all those years.
“Haven’t you ever kissed anyone when you were drunk that you wouldn’t kiss sober?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, displeased with the way he was trying to turn it around. You let out a laugh when he raised his eyebrows at you.
“Everyone in uni, pretty much.”
“Right,” he shrugged. “M’not saying they shouldn’t have told you sooner, but, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
**
He’d gotten in late and a text message shortly after Jake talked some sense in you was the only reason you found yourself in an Uber headed for his after midnight.
He opened the door with a tired smile, one arm open wide to tug you into his side.
“You okay?” He looked down at you, eyes scanning your features, clearly aware that you were less than thrilled.
You contemplated holding it in. You figured that being drunk and tired and having not seen him in a few days was maybe not the best time to tell him you knew he kissed your friend and you knew that they all neglected to tell you the truth. Especially right after you just committed to staying in London for him.
“Fine,” you pulled away from him, dropped your jacket on the table in his foyer and kicked off your boots.
He shut the door and watched you hesitantly. “Yeah?”
“I know you kissed Jessie.”
His lips pushed forwards, formed the shape of an ‘o’ as if he’d been caught. He nodded slowly, trying to gauge your reaction as you headed for the couch.
“How’d you find out about that?”
“Jessie’s stupid friend, Jade. But good to know that everyone except for me is aware.”
You sat cross legged on the couch, crossed your arms as if you couldn’t be bothered to look him in the eyes. He stood motionless in the center of the room now, his brain likely flipping through his mental rolodex of apologies.
"Who's Jade?"
"Not the point, Harry!"
“Alright, listen, it was ages ago.”
“Ages?”
“2012, I think,” he waved a hand as if to remind you that it was almost a whole ten years ago.
“And why didn’t I hear about this from you or Jessica herself?”
He sighed and came to sit on the coffee table in front of you, elbows on his knees like he meant business. “Okay, in hindsight, I recognize that telling you probably would have been a good move, but back then I didn’t know that you had feelings for me.”
You let out a huff of air from your nose. His statement was fair--in 2012 you wouldn’t have ever dreamed of telling Harry that you’d been crushing on him since you were a teenager and that his rise to fame was simultaneously crushing your dreams of ending up with him.
In fact, at that point in time, you were almost avoiding Harry so as to ignore the feelings that bubbled inside of you every time you heard his band’s first big single on the radio.
You looked at him, wishing you could believe that he felt as sorry as he appeared, but the anger in your chest wasn’t easy to shake.
“What happened? How did you end up making out with her?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “It was some party at Adam’s house after one of our Manchester gigs.”
You blinked a few times, details falling into place. “So everyone was there? I was there? Your band was there?”
He shrugged his shoulders at that, voice softer. “Maybe Niall or Liam. But, yeah, you were there.”
You stood from the couch and started pacing again with your hands on your hips.
“So you mean to tell me that in Adam’s basement--the same one we’ve always partied in--you kissed Jessie Alby and she full on knew that I was into you and you’ve been dating me for,” you looked at a pretend watch on your wrist for dramatic effect, “a year and a half and you never thought it was important to tell me that you’ve hooked up with one of our best friends?”
He bit at his lip, a look of guilt in his eyes when you let out a laugh at his silence.
“Is she in love with you, Harry? Did you ever have feelings for her? Is that why she didn’t want us to get together? What else am I missing if I’m apparently in the dark about everything?!”
“You’re not in the dark about everything!” He stood up now, voice louder as you shook your head.
“Really? Because it seems like lately you’re constantly forgetting to tell me things. Dinners, meetings, trips!”
“You’re the one who didn’t tell me about your stupid cover with Gigi and the job in LA.”
“And you had the audacity to be upset with me about those things when you were sitting on the golden egg of secrets?!”
He rolled his eyes and walked towards the kitchen. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re drunk.”
“Does that make my feelings invalid, Harry? Does that mean I don’t get to be mad?”
“I didn't say that, Y/N.”
“Well you’re not saying a lot lately. We barely talk and we barely see each other and this isn’t how I expected this to be.”
He reached for a glass above the sink and then moved to fill it. “I’m busy, and you’re busy--and yeah, it might not be as easy as when I wasn’t on tour and wasn’t recording an album and we could basically do whatever we wanted in New York.”
“And now I found out that you made out with Jessie.”
He set the glass down on the counter and turned around to face you. “We were plastered, Y/N! I probably would have made out with Niall!”
“Great, that makes me feel better.”
“We went upstairs to get a drink and then she needed to plug her phone in--I don’t even know how it happened.”
“Did you purposely not tell me that it happened?”
“What do you mean?” He let out an exasperated breath. His hair was pushed back under a hat, a jumper donned his figure and his eyes looked tired from the overseas flight.
“Did you and Jessie agree to not tell me it happened?”
He shrugged, looked around the room as if to avoid your gaze and to avoid the truth. “I mean, I don’t know why she didn’t tell you back then, but--yeah, I mean, when you and I started hanging out in New York and started hooking up, yeah. I told her not to bring it up.”
“So I’m the laughing stock of our friend group?”
“No!” He threw his hands up, clearly confused as to how you got from A to Z so quickly.
“First they all know that I liked you back then and when we were kids, and then they knew eventually that you liked me back but decided to not tell me and lie,” you recounted, lifting a finger for each crime they'd committed.
“You were with Charlie and I told them not to tell you that I liked you,” he tried to reason.
You ignored his explanation and kept talking.
A third finger, “and then I make a fool of myself in 2015 in that stupid bathroom because Jessie decides it would be funny to lock us in there--”
“M’pretty sure that was her attempt at being a matchmaker.”
“And then they keep hanging out with you and lying about it after I said I didn’t want to see you anymore because I was so embarrassed.”
“You’re forgetting the part where we reconnected and fell in love,” he said this like he was bothered by you, constantly trying to have a comeback for your anger-fueled monologue.
“All the while you were lying to me and told our friends to lie to me, too! How am I supposed to know what’s true and what isn’t?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” he said it louder now, angrier and more harsh as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jumper. “You’re upset and I get it but I don’t think this is that big of a deal because it was years ago. And we’re together and we’re happy.”
“Are we happy? Because I never see you! And when I brought up how hard it is the other night to be your girlfriend, you got annoyed. And you were mad at me for even considering this job in LA.”
“Because I don’t want my girlfriend to move to the other side of the planet!”
“Well I live down the street and barely see you now.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
A shrug of your shoulders. “Maybe this isn’t working.”
He looked up at you, lips parted like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.
“Maybe this was all just a stupid teenage crush and maybe we should have just left it in New York. Because now neither of us knows how to actually talk to each other and apparently none of us can be honest.”
“That’s not true,” he said, his voice more steady now. “It’s just hard.”
“Well maybe I don’t want hard, Harry. Maybe I want it to be easy and nothing about being with you has been easy.”
“Alright, now you’re just being a dick,” he shrugged his shoulders and headed for the stairs.
“No I’m not! You kissed my friend!” You shouted at him. “You lied to me! And you made our friends lie!”
“Fine,” he shrugged, turning around in the living room. “I’m a liar and a terrible boyfriend, and if it’s so hard to be with me then maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Fine,” you said, walking past him and into the foyer to grab your coat. You tugged at your boots and he followed behind you.
“You’re actually going to leave?”
“You just said I shouldn’t be with you!”
“We’re fighting, Y/N! We’ll talk in the morning and we’ll figure it out. We’re busy and we’re stressed.” His voice was quieter now but he was still annoyed.
You shook your head. “We’ve been busy and stressed before, Harry. This is different.”
“Can we just wait to talk about all this until you’re sober and m'not jet-lagged?”
You tugged at the handle of his front door. “I’m calling an Uber.”
“Y/N, I’ll drive you.”
“No,” you said, just to be defiant.
“So you’re going to stand here in my driveway and wait for an Uber?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to stand right here and wait until you get in it. And then I’m going to call you in the morning and we’re going to talk about this.”
“Maybe.”
He sighed again, leaned against the door frame and did what he said he would: he watched as you stood and kicked at the asphalt. Watched you climb in and drive away.
But he didn’t call the next morning.
**
December 23, 2012
You were stood in a big room at the Manchester Apollo, tables lined the walls with snacks and candy and water bottles. Jessie ran a hair through her straightened hair, Bryn was glued to the screen of her Nokia cell phone.
“S’a fancy in here,” you said.
“Seriously,” Jessie looked around. “S’like they proper made it.”
“I heard the place fits almost three thousand people,” Adam threw a handful of pretzels into his mouth and laughed. “Fucking nuts, innit? That many people want to see Harry dance around on stage?”
You smoothed out the dress that Jessie had convinced you to wear. You weren’t trying to impress him, no way. Clearly the universe had been conspiring against you long enough and at this point, you were considering any hope of a future with Harry to be a lost cause.
But that didn’t stop the flushing of your cheeks when he finally walked in, made his way down the line to hug each one of you and thank you for coming.
“Hi Smalls,” he smiled down at you, hands on your shoulders. “Have you grown?”
“Oh piss off,” you laughed. “An inch or two since the last time you came home, probably. Which was...what, a hundred years ago?”
“Alright, alright,” Harry rolled his eyes at you before he stepped back to see the others. The loss of contact between your skin and his made something drop in your stomach when he said: “I’m the worst friend ever, I know. You guys remember the boys, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jessie said with a casual shrug of her shoulder, one that let you know she wasn’t kidding when she said in the car she’d sleep with Zayn one day if it killed her.
Jake rounded the corner of the sofa and sat down, offered a wave to Liam when Adam and Niall embraced.
“Smalls, your sister isn’t here?”
You looked over to Harry, slightly embarrassed to realize he’d been watching you. His voice was quiet, directed at you rather than at the group as a whole. Your cheeks flushed a bit and you shifted your weight on your feet.
“Oh, no--my mum wasn’t too keen on the idea of me bringing a thirteen-year-old into Manchester and back, I guess.”
“No?” He smirked. “Can’t imagine why.”
You rolled your eyes, ignored the dimple that appeared on his cheek when Zayn and Adam took up residency on the far side of the table tennis set up.
“Alright shut it,” you crossed your arms.
“Are we giving Y/N shit about the time she lost Katie?”
Bryn could never pass up a good opportunity to laugh at you, and apparently, in front of Harry was no exception.
“I cannot believe I missed that,” Harry smiled.
“Better get used to it, H, you’re missing a lot these days,” you shot back.
Sure--losing Katie in a crowd at Gulliver’s World Theme Park wasn’t your best move as an older sister. But the only thing worse than the panic that flooded you entirely was the fact that your friends were yet to stop giving you shit about the mishap. Your parents were angry enough that you basically never wanted to be in charge again, but the chorus of constant we can’t believe you, how on earth did you was enough to wish you’d never even agreed to let her tag along on the day trip.
Harry got distracted eventually, though, he was tugged in a few different directions to get his hair touched up and to change his shoes. You were ushered out into the theatre and you did your best to fight the butterflies when they came on stage.
The idea of girls screaming for your friend, a boy you’d long dreamt about snogging, was enough to leave you in a state of shock on the drive back home. You piled into the back of Jake’s car and ignored the way Jessie smirked at you over her shoulder.
“Can I help you?”
“You love him,” she said quietly, thankfully Jake and Adam were too busy in the front discussing the upcoming plan for the night.
“I don’t love him,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ve moved on, he’s...a bit busy lately.”
Jessie stifled a laugh and made a knowing face at you. “Oh come on, you expect me to believe that him getting famous makes you like him less?”
“Oh leave her alone,” Bryn piped up from behind you. “Haven’t you been texting Nolan Truscott a lot lately?”
“Maybe,” you smiled at both of them.
“He’s insanely fit,” Bryn nodded.
“Says the one who likes girls,” Jessie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know a looker when I see one,” she wiggled her eyebrows at you.
You laughed and hoped they’d drop it, but on a rainy night speeding down the M6, you’d never be so lucky.
“You’re really saying you’re over Harry, like, totally not into him anymore?”
You shrugged, looked out the window for a minute at the passing farmland. “Of course I am. M’not an idiot that’s going to pine over someone who uses too much hair product now.”
“You don’t have to be,” Bryn said with a small smile, almost like she could see through your joke.
“Good for you,” Jessie nodded, apparently in full support of your words. “Nolan’s fit, Harry’s an idiot, always has been as we know. Cheers to a new Y/N that has moved on.”
She held up an imaginary glass and clinked it against your head, you elbowed her playfully and Bryn told both of you to shut it when Call Me Maybe came on the radio.
Jessie didn’t give you any more trouble and soon enough you were in Adam’s basement, a small Christmas tree in the corner dressed with ornaments you’d all decorated over the years. You’d already taken two shots, which is why it felt harder with each passing second to pull your eyes off the back of Mollie Amsbury’s head.
“Y’alright?” Bryn popped up beside you, her gaze following yours to see Mollie and Harry chatting near the antique pinball machine. Adam always said it was his dad’s pride and joy.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Sweet Brynnie,” you smiled over at her. “I am positively, absolutely chuffed to be here and to spend this lovely evening with our wonderful peers.”
She looked at you like you were crazy. “And I should believe you why?”
“Because I’ve decided that I’m going to kiss Zachary Bramhall tonight.”
“What happened to Nolan Truscott?”
“He’s not here,” you shrugged. “Visiting his gran in Brighton for the holiday.”
Bryn’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as she realized that you hadn’t given up altogether on whatever romance was possibly budding with Nolan, you just needed an eligible bachelor for the evening.
“Is Zach even here?” She scanned the room quickly for his dirty blond locks.
“He went upstairs to get me another drink,” you said casually.
“Oh,” Bryn smiled up at you, “I like the sound of that.”
“And when he gets back, I’m going to plant one on him right here, right in the sight-line of our pal Harold.”
“Oh,” Bryn’s face fell, concern etched in her features. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Relax, Bryn. S’fine. He’ll kiss me and perhaps it will strum up some jealousy in Harry and maybe he’ll feel so inclined to step in.”
“Or he’ll not realize that you’re scheming because you’ve never actually told him how you feel and so he’ll just let you kiss Zachary Bramhall like it’s none of his business.”
You looked down at your friend, unimpressed with her desire to poke holes in your plan.
“Or he’ll realize he loves you,” she acquiesced, her tone made it obvious she didn't believe her own words. “And perhaps he’ll propose marriage in his drunken stupor and impregnate you with his offspring right here on Adam’s sofa.”
You blinked a few times when she let out a laugh at her own joke. “What’s taking Zach so long, anyway? I just wanted a vodka-cran,” you looked around the room to gain focus.
“He’s not down here,” Bryn looked around again.
“Come with me,” you tugged her sleeve and pulled her towards the stairs, bounding up and towards the kitchen with speed in hopes that you could lure him back down to the basement and move forward with the evening as planned.
Bryn knocked into your back though, when you stopped at the top of the stairs and found Zachary Bramhall kissing Emma Thornton in the corner by the refrigerator, his hands around her waist and hers in his hair.
“Oh,” Bryn said when she peered over your shoulder. “He looks busy.”
You nodded, smiled down at Bryn and then came face to face with Harry as he climbed the stairs behind you, Jessie stumbling in tow.
“Hi,” he greeted, eyes catching yours for a second as you tried to blink away whatever emotion threatened to spill over. His hair was messy after the show, his eyes looked tired and his cheeks were red from the alcohol. He slung an arm around Bryn in his drunken state and then looked back at you.
“Hi, I--uh, m'gonna get some air,” you informed them all. Bryn didn’t chase after you, likely to downplay whatever reaction you were having and to not let Jessie or Harry in on your scheming.
You pushed the front door open, welcomed the crisp night air as you moved towards the bench along the front path to Adam’s house. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, mostly melted from a storm a few days before.
“Hi,” Jake’s voice was by the front door, he shut it behind him and brought his hands up to his face to breathe warm air on them. “S’fucking frigid out here--you better have a good reason for storming off.”
“I’m not storming off,” you said.
“No? Because it kind of looked that way when you stormed out of the kitchen and came out into the freezing winter night,” he shrugged as he came to sit beside you. “But what do I know?”
You laughed a little, leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m an idiot.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I was going to kiss Zachary Bramhall and then he was kissing Emma Thornton.”
He looked over his shoulder and in one of the illuminated windows. “Yeah they were really going at it, huh?”
You sighed. “Whatever, s’fine. I’m stupid, he’s stupid, Harry’s stupid.”
“Oh,” he nodded, drawing out the one-syllable word when he looked up at the stars. “That’s what this is about.”
“No, it’s not. It’s about the opposite,” you told him.
He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow, an invitation for you to continue.
“We’re going to finish A-levels soon and we’ll go off to uni and I am going to find someone so amazing I’ll forget he ever existed.”
“Yes you will, Smalls.”
He put an arm around your shoulder to comfort you before he let out a sigh. You did the same but then stood up.
“Alright, enough sulking,” you said. “It’s freezing.”
He laughed and stood up. “Thank fuck,” he nodded, followed you back inside.
The living room was dark except for a light coming from down the hall--the direction of Adam’s bedroom. You heard laughter, Jessie’s voice was audible before she stumbled out. “Oh hi,” she clutched a hand to her heart, “you scared me.”
Harry appeared behind her, a smile on his face faded when he saw Jake’s arm around your shoulders. “Where were you two?”
“Just having a chat outside,” you said with an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Where were you two?”
“Harry left his phone in Adam’s room,” Jessie said quickly. “Wanted to make sure no one got a hold of it.”
Jake let out a laugh, “too many celebrity tits on there?”
“Oh piss off,” Harry laughed, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
“Alright,” Jessie waved them off, taking a step forward to link her arm in yours. “Need another drink?”
**
Present day
It was afternoon when he texted, almost time for supper when your phone buzzed and you stared at it on the coffee table. Bryn was sat beside Jake on the floor, they both watched and seemed to silently ask ‘are you going to read that?’
Your eyes were swollen from emotion, Bryn had smudged eyeliner on her cheeks, Jake took another swig of water before saying: “open it.”
Harry S (4:56pm): I’ve been asleep all day, feel like shit from the time change. Let me know if you want to talk.
“If I want to talk?” You looked at them, tossing the phone onto the floor. Maybe there wasn’t a right or wrong way to have a fight with your significant other, but he didn’t even seem to be trying to say the right thing or repent for his wrongdoing.
“Well at least he hasn’t been ignoring you all day,” Jake shrugged.
You let out a sigh, leaned back on the couch and squeezed your eyes shut.
“Not for nothing, Smalls, but you said last night that things have been bad between the two of you lately.”
Your head snapped up, embarrassed that drunk Y/N had let it slip. Bryn’s forehead wrinkled and she looked at you.
“No--it’s fine, it’s just--I don’t know,” you groaned.
What were you supposed to say? The job offer in LA was such a big part of it that without that detail, the rest of the story might not make any sense.
“Smalls,” Jake eyed you more seriously now.
“We’ve been distant,” you shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest as you contemplated what other information to divulge. “He’s been busy at work and I’ve been busy and I didn’t tell him at first about the Gigi interview and he was annoyed about that but he’s just been moody lately. I mean, you saw him the other week at dinner. He practically had a strop before we showed up and--”
“And what?” Bryn asked.
“It’s just been getting harder. His job makes it all really difficult.”
“You just need to talk to him, Y/N,” she reassured. “I believe you, and I can only imagine, but you and Harry have something so special.”
“Do we?”
“Of course you do,” Jake said, laying down on the ground to stretch his hungover limbs. “And the fact that he and Jessie kissed is not a good enough reason to not be with him.”
Right, of course that’s how this appeared to them. Like you were being dramatic and stupid and simply overreacting to a drunken mistake a few years back.
You didn’t reply, you didn’t have the energy to explain yourself anymore than you already had. Jake closed his eyes and Bryn got up to turn on the kettle. After fifteen minutes had passed and you were almost certain Jake was asleep, there was a knock on the door.
Bryn froze, you froze, and Jake’s eyes opened instantly as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
“Y/N? S’me,” his voice was muffled through the door.
You looked at Bryn and Jake and they hopped into action. Bryn grabbed her purse on the end table and Jake reached for his coat, they headed for the door and opened it, greeting him on their way out.
“Hi Harry, bye Harry,” Jake said, a clap on his shoulder when Bryn offered a grin.
“Good luck! Love you both.”
He stepped inside awkwardly, shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat after he shut the door quietly behind them.
“Hi.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk about everything you said last night," he said this as if it was obvious.
You rolled your eyes and padded over to the kitchen to pour a cup of tea. He looked like he was about to ask for some, but you emptied the contents of the kettle into your cup before setting it back down.
A fake smile, “sorry, none left.”
“Y/N, what’s happening?”
“You’re the one who kissed someone else.”
“Before I knew you had feelings for me.”
“One of my best friends--”
“I should have told you.”
“You should have,” you nodded, hands around your teacup.
He was quiet for a minute and you wondered if Jake and Bryn actually went inside Jake’s flat across the hall or if they had their ears pressed to the front door.
“Do you actually think this isn’t working?”
You dropped his gaze and looked to the floor, “do you think it is working?”
“I mean,” he shrugged, “it’s been hard lately. I get that. But I don’t think that means we shouldn’t be together.”
“You’re busy all the time. You’re always on your phone and your job sucks, okay? I’m sorry, I know you love it. But it’s difficult to be the one who always has to move her schedule to fit around yours.”
“It’s not easy being me, y’know.”
You scoffed, walked out of the kitchen and into the living room as you shook your head. “Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable?”
“Yes, Harry, it’s unbelievable to me that you have the nerve to say that after you’ve cancelled our plans, been late to events, and then neglected to tell me that you and Jessie have history.”
“You’re being ridiculous! Do you hear yourself? It was so long ago I barely even remember it.”
“Happy for you.”
“You’re seriously going to end our relationship over this?”
You turned to look at him quickly, a lump in your throat when you saw the look in his eyes.
Thai food, drunk nights at Adam’s, concerts in New York and birthday dinners. Sundays lounging in his bed, your trip to LA and the way he hummed along to the radio. The happy moments existed and that was something you’d never deny. But loving Harry had long been a difficult journey and one that often left you wounded and insecure.
His forehead was wrinkled, he kept his eyes trained on you as if you held enough power in your hands to shatter his world into pieces.
But it wasn’t that simple, and maybe you should have told him. Instead, you nodded.
“Yes.”
join the tag list here | talk to me | the playlist
AN: OKAY do not hate me it's only chapter 3 everyone RELAX! But don't relax cause we're just getting started lmao (also listen to the playlist pls I love linking songs to chapters for you to really feel the vibes)
You dropped your bag in the foyer of Harry’s house after work on a Thursday. It was quiet--he wasn’t home yet and you’d keyed in knowing that you’d have some time to yourself.
You felt a vibrating in your pocket when you shrugged off your coat, your visible reflection told you it was a FaceTime call, Alyssa’s name danced across the screen until you slid your thumb to answer.
“Hello, hello,” you greeted, walking to find a seat on the couch.
“Where are you?” She furrowed her brows as she took in your surroundings.
“At Harry’s--he’s out, though.”
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I will never get sick of you lounging in his house when he’s not there.”
You rolled your eyes at your old roommate’s antics--she’d always been the number one supporter of your relationship and when you texted her earlier saying you needed advice, she promised to call on her lunch break.
“I’m not lounging,” you informed with a shake of your head. “I just got out of work, we’re having dinner tonight.”
“Mr. Popstar isn’t too busy?” She teased, aware of the tension both of your schedules had been causing.
“Apparently not.”
She forked a bite of food into her mouth, the sun was shining through the window behind her, the walls of your old apartment were redecorated now with the art of your replacement. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“Sort of,” you leaned back and let out a breath. “I mean, it’s all connected--”
“What is?”
“I’m getting to it,” you made a face at her through the phone. “So--don’t freak out, okay? Cause I don’t even know if anything will come from it and Harry doesn’t know yet.”
She nodded and gestured with her hand for you to get on with it.
Knowing Alyssa, she was already jumping to conclusions in her head. You were pregnant, you were engaged, you quit your job, you had a huge fight with your sister. No, no, no.
“I interviewed for a job in LA...and I haven’t told Harry because all our friends have been so excited about us being in the same spot again but--”
Her eyes went wide at the mention of a US city, she did her best to hold back her smile until it faded when you said: “I don’t know. Something feels off between us.”
“Off between you and Harry? More than just being busy?”
“I’m probably overthinking it but,” you looked around his living room. Pictures of his mum, his sister, his cousins--even his manager--were tucked in frames and placed on shelves. There wasn’t a trace of you in his house except for the toothbrush upstairs and the key on your keyring.
“It feels like we’re not moving forward. And we’ve both been busy, like I’ve told you, but since we don’t live together sometimes we go days without seeing each other and it’s fine, I get that he’s busy, obviously, but--”
“But you want to move in with him.”
“Well, I don’t know--I did, sort of, I think--but then I heard about this job in LA and it sounds amazing but Jessie just moved here and no one will shut up about how great London is.”
Alyssa offered a sympathetic frown and repositioned the bowl in front of her to get another bite. “What’s the job?”
You almost didn’t want to tell her, sure she’d get excited and eager to have you back in the same country. You winced a little, bracing for her reaction. “S’with E! News,” you shrugged. “It’d be on-air.”
“Shut up! Are you serious?!”
“Yes m’serious,” you rolled your eyes. “But I haven’t told any of them because you know how they are.”
She nodded, “Jessie will not want you to take it.”
“God love her, but of course not. And Harry spends time out there, so it might be okay, but it’s not like I could ask him to go with me.”
“Why not? He’s famous, Y/N--he belongs there.”
“It’s too soon,” you whined. “He’s not my fiancé and we don’t live together, so--I don’t want to make it weird.”
“But you love him,” she reasoned.
“Yeah, but s’been weird lately!" You tried to drive home the point. "He’s made no mention of moving in and we’ve been dating for a year and a half, I’ve been in London for over a year now. He’s not even mentioned it, Alyssa, I swear. He’ll say things like ‘one day we can go on vacation,’ and ‘what should we do for Christmas?’ But he’s made no concrete plans to actually have a future with me.”
“Maybe he doesn’t think you’re ready.”
“Maybe he’s not ready,” you volleyed.
“Maybe,” Alyssa shrugged. “But you won’t know if you don’t ask him.”
“But if I ask him and he’s not on the same page I’ll look like an idiot and he’s busy with the album and now I’m thinking about moving to LA and--”
She watched you, waited for you to say more, but you were out of words. You changed gears.
“Maybe we’re just not meant to be long term.”
“Oh come on,” she groaned. “Not this again.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Your whole ‘we should have left it in New York’ shit.”
You lifted your eyebrows to demand further details.
“You were freaked out in the beginning that you’d move back there and it would be weird.”
“And?”
“Was it weird?”
“Not at first, I guess. But I mean, come on---don’t you think we should have taken some kind of step forward by now? Even just mentioning the idea of moving in together?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Maybe it’s different with someone like him.”
You rolled your eyes--what if that’s what you were sick of?
People always said that: it’s different because of his job, it’s different because he’s on the road, it’s different because he’s famous.
Of course it was, and that was fine, for a while. But what if Harry’s job always got in the way of feeling normal? What if you couldn’t have a real wedding because of it? What if you could never send your children to summer camp because of it?
Were you willing to sacrifice your own future to live an unconventional life with someone just because you loved him?
“When will you hear back about the job?”
“Dunno--talked to them last week on Monday and they said this week at some point. S'been a while, so hopefully soon.”
You’d been keeping busy, trying to avoid your personal email at all costs and also making sure that Harry had limited visibility of your screen at all times.
“Do you want it?”
You thought on it for a second. Being offered a job at a company like E! would certainly be an ego boost, but the mere thought of having to explain to all of your friends that yes, you’d been back in London for 18 months and now you were packing up and moving even farther away than before wouldn’t be easy. That seemed to be the one certainty in the whole situation: no one would take it well.
“I don’t want to leave everyone here, especially Harry--but I also don’t want to be stupid and think that this relationship is going somewhere if it’s not.”
Alyssa nodded and let out a sigh. “I get that, I mean, of course you have to do what’s best for you. But I’d hate to see you not be with him just because things are hard right now.”
You leaned your head back on the couch and sighed. You didn’t want to break up with Harry. If anything, you wanted to move forward and move in with him and do what you’d always imagined: have a good job, have a few kids, try to be happy.
But what if you’d been naive enough to think you could have all of that with Harry and what if this is how you were finding out that you couldn’t?
Were you still stuck in your teenage fantasy of marrying the boy you'd long been crushing on?
She watched you for a second before she reassured: “you’ll figure it out.”
You smiled, glad you’d called Alyssa if only to have someone talk you off the edge a little bit. You missed waking up one room over and her love for basketball games and New York 99 cent pizza.
“Well it’s not like I have to make a decision right now,” you said. “I haven’t even heard back from them. For all I know they could never reach out again because I bombed my interview.”
She rolled her eyes at your self-deprecation and offered a few final words of encouragement before you hung up and promised to catch up soon.
Ever since you’d left, Alyssa had taken it upon herself to keep you up to date on the ins and outs of New York. New restaurant? She’d send you pictures and a 200 word review. Crazy subway rats making the news again? Articles and video proof would be sent your way in a matter of hours.
She’d gotten a new roommate to fill your bedroom and apparently things weren’t always peachy between them. Peyton was quiet and shy--according to Alyssa. She was up every morning at 6am and in the shower at 6:30. She did yoga in the living room and hated it when Alyssa left empty beer bottles on the coffee table.
Alyssa was starting to lose her shit, swearing up and down that she needed to either pull the trigger and move in with Owen or find a new place altogether. It was my apartment first, she’d say. She should leave, not me.
It had been hard that year to leave the city you’d grown to love but harder to leave Alyssa and Carly and the things that made New York feel like home. It was also, in hindsight, hard to leave the place where you and Harry reconnected and built the foundation of your current relationship.
You heard commotion from the front door only a few minutes later when you rummaged through Harry’s kitchen for a snack.
“Hi,” he called from the other room, a close-lipped smile when you stuck your head around the corner to greet him.
“Hi! How was the photoshoot?”
“Good,” he nodded, watching as you stuck your hand into a box of crackers. “What time are we meeting everyone?”
Right--Thursday also meant dinner somewhere downtown with everyone in tow.
“7pm--but Jessie said we should try to get there early since it’s a new place and no one’s ever been.”
He nodded in acknowledgement of your words but seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else and his body was the only thing tying him to the room.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking back up at you. “Just a busy day and a busy week.”
You nodded, unsure if he wanted to say more or if you were supposed to have more of a reply than a simple nod of your head.
You’d both been stammering out awkward sentences and trying to dance around the elephant in the room for a few weeks, but now, under his gaze, you felt more uncertain than before.
“Are you okay?” He turned the question around and watched you closely.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, moving to sit on the couch.
“You seem--off.”
You didn’t know what it was. Could he possibly sense the tension in your shoulders as you waited for an email either way? You got the job! We regret to inform you…
Or was he just aware that you felt awkward since it had been almost two weeks since you had any considerable amount of alone time and even longer since you were able to have a date night that wasn’t interrupted by Jeff or Erica or someone who needed something from him.
He took a few steps closer towards you, a look of concern etched on his features. “What’s wrong?”
The words were on the tip of your tongue when he looked at you, eyebrows lifted as he waited for you to spit it out.
“I guess I feel like we’ve been distant.”
He pushed his head forward, almost like he hadn’t expected that to be the issue. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, caught off guard by his pushiness. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up.
“You don’t know?” He pressed.
You broke eye contact with him for a minute, wondering why you had to state the obvious. “Well, you’re busy all the time, Harry.”
He let his shoulders rise and fall in defeat, looking around the room in frustration. “I told you that finishing the album would be busy.”
“Yeah, but you forgot to mention that you’d also be busy when the album is done once promo starts and then tour,” your voice was quiet, not so much angry as you were upset.
You were tired. You wanted nothing more than to spend a night on the couch with him and only him, tell him about LA and about the sudden itch you felt to see more of the world than just London.
But with Jake and Adam always around and Bryn and Jessie, too, paired with interruptions from Jeff and Erica--it felt as if there was no hope for a private or honest conversation.
He came to sit closer to you on the couch now, took your hands in his. “I know my job is a lot, okay? I know it’s annoying that I don’t necessarily get weekends off or have a typical schedule, but once the album is out and the promo is done I’ll have a bit of a break before the tour. We can go on vacation somewhere, just us.”
It sounded nice, maybe a tropical island or a cabin in the woods. But before you could nod in agreement the thought of Los Angeles popped into your head.
His album was due out in December, promo from now through the New Year, some time off in February and March for both of your birthdays and then tour. You had no clue where you’d be by then.
Would you be in LA? Would you be in London? Would you be stuck in this same spot on his couch with decision paralysis and a crushing sense of uncertainty about the future?
He knew you were over-thinking and tilted his head. “What?”
You blew out a slow breath of air, twisted a ring on your finger and then looked up at him again.
You didn’t even have a chance to be more honest, a buzz on your phone on the coffee table in front of you both broke the room in half, the name of the woman you’d spoken to was in bold next to your email icon. You reached for it quickly, Harry’s brows furrowed when you pulled it close to your chest so he wouldn’t see.
“What’s that?”
Hi Y/N, thank you so much for your patience over the last few days. We would love to offer you a position with NBC Universal - E! News as an on-air correspondent in our Los Angeles headquarters.
You looked up at him quickly, cheeks red and heart racing.
“What’s happening, are you okay?”
“I got a job offer,” you said quickly, still holding the phone close to you.
“What?” He smiled, “why didn’t you tell me you were looking? I didn’t even know--”
“It’s in Los Angeles.”
His smile faded instantly, he blinked a few times like he must have misheard you. The leather of his couch felt cool beneath your legs, a clock on the wall ticked and for a second, you wondered if he could hear your pulse as loudly as you could.
He pulled his eyes away from you but then quickly scanned over your face. “Are you taking it?”
“I don’t know,” you said honestly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Silence, words filled your brain and crawled up the back of your throat, desperate to be said out loud, in real life, instead of just circling in your head.
Because I don’t know what we’re doing or if we’re moving forward. I don’t know where I want to live. I don’t know if I can stay in London forever. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Only the last part made it out between your lips. “I don’t know.”
“Y/N,” he stood up, more angry now as he looked around the room and scratched at the base of his neck. “This kind of feels like a bombshell to drop on someone.”
“I was going to tell you--but we haven’t had a second alone, I just didn’t want to have to tell everyone before I knew what was happening.”
“You didn’t even tell me you interviewed,” he said.
“The last time I saw you alone we got interrupted by Erica three times in one conversation.”
“Probably for a good reason--”
“But you seriously can’t even put your phone down lately when we have dinner, even when everyone else is there!”
“I can’t help it that my work is insanely busy right now!”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” you said this quickly, voice higher than usual and a heat on your skin that he normally didn’t provoke, at least not in a bad way. You stood from the couch and put your hands on your hips. “I don’t know what I’m going to do and I don’t even know if this job is right for me and under no circumstances are you allowed to tell anyone. Especially Jessie.”
He rolled his eyes at that.
“What’s the eye roll for?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone just got back and now you might leave and--”
“I said I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”
He was quiet at that, clucked his tongue in thought but then disappeared upstairs to shower and change.
The car ride over was awkward, he asked how your day had been and you told him you talked to Alyssa, he bristled when you admitted you told her about it.
It wouldn’t be the end of the conversation, you were sure of that. You’d likely end up at his for the night and he’d apologize for being busy, you’d apologize for not telling him and maybe, you hoped, he’d ask you to stay over.
When you greeted Adam with a hug, you ignored Harry’s sour mood and opened the menu in front of you.
“My first dinner as a Londoner,” Jessie smiled, shimming her shoulders in excitement when Bryn looked over the specials across the table from you.
“This is on you, right? New job, new salary?” Jake teased.
“Maybe if I hadn’t just bought a whole new bedroom set,” she rolled her eyes.
“How’s everything with you?” Adam eyed Harry, his question veiled to avoid too many details in public.
Luckily, Harry’s ability to go out in public in London was similar to that in New York. As long as a private room or a table in the back was requested, he could typically get away unscathed if dinner was less than 2 hours and if he had his back to the dining room.
“Fine,” he shrugged, eyes still down at the drink menu.
“Fine?” Jessie leaned forward, her tone insinuating that she didn’t believe him. “You’ve been working really hard all summer and now all you say is ‘fine?’”
He glanced up at her, lips in a forced smile. “S’all good, Jess--just tired.”
Bryn gave you a look, one that asked what stick is up his ass?, before she changed the topic.
“Let’s not tell our server how fit she is tonight, yeah?”
Jake let out a snort of a laugh and sipped at the water that had already been brought to your table. “Alright, you thought the one last week was just as hot as I did.”
“I did,” Bryn agreed seriously, “but I didn’t offer my number unsolicited. How do you know she’s even straight?”
“She’s got a point,” Jessie chimed in. “Remember when you asked that girl to dance in the club when her girlfriend was right there with her arm around her?”
“I thought they were just mates!” Jake defended.
“You also have the worst radar for gay women ever,” Bryn nodded.
“When was this?” Harry asked, the hint of a smile on his face when he watched Jake adjust his napkin on his lap.
The words came out of your mouth without thought. “You weren’t here--you were in LA.”
He met your eyes when you replied, nodded, and then leaned back in his chair, effectively bowing out of the conversation without saying another word.
You weren’t trying to be short with him. You looked over to Jessie, who undoubtedly sensed the tension, and offered a smile. “How’s the flat?”
“Good,” she nodded. “Glad that all my furniture got put together without any scratches,” she reached over and patted Adam on the shoulder.
“We’re not children, Jessie, we can handle some furniture.”
“You broke my dresser when I asked you guys to move it into another room,” Bryn reminded, a look of confusion on her face at Adam’s retort.
“Only because it was already half broken and a piece of shit,” Jake said. “I love you, Brynnie, but that dresser was already knocking on Heaven’s door.”
Harry let out a laugh at that, another memory that he had missed while on a trip to a studio somewhere north of London. He excused himself to the bathroom after you placed your orders, and once he was out of earshot, Jake leaned down and looked at you.
“What’s going on with him?”
You forced a cheesy grin and blinked a few times. “He’s just grumpy.”
“‘Bout what?” Bryn asked.
“Guys,” you leaned back in your chair, hoping you didn’t have to say too much. “I can’t tell you every single thing that happens in our relationship.”
“Well, when it affects us I think we have the right to know,” Jessie shrugged, playing the typical we don’t like when our parents fight card.
“It’s not affecting you,” you shook your head, eyed her seriously over your glass of Pinot Noir.
Adam shrugged, a smirk on his face let you know he was trying to rile you up. “He’s grumpy at dinner and we’re all here and we’re all aware of it. We don’t like tension between you two.”
“Alright, leave the woman alone,” Jake waved them off. “As long as everything’s alright.”
“It’s totally alright,” you nodded, wondering when you’d gotten so comfortable lying to them. “He’s just busy with the next phase of work.”
With Harry’s album yet to be announced, you couldn’t sit around in a London restaurant and divulge details--even if you were all acutely aware of the work he’d put in and the upcoming announcements and events.
Adam let it go. “How’s work for you, Smalls?”
Another shrug of your shoulders, “s’good--I told you all about my November cover story, right?”
“Yeah,” Jessie sipped a glass of Cabernet. “But you said you didn’t know who it was going to be with.”
“Well, s’cause I had to drop the bomb on him first,” you nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be sitting down in a few days with Ms. Gigi Hadid,” you lowered your voice and leaned forward to say her name.
Bryn’s eyes went wide, Jake grimaced.
“How’d he take that?” Adam asked.
“He’s not thrilled,” you admitted. “But I’ll talk with his team about what to avoid specifically, I guess. Her team will probably have a list of off-limits items too.”
Bryn let her elbows rest on the white tablecloth. “Yeah, but, you can’t just ignore the fact that she’s dating Zayn.”
“I also can’t just barge in and stir shit up,” you said.
Harry pulled his chair out next to you and sat back down. “Who are you stirring shit up with?”
Everyone chose to be quiet now--Adam looked down at his phone and Jessie reached for her wine again.
“Just telling them about my cover story,” you admitted, watching his face for a reaction.
He nodded, a tiny smirk in your direction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stir shit up,” he said, reaching to put a hand on your thigh beneath the table.
Those were the moments that made you feel less panicky--the realization that he was still choosing you and even when the tension was high and the mood was low, he’d reach over and remind you that yes, he cared. Even if he was late to dinner or distracted.
Which is why, when you got back in his car that night and headed for his house, you were surprised when his mood shifted again.
“I’ll just drop you at yours?”
“Oh--yeah, sure.”
“Did you want to come to mine?” He looked over at you like he hadn’t expected any resistance to sleeping separately.
You were quiet for a second--not if he didn’t want you there. “No, it’s fine.”
“I can’t read your mind, Y/N.”
“You don’t have to,” you said quickly, a prickly tone to your words when he made an unreadable face.
He drove in silence for a few minutes, closing in on your neighborhood when the street lamps disappeared for the sake of suburbia.
Eventually he cleared his throat and that sent you over the edge.
“What do you want me to say, Harry? Do you want me to apologize for interviewing for this job?”
“No,” he said simply. “I just don’t know why you thought you didn’t need to tell me about a huge decision like that.”
“It wasn’t a decision until today when they offered it to me.”
“Just seems like something you talk to your boyfriend about.”
You looked over at him in the dark of night, the glow from the dashboard didn’t help you see his features as he turned left onto your street.
“Well, sorry that we didn’t have the opportunity to talk about it between your work schedule and Jessie moving in and group dates--”
He slowed down on your street, put his flashers on when he stopped in front of your building. “I don’t want to keep secrets from each other,” his voice was softer now. “I don’t want to not know what’s going on in your life. I did enough of that for two years when we weren't talking.”
You sighed at this, the sentiment broke whatever anger was lurking inside you and when you looked up to see him, you wondered if you should ask him.
Are we ever going to move in together? Are we ever going to get engaged?
You figured the lead up to his sophomore album wasn’t the best time for that conversation. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you climbed the stairs to your flat alone.
**
A few days later you sat nervously in a conference room and watched as beads of sweat formed on the water glass in front of you. Tyler had brought you in, offered you a breath mint, and promised you’d be fine. When you asked him if the whole room was hot he said it was just you and your nerves--but the droplets of water that raced towards the wooden conference table begged to differ.
You’d gotten email after email this morning: one from Jeff with the rules he and Harry had come up with and eight from Gigi’s team with requests for snacks, topics to discuss, topics to avoid, lunch request, arrival and departure time, and a few extra regarding booking her photoshoot the next day.
A text lit up your screen when you tried to smooth your your hair in the reflection of your screen.
Jake Newcomb (10:42am): In case you’re wondering what to get me for my birthday, a video of Gigi Hadid saying she loves me would be perfect!
You ignored his text and felt a pang of disappointment in your gut, you thought it would have been Harry with words of encouragement.
He was fine with you doing the interview, he seemed to come around to the idea when he met with Jeff and had a chance to mark some things as off limits.
So far, his list was as follows:
Don’t publish anything too negative about anyone in the band (if she says anything negative about anyone in the band)
Harry and Jeff got to listen to the taped interview
Harry and Jeff got to read the article before you sent it off to your editor and could make suggestions to cut things if they felt it necessary.
It seemed silly, but you’d long been used to the lingo of contracts and riders and ground rules for things like these. You knew both Harry and Jeff trusted you, in fact, Jeff was now choosing to see this as a good opportunity for press before the announcement of Harry’s album.
Your biggest concern, truly, was not looking/sounding/acting like an idiot in a room alone with Gigi Hadid. Your second biggest concern was conducting a unique interview and writing a unique article.
You knew that Naomi and Tyler were nearby for support if needed, Tyler had already walked by the conference room three times to see if your subject had arrived and likely to make sure you hadn’t sweat through your blouse. You thought the commotion in the hallway was him until you saw a group of busy-looking people with cellphones and sunglasses.
“Hi,” you stood from your chair, extended a hand in her direction and offered your best professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Gigi, thanks for doing this interview.”
She seemed hesitant at first, smiled a little and shook your hand. “Happy to,” she said. She turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with the woman who seemed to be the most in-charge of the group. “I’m good,” she nodded.
They hustled out quickly, you stood frozen in place and watched as she took off her coat before sitting in the chair you’d pulled out for her. Once the door was shut behind her posse, she let out a sigh that bled into a frustrated laugh.
“I could never do an interview with all of them just loitering around--wouldn’t that be so weird?”
You nodded, mirrored her smile and had to remind your body how to move. Left foot, right, breathe, sit in the chair.
You weren’t really one to get star struck, but then again, you didn’t spend too much time with celebrities that weren’t Harry or his close friends. You certainly never sat down with a model like Gigi to have a conversation that could be as awkward as this one.
She checked her phone quickly but then put it face down on the table. “I am happy to do this, I know it might feel weird for us to be hanging out--but boys are stupid anyway.”
You smiled at this, immediately relaxed when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
“Did you also get a whole list of things to not talk to me about?”
She stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Zayn can be a man of few words but,” she looked down at your phone on the table. “Off the record--he had quite a bit to say when I told him you were doing the interview.”
“Off the record,” you laughed, “Harry did too. But how is Zayn?”
“He’s good--thinking about getting back in the studio at some point to start working on a new album, he’s been writing a bunch. Harry’s doing the same I assume?”
“Yes, yeah, he’s been really busy.”
“I know things might not have gone great between all of them at the end, but I don’t want this to be awkward for us.”
“Me neither. You can say as much or as little about the band as you’d like.”
She nodded, you figured it was time to give your pre-interview spiel.
“So, I’ll record us in a few seconds, you can obviously say ‘off the record’ if there’s something you don’t want me to include, but I like my interviews to be like conversations, basically. I’ll send someone on your team the recording when we’re done and a typed transcript. You’ll have 48-hours to look over it and revoke any statements that you don’t want me publishing or to clarify anything. After that I’ll write the story, send a final copy to your team before it gets finalized here, again, 48-hours to look it over and request any changes but at that time we don’t have to approve the requests. This is all in a document somewhere that someone probably signed for you--I’m sure your team is used to it, they know what they’re doing.”
You reached forward and pressed a few buttons on your phone, she watched until you looked up and told her: “It’s on now, so we’re recording and today is September 10th, 2019.”
She smiled like you were old friends. “Where do we start?”
“Is there somewhere you want to start?”
She leaned her head to the side. “We can jump right to it--”
“To what?”
“Oh come on,” she laughed. “Us talking about One Direction will make headlines for weeks.”
“Yeah,” you shrugged. “It’s funny that us just sitting down together will be a big deal, right? As if we’ve got nothing better to talk about than them.”
“Sexism at it’s finest,” she admitted.
“Do you find that a lot in your industry?”
She thought on this for a second, looked out the window but nodded. “It’s unavoidable, in a lot of ways. I think there have been a lot of changes over the last few years to at least move us in the right direction, but we’ve got a long way to go.”
“How would you want to see it change for the better?”
“Well, I’d love to have more privacy about my love life, for one,” she caught herself, looked to you quickly as if she felt bad. “Off the record, we can talk about it here, it’s fine. It’s different to talk about it with a woman, number one. And you’re you, you get it.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you offered.
“No, I don’t mind. Unless you plan on asking me stupid things like how amazing is it to be dating someone as handsome as him or do I find that his job overshadows mine, we’re good. We can be back on the record, too,” she looked down at the numbers on your phone, eyeing the ticking of the recording clock.
“But do you know what I mean? No one asks guys questions like that--or they’re different, at least. People just want to know everything about your relationship when you’re a woman and they view you in the context of who you’re sleeping with.”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I get that.”
She smiled, “it’s hard to date someone famous, isn’t it? Lots of rules around it.”
You were surprised by the genuine look in her eyes, despite her own status and contracts and income, she seemed to be acknowledging that the two of you shared a unique experience and were now brought together under strange circumstances.
“It’s definitely hard for me--but, isn’t it easier seeing as you also have an assistant and a manager and people to, I don’t know, facilitate things? Not to invalidate how hard it still is.”
She laughed at that, “Yeah, in some ways, probably. He’s really private though, which is good for us. We focus on ourselves and do our own thing most of the time.”
“Right--you seem pretty private about it for the most part.”
“Yeah,” she shrugged, reflecting on your words for a second. “I think to me it feels weird that my relationship status can make so much news, you know? Modeling is my job and obviously that’s not your typical nine-to-five but--I like to focus on my work and when male journalists are continuously obsessed with my love life, I find that weird. I mean, you get that, right? I’m sure it’s no different with Harry.”
You bit your lip, embarrassed at how she’d managed to turn it around. She was right--you’d been getting more and more annoyed with how much your relationship with Harry was dictating your life--and for some reason, you admitted this to her.
“People are much more interested in me because I’m dating him--but they’d be just as interested in you even if you weren’t.”
“Would they?” She tilted her head to the side, another rise and fall of her shoulders as she looked around the room. “I get what you’re saying, but sometimes it feels like dating him gave my career a huge boost. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I totally get it. I feel the same way. I was building my career in New York and it was going well and I was writing fun stuff and making a name for myself and then I started hanging out with him and--”
“Everyone started to care more about you?”
“Exactly.”
You thought about the headlines, the articles, the pictures in tabloids that undoubtedly helped your name spread like wildfire through London and New York. You had to ignore it, most of the time, reassure yourself that you were a good journalist and a good employee and the good things in your career were not just a byproduct of the boy who slept in your bed.
She smiled knowingly, her lips in a thin line when she looked down to the tape recorder, almost like she felt guilty for steering the conversation in a different direction.
“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, sitting up straight. “Back to business.”
The conversation bled into more normal things: the upcoming fall fashion week, how she manages self-care when she’s busy jetting from city to city, and, try as you might, the two of you wound your way back to your commonalities a few times: sexism in your industries, life as young women dating famous men.
You thanked her profusely at the end and promised that Tyler would be in touch to confirm the date and time for her corresponding photoshoot later that week. She draped a Versace leather tote over her shoulder and seemed to float out of the office with a posse of beautiful people behind her.
You stood--still awestruck--in the hallway and watched as the elevator doors slid shut.
“She’s prettier in person,” Tyler said from beside you, a notebook in hand as he stared at the air she’d once occupied. “I didn’t know if that type of thing was possible but she’s definitely one of the prettiest humans I’ve ever seen.”
“She was nice,” you turned around to see Naomi behind him, also eager for more details. You headed back for your office in a trance, they scurried behind you as you thought aloud. “I mean, I didn’t think she’d be rude--but I didn’t know what to expect with the whole band history stuff.”
“Did you talk about that?”
“Less about the band and more about--” you blinked a few times and sat down at your desk, “sexism, what it’s like to be a woman dating a famous man and how that affects your career.”
Both of their eyes went wide, a smile tugged at Naomi’s lips when Tyler put a hand over his heart in shock.
“I’m sorry, so you’re telling me that you just had a heart to heart with Gigi Hadid about sexism and your boyfriends and--”
“I guess so,” you shrugged, just as surprised as they were.
**
You gave Harry fewer details that night over FaceTime as you brushed your teeth. He was somewhere in New York, disappointed that he’d miss Jake’s birthday dinner and celebration, but he promised to make it up to him when he got back.
He lifted a cup of tea to take a sip, light shone through the window behind him on your screen and he scrolled through emails on his laptop.
You spit into the sink, an ocean between you.
“Have you thought at all about the offer? You have to tell them by tomorrow, yeah?”
You nodded, wiped at your mouth with a towel and then crossed your arms. “I can stay, I mean--if you want me to.”
He made a face at that, leaned forward and furrowed his brows together. “Of course I want you to stay, Y/N, but I don’t want to be the reason you pass on something important."
You were quiet for a second, uncapped lotion before spreading some across your forehead.
"I'm sorry I didn't react well when you told me. I'm proud of you and it sounds like a phenomenal opportunity...I don't know, it's just the timing of it--"
You cut him off, “well none of this is ideal timing, Harry.”
“Do you mean with my album?”
“I mean with any of it,” you said truthfully. “The album, the job offer--”
“Well the album existed before the job offer,” he trailed off.
Only a matter of seconds and a handful of words had managed to get you elevated and angry and ready to fight. That was happening more easily, these days.
“So what am I supposed to do? Always come second? Make every decision in my life based off of your career and your music?”
“S’not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that--I dunno--I thought you knew what you were getting into.”
Quiet, your hands gripped the counter in your bathroom. Your bare feet were on the floor and you wondered why you were trying so hard to make everything work if things were only getting harder.
“That came out wrong,” he shook his head, the look on his face let you know he wanted to take it back.
“No, it didn’t." You let out a sharp laugh. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Take the job,” he said quickly, like he saw you reaching for the button to end the FaceTime call.
“What?”
“Take it. If it’ll make you happy, take it.”
“And what about us?”
“We figure it out,” he shrugged. “We try.”
You sighed, unsure what to say.
"It's Los Angeles," he said. "Not Antarctica."
You blew air between your lips, looked up at him for a second. The curl of hair that dipped onto his forehead, the way his mouth pulled up in the corner like it always had.
“I love you, Y/N. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
His words didn’t offer any relief and you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning and wondering how on earth you were supposed to make a decision.
Leaving him in London felt stupid. A few bumps in the road and you were ready to jump ship?
But staying and hoping for a ring or a shared address felt even stupider, somehow. You couldn’t pass up a dream job and hope that things would go well for your career if you weren’t going to work for it.
A few hours of rest came after 3am, your morning coffee was a tad bitter and the clouds in the sky seemed to match your mood. Maybe you should have spent more time thinking it over, talking it out, even calling your mum or Katie for advice.
But you couldn’t have told everyone about the job offer without a certain answer, and unfortunately, the person you wanted to talk to the most didn’t seem like he could be impartial.
You’d been upset, you’d been feeling disconnected from him, but that didn’t erase all of the good times and the happy memories you’d made, right?
Naomi and Tyler locked themselves in your office for lunch on Friday, they promised that they’d never tell your boss and they swore they supported you either way. Tyler used an expo marker to make a pros and cons list of staying in London and Naomi came up with a points system for each bullet on the list.
You stared at it, looked at the names of all of your friends, your family, your favorite cafes and restaurants in London. At the very bottom of what had become a long list of reasons to stay was his name.
And on the other side, Tyler’s poor drawing of an engagement ring sat beside a big question mark.
You didn’t know what the future held for you and Harry, and maybe that was okay. You didn’t know what would happen when you packed your life into a suitcase and moved to New York, but you’d survived to tell the tale.
They were quiet, eyes darting from the board back to you as they waited for you to say something.
You sighed, Tyler shifted on the couch in your office and Naomi smoothed out her blouse.
“I can’t take it,” you said.
Tyler’s eyes went wide, “really? You’re staying?”
“I can’t leave,” you shrugged. “I can’t leave him behind and leave my friends and start all over in a new city right as I’m really finding my groove here again.”
“Okay, I know we said we’d support you either way but I would have been fucking pissed if you went,” Tyler admitted, moving closer to wrap his arms around you.
You laughed, let him squeeze you before Naomi joined in.
“Me too,” she confessed, a smile on her face when she pulled away. “But I would have at least faked happy for you.”
You bit back the doubt and second-guessing, used their excitement to fuel a regretful email.
Thank you so much for the opportunity, but after careful consideration I cannot accept this position due to the geographical location.
Your thumb hovered over the small blue arrow, a wave of panic flooded through you when you hit send, like somehow, something inside of you knew that everything was about to change.
Warnings: This story will contain mentions of smut, angst, and workplace related-racism. Please read with caution!
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ]
I can’t trust you again. Not after what you did.
Niall’s long gone from the back hallway at the Irish Rover, but Neelam is still standing there, her back flat against the wall, her gaze focused on the spot where his figure finally retreated — his words echoing in her head over and over and over again.
Warnings: This story will contain mentions of smut, angst, and workplace related-racism. Please read with caution!
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ]
Niall wipes the sweat from his brow, pausing to take in a deep breath. The gym around him is quiet. He’s managed to come during a time where there aren’t many people around — the mid-afternoon lull between the early morning risers and the late-evening visitors.
He’s glad, because he’s more focused when other people aren’t around, able to easily blow off more steam. And he needs to, because he’s supposed to meet with Neelam today and he hasn’t told her where they’re going to do that.
Rain splattered the sidewalks as you trudged along in your boots. It was better than New York in some ways, worse in others. And while your days at The Scoop writing lists were long behind you, somehow ranking things that you loved about London came quite easily when you opened your umbrella for cover.
All of your friends were close by.
Traveling back to Holmes Chapel was much easier when it didn’t include a 6 hour flight.
Everyone knew what you meant when you said bollocks and you no longer needed to worry about getting a side eye from coworkers when it slipped out in a meeting.
Going home to see your parents was now something you did quite frequently.
Your younger sister, Katie, had moved to London upon the completion of Uni last spring, as did Jessie when she finished her PhD program in May.
Bryn had been promoted and moved to the London office of her finance firm last year, and you’d managed to secure a flat across the hall from where Jake and Adam were now living.
Oh, and Harry’s house was only 8 minutes from yours.
You dodged the rush-hour foot traffic when you headed for the tube, the vibrating in your pocket was sure to be Jessie, already complaining about the weather on her official move-in day.
It was a quick ride to her new flat after she confirmed that you were on your way, only 10 minutes towards Finsbury Park and by the time she opened the door and you shrugged off your raincoat, Bryn had brought the last box up from the truck they’d rented.
“Innit spacious?” Jessie smiled, spinning around the living room with her arms stretched wide. “Much better than sleeping on the floor of Bryn’s.”
Bryn, who looked utterly displeased with Jessie’s words, shoved the box toward your friend. “Well if it weren’t for my floor you’d have been homeless in London.”
“No I wouldn’t,” she made a face. “Y/N would have let me stay with her--or Harry, Lord knows he has the room.”
You rolled your eyes, they were quick to make jokes about Harry’s house or Harry’s money and now that the two of you had been officially official--as Bryn had deemed--for a year and a half, they started asking the obnoxious questions you knew were coming.
When are you going to just move in with him? You sleep there most nights out of the week anyways. Where’s the ring? How many babies do you want?
Jake and Adam were no better, truthfully, seeing as their two-bedroom that faced yours had an outdated kitchen that had them cooking dinner in yours quite often, meaning any forward advancement in your relationship might be a threat to their wellbeing. How on earth will we eat if Y/N moves to Harry’s and we don’t have access to this type of counter space?
Another knock on the door revealed Jake, hair dripping from the rain outside when he stepped onto Jessie’s new hardwood floors. “Could do without the weather, yeah?”
“Try lugging her shit out of the truck while it’s pouring and then up those stairs,” Bryn cracked, tossing him a tea towel from an open box, presumably one with kitchen supplies.
“Aren’t you all glad I’m here, though?” Jessie slung an arm around your and Jake’s shoulders, grinning up at each of you. “S’like uni all over again.”
Right--the few years you were all on the same continent, minus Harry, of course. Bars and clubs and nights too drunk to remember when you were just trying to get over a guy you’d never even dated. Hard to do when his face was on magazines and his voice was all over the radio.
Now he slept with his arm across your waist most nights and when he wasn’t in the studio recording his next album, he was sat in your flat doing a word-search while you typed up your latest story.
“Where’s Adam?” Bryn asked, arms over her chest. “If we’re here to help Princess Jessie unpack, we need all the hands we can get.”
Jake shrugged in reference to his roommate’s location. “Should be here soon, unless he gets stuck on another math textbook.”
The door pushed open in the middle of his sentence. Adam, who caught the latter half of Jake’s joke, offered him an unimpressed glance and wiped his boots on a welcome mat--Jessie’s first personal touch. “Very funny.”
Adam’s new job--editing uni textbooks for a publishing company downtown--paid better than his last gig but still didn’t leave him feeling incredibly fulfilled. But he was happy to pay his bills and spend his free time screaming at the telly with Jake in your living room or tagging along to weekly group date nights.
When you first moved to London after losing your job in New York, you didn’t really know how things would look. Sure--living a few blocks from Harry in the village made it easy to fall for him all over again, like you were sixteen and waiting for a text back.
But in London, you were sure it would be different. You’d need a job, he’d be back in the city he now called home with his other celebrity friends and all the obligations that came with being who he was. Tour, interviews, writing and recording.
A part of you wondered if it’d fizzle out, whatever chemistry between you was perhaps destined to be a silly hook up that didn’t stand a chance in the long run. A phase or a fling until he realized that school-aged crushes were better left in the past, or across the Atlantic.
A month went by, dinner on his couch and brunch dates up North with his sister and mum became regular activities. You settled into routine and Harry made no move to end your relationship. In fact, he did the opposite. He gave you a key to his house and introduced you to his other friends.
Eventually Jake and Adam started inviting themselves along on your dinner dates, and when Bryn got her promotion she started coming, too. Your younger sister Katie joined once in a while when she got hired at a PR firm and got a flat with a friend from uni and soon Jessie accepted a position teaching creative writing at University of Westminster, meaning somehow, glasses of wine and plates of tapas with Harry soon became group outings. Full circle, really.
Your relationship with him had always existed within the context of your friend group--the people you’d known since childhood and the ones who knew the entire story. Start to finish, beginning, middle, and end. Then the second act, the secret sex in New York and all of the ups and downs in between.
“Alright,” Jessie looked around the room, suddenly she meant business and Jake offered her a salute in jest when Adam stifled a laugh.
“You two, bring each box to the room corresponding with the label, yeah? Then you can get cracking on my bed frame.”
You smirked, Jessie called the shots and everyone moved into action. You sat on the kitchen floor and unwrapped plates and dishes, handing them up to Bryn when Jessie teased the boys in the other room about their ability to use an allen wrench.
“Harry’s coming by, yeah?”
“Should be,” you looked up at Bryn. “Talked to him on my way here and he said he was leaving soon, but I know he had meetings today with people from his record label.”
“Of course Jessie had to move on a Thursday,” she rolled her eyes. “I’d rather be at Barrafina sipping on wine, but, at least we’re all in the same place again.”
The sentiment had been echoed for the last year. When you all trekked home for the holidays last year, your nights at the Red Lion were spent listing off the things you had to do once everyone was back in London for good.
Those last two words had been sprinkled into conversations like your lease in Camden was permanent or like somehow you’d grown roots that now tied you to the streets of the city.
You loved London and being back in the UK had been great, but you couldn’t shake the anxiety that seemed to linger overhead whenever the entire gang clinked their glasses together in a dimly lit pub and said here’s to being back together again.
Bryn answered the knock on the door and found Harry, his greeting in your direction pulled you out of your head and back to the slightly slanted floor of Jessie’s new kitchen.
“Hi baby,” he came and pressed a kiss to your forehead, shrunk out of his jacket when Jessie appeared in the doorway.
“Harold, nice of you to join us finally. Hopefully you know how to put some furniture together,” she crossed her arms.
Harry raised his eyebrows in your direction at her tone but slipped into the bedroom and greeted the boys. Jessie--who returned after a few seconds of barking more orders--decided that Bryn was stacking the plates wrong, so she reached up to re-do her hard work.
“So, given it any thought?”
Her question was pointed at you, but you looked up and waited for her to say more when you unwrapped a mug.
She took your raised brows as a cue to clarify. “You know--moving in!”
“Oh, come on, Jessie,” you sighed. “I told you, things are fine the way they are. I like having my own space.”
She blinked a few times and shrugged. “And you don’t think you’ll be able to find space in his mansion?”
It wasn’t a mansion. Sure--it was bigger than Adam’s parents and your parents’ houses put together, but that didn’t justify the label that Jessie liked to casually throw around.
“It’s complicated, Jessie, alright?”
“Give the girl a break!” Bryn came to your rescue, glasses perched on her nose when she ignored Jessie’s restacking. “Clearly they have something good going and she doesn’t want to mess anything up.”
“Exactly,” you nodded, appreciative of her support. “At least someone understands it.”
“I understand it,” Jessie said. “I just think the two of you might need a swift kick in the arse again like you did in New York.”
You faked a laugh in her direction, thought back to your midnight walks and sneaking around with the boy who’d already broken your heart once.
You hadn’t meant to fall for Harry as hard as you did. You worked hard to ignore the stomach ache you’d get when you heard his songs at the bar in uni, forged a path for yourself and made new friends who didn’t know your connection to the famous boyband. Moved to a different country and felt confident that you were officially and undeniably over him.
But then the universe picked him up and dropped him a few blocks west from you on the island that you thought was Harry-free. (Few places were, afterall, when he’d shot to international stardom as you earned a bachelor’s degree.)
Getting over him once was hard enough, you didn’t want to have to do it again.
So after the drama that New York had brought, you didn’t want to rush it. It felt safer to just appreciate what you had. No questions, no pushing for the next step, just enjoying the fact that your new boss at The Face knew who your boyfriend was and now there were no secrets.
But moving back to London brought more attention to your budding relationship than you could have imagined. It took a while to get used to the stares and the special treatment that came along with being written about in tabloids. Harry Styles and Hometown Girlfriend enjoy brunch with popstar’s sister, Harry Styles and Y/N L/N through the years, Who is Y/N L/N and how can we be her friend?
The attention you’d gotten on the internet had started to grow when you documented your experience as a Brit in New York, before Harry had even reentered your life. Bagels, lox, Central Park, your cheeky tweets about adjusting to America seemed to be a hit. You made a name for yourself in the pop-culture journalism scene and had been eager to do it without the aid of labels like Harry’s childhood pal. Apparently dating him made all of that fly out the window.
The two of you did the best you could to keep your relationship private, and sometimes, it felt like it was harder to keep things hidden from your friend group than it was the paparazzi.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?”
You looked up at Jessie, unsure how she’d gotten that from everything you hadn’t said.
“No,” you sighed. “Leave it, alright? He can probably hear us.”
They both looked over their shoulders, laughter was audible from the other room and so was a thud, Jake stuck his head out to offer a nervous grin and to promise Jessie that everything was alright and nothing got scratched or chipped or dented.
And you were glad to have her here--in fact, everyone being in London was exciting and it did feel like uni and you got excited just thinking about all of the things you could do as a group. That is, if Harry wore a hat and sunglasses and tried to keep a low profile.
He sat next to you that evening, a box of Indian food on his lap atop Jessie’s new rug. He’d helped you line it up and roll it out, you stacked her books on the corners to help it lay flat and now, she watched everyone closely to ensure no drips or stains in her first 24-hours.
“Hey,” Jake reached his elbow over to nudge you, a wiggle of his eyebrows. “We have to take Harry to Miller’s.”
“Oh absolutely,” Adam laughed, a nod in your direction when you felt your cheeks flush pink.
“Whasthat?” Harry spoke through a full mouth, brow furrowed when he looked at you.
Jake leaned back and sipped on the beer that he’d brought from an off license across the street. “S’Y/N’s favorite pub--used to get smashed there almost every weekend in uni.”
You went to different schools, the five of you, but when the stars aligned and train tickets were cheap, everyone would spend the night drunk at a basement pub and then fall asleep on the floor of someone’s dorm room by sunrise.
“S’not my favorite,” you looked at Harry sheepishly. “But it is the place I got banned from for a year.”
His nostrils flared in shock and he swallowed the bite he chewed. “You got banned from a pub?”
“She danced on the table and then threw up in the hallway,” Bryn filled him in, a pitiful nod in your direction. “Right on the shirt of the security guard.”
“Because Jake was feeding her shots, though,” Jessie added.
It was true, but they were leaving a key detail out. You’d shown up at the bar broken-hearted, and for once, not by Harry. When things with your uni boyfriend, Charlie, were heading south, you felt pathetic and sorry for yourself that nothing ever went the way you wanted.
You remedied that by slinging back shots of vodka and pretending it didn’t burn your throat.
“It was a rough night,” Jake nodded when his eyes met yours. Apparently your idiot friends were bright enough to leave out the reason for your sloppy behavior.
Adam leaned forward to make sure everyone was on the same page: “So we absolutely have to go and relive it.”
“Let’s not,” you laughed. “We can go, but my dancing will be on the floor only and hopefully I don’t spill the contents of my stomach on anyone.”
“Sounds cute,” Harry teased, another forkful of food into his mouth.
That night you fell asleep in your own bed, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach when you thought about what Jessie had said: just move in with him already, we all know it’s going to happen.
As much as you hated to admit it, Jessie was right, but not about your living arrangement. There was something you weren’t telling them and as per usual, she could sniff out your anxiety like a trained police dog.
You woke on Friday to an unseasonably sunny day in London, a phone call from him interrupting your morning coffee as you swiped on mascara in your bathroom mirror.
“Hi,” you said excitedly into the phone. “I was thinking we could see a movie tonight,” you suggested, eager to have some alone time with him, you know, sans friends. Maybe you’d finally be able to talk to him about your worries and fears.
“HI lovie,” he said, his voice considerably less cheery than yours. “S’actually why I was calling. I know this sucks but, I just talked to Jeff and I’ve got to go to some dinner thing. I guess there are record execs in town and it would look shitty if I didn’t have dinner with them.”
You let out a sigh, capped the mascara and took another swig of the coffee.
“Can we do tomorrow night?” He asked.
“Can’t,” you shook your head. “I’ve got that thing with Naomi, remember?”
“Right,” he said as if suddenly he knew it was your coworker's birthday. You knew he forgot, but you weren’t going to call him on it.
“And then next week I start working on the November cover issue, so Sunday I shouldn’t stay up late, and the week itself will be really busy.”
Harry sighed into the phone. As things had picked up for you at work and as things were going full speed ahead to finish his album, finding time to see each other became harder and harder.
Which is why you didn’t want Jessie or Bryn or any of the gang pushing him about moving in together. A part of you thought it sounded nice--at least at the end of your long days or busy weeks you could come home to each other and sleep in the same bed. Having more than a toothbrush and some pajamas there would make life easier.
He sounded bothered. “Alright, Y/N, s’fine then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re always busy,” he said--you imagined him sitting at the island in his kitchen, a cup of tea in front of him or maybe even a muffin.
“You’re the one who’s calling me to cancel our plans tonight,” you reminded, feeling defensive.
It wasn’t fair to try to put this on you. You were the one with a mostly 9-5 job and you were the one who didn’t have to change plans at the last minute for record execs or managers or whoever it was that suddenly needed Harry to drop everything.
But apparently pointing this out only made him more annoyed.
A more audible sigh this time when he informed you: “I’m trying, here, Y/N.”
“So am I,” you walked back out to the kitchen. 8:34am. If you didn’t get out of the house in the next six minutes, you were sure to be late. “S’not my fault that I finally landed my first cover story and that you’ve got an album to finish.”
“I know,” he sounded more calm now. “Just want to be with you, is all.”
You bit your tongue--this was one of the moments where moving in together sounded ideal and you wanted to tell him your news. But would the risk of too much togetherness be worse than living in separate places in separate neighborhoods and sleeping in separate beds? And what happened if you didn’t stay in London at all?
He dropped it at that, said he hoped you had a good day and agreed to let you know what time he was out of dinner that evening. If you were still up, he’d come by and maybe you’d watch an episode of something on Netflix before you both fell asleep.
You’d pretty much take anything you could get.
The ride to your office was quick and easy with the good weather. Naomi was smiling when you walked in and reminded you about the plans you’d dreamed up during lunch a few weeks back.
“So you can come to mine, we’ll get dinner--just take away or something--head out and meet up with the others.”
“Sounds perfect,” you assured her.
She’d invited Harry at first, a small smile on her face as if she knew you’d shoot her down. That’s sweet, you had told her, but him being there will definitely make the night more difficult.
So maybe that was part of it. Being in a relationship with Harry and people knowing about it--that changed things. You were no longer living in your tiny, private bubble, sneaking him in and out of your apartment in new York and wondering what would happen if your friends found out.
Back then you spent most nights wishing you could just tell everyone--your coworkers, your boss, Jake and Jessie and the gang. Keeping Harry a secret felt confining and claustrophobic.
Now that level of secrecy felt nice, the two of you hiding away and spending your nights in his living room with beer and pizza. The grass is always greener, right?
The truth is that navigating your relationship with Harry was harder than you expected. You thought, at first, that having known him for so long would make it easy. You knew his favorite meal, knew his family and his gran. You knew what types of movies he likes and you knew, above all else, that you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved him.
Which is what you tried to remember in the difficult moments like this. Naomi’s eyes looked at you with a hint of curiosity. “Y’alright?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down at your desk and turning on your computer. “Just busy lately, is all.”
“How’d Jessie’s move go?”
“Fine,” you shrugged. “I think she’s just glad to have her own space and not be sleeping on a floor. She’s a bit of a princess.”
“I can relate,” Naomi laughed playfully and inspected her own perfectly manicured nails as she sat on the corner of your desk.
You were about to divulge the real reason for your mediocre mood when Tyler walked in with a big grin, a travel mug of tea in his right hand and a manilla folder in his left.
“Okay, you are actually going to love me.”
“Why’s that?” You eyed him skeptically, watching as he put the folder down and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a bit early for both of your work friends to be in your office and this excited, but you were grateful for the distraction.
“I have gathered every interview that Gigi Hadid has ever done where she talks about Zayn.”
Right--your first cover story. If the stress of being trusted with your first cover wasn’t enough on top of the stress in your relationship and your sudden anxiety about if you were meant to stay in London forever, knowing that you had a three hour date planned with Gigi Hadid in two weeks was just icing on the cake.
Tyler, who was your editor’s right hand man, had fought hard for you to get this story and his main selling point, naturally, was that both you and Gigi were dating former band members of One Direction.
You didn’t want to harp on that. You’d tried to talk your way out of it: it might be awkward, she might get upset if I ask, how do we even know she’ll answer those questions…
But Donna, longtime editor-in-chief of The Face, thought Tyler’s idea was great and that having you interview Gigi only meant more headlines and more traffic to the website.
Again, at this point you were taking what you could get.
“Alright, I know that Zayn will come up, but don’t you both think this could go incredibly sour?”
Tyler looked at Naomi with wide eyes and let her handle your anxiety.
She sighed and moved to sit in a chair nearby. “You said Harry and Zayn haven’t really spoken, right?”
“He said he hasn’t heard from him since like 2016,” you shrugged. “But I haven’t told him why I asked.”
This piqued Tyler's interest. He stopped shuffling through papers in the folder and looked up at you. “Wait, you mean that you haven’t told him that she’s the subject of your November cover?”
“No,” you admitted. “And I’m not really in the mood to tell him now and fight about another thing.”
“Are things not going well?” Tyler took a seat opposite your desk and you blew a quick puff of air between your lips. You eyed the door and Naomi took it as a cue to get up and shut it, sealing off your office to afford privacy for a totally not work related conversation.
“He’s just busy finishing his album, which you’re both sworn to secrecy about, yeah? He hasn’t announced it.”
They both nodded eagerly, and despite the look of desperation in their eyes for the juicy gossip of your headline-making love life, you knew you could trust them. Another sigh.
“He’s busy, I’m busy, we don’t live together so there are days when I don’t see him,” you trailed off, let your shoulders rise and fall as if you didn’t know what else to say.
Tyler, apparently, could see through this. He narrowed his eyes. “What? There’s something else.”
You looked through the glass that separated your office from the hallway where your coworkers buzzed about busily, unsure if you should divulge another detail.
“Okay,” Naomi leaned back. “Spill it.”
“I had an interview for a job in LA.”
“What?” Tyler asked, his voice quiet and his eyes wide. Naomi’s mouth opened in shock, they both didn’t see this one coming.
“I know--I wasn’t looking, I swear. Someone reached out to me and asked about my interest in being on-air.”
Tyler’s eyebrows furrowed wildly and he looked from Naomi back to you. “Who is it?!”
“E! News.”
They both gasped, excited smiles on their faces when you tried to hush them. “I have no idea if I’m even going to go, alright? I don’t even know if I’m interested.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Tyler asked. “The sunshine and the ocean and America?!”
“Right, already done that though.”
“New York is way different than LA,” he argued.
You shot him an amused smirk. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Naomi cut in. “But it’s an amazing opportunity and you would love that, right?”
You let your head tilt from side to side in thought. You’d always wondered what it would be like to be in front of the camera instead of behind the keyboard. As a kid you’d film your own news shows and wrote your own fake scripts as you interviewed Barney and Big Bird and all of those childhood celebrities alike.
It was flattering, at the very least, that someone thought you were cool enough and good enough to even apply for an opening like that.
So when that email came through a week earlier and you were already feeling insecure about your relationship due to the lack of cohabitation, the thought of Los Angeles felt appealing.
What were you supposed to do? Follow Harry wherever his career took him and not look out for yourself? Were you expected to just wait around to see if this would ever amount to more than take away containers and sleepovers and trips to see your family over long weekends?
You felt silly, really, for thinking that you could have some type of normal relationship with Harry--one that followed the traditional timeline and had a destination and goal of ring, house, kids, like you’d so often pictured for yourself.
You loved him, of course, but that didn’t mean you could have the life you wanted with him.
“I mean, I’m interested, and the interview went well, I think. I haven’t heard back from them yet.” you shrugged. “But I don’t know if I would even take it, and I certainly don’t need anyone finding out about any of this, okay?”
Tyler gestured that his lips were zipped and Naomi nodded as if to promise that your secret is safe with us.
**
Somehow Jessie and Bryn had invited themselves to Naomi’s birthday. They’d met her a few times before and while Naomi wasn’t yet at the point of frequenting your flat or group hang outs, she was happy to have more smiling faces at a club she’d picked out near Mayfair.
Saturday nights were crowded and too loud, as far as you were concerned, but Bryn was having the time of her life hitting on Naomi’s younger sister and Jessie seemed eager to find another cocktail to suck down.
Despite the fact that Bryn and Jessie were your plus ones, you were almost ready to leave them here for the night and catch a ride back to Harry’s--a glass of water and stretching out in his king-sized bed for the night sounded superb.
You would have requested an uber, in fact, your finger was ready to pull up the app when a friend of Naomi’s from uni had managed to squeeze in between you and Jessie. She smiled timidly when she stuck a hand out to introduce herself.
“You’re Y/N, right?”
“I am, hi,” you smiled back at her, wondering if she’d heard about you through the mutual friend grapevine or if there was an ulterior motive at play.
“Yes, she’s dating Harry Styles, no, he’s not as cool in real life,” Jessie spouted off quickly, black cocktail straw between her lips. The girl let out an embarrassed laugh but smiled at your friend before looking back to you.
“It’s so cool that you’re dating him! I love your work, too, that interview you did with him in 2018 was amazing.”
“Oh, thank you,” you forced a smile, wondering if she had anything else to say to you. She didn’t apparently, she nodded a little and offered Jessie another smile before she turned and headed back to the other girls mingling about the table.
“That’s getting old,” you muttered to Jessie, scanning the room to find where Naomi had run off.
“Well, part of the territory, no?”
You sighed, ignored her question when she turned to face you more. “Are you sure there’s nothing up? You seem weird lately.”
Her curiosity felt more genuine than it did the other day. Maybe it was the fact that your boyfriend wasn’t on the other side of the wall and the noise in the club offered more privacy.
“Just busy with work is all. Harry’s been busy, a lot going on.”
She eyed you suspiciously and sipped at her drink. “Alright,” she sighed. “I know I have a lot of opinions and don’t always know when to keep my mouth shut, but if there’s something going on you can tell me.”
You wanted to, you were desperate for advice from a friend who knew you as well as you knew yourself. But if there’d been anything you learned over the last few years, it was that this friend group struggled to keep things private and while you loved them all dearly, it was too soon to let the cat out of the bag--especially if you hadn’t even told Harry.
“M’alright,” you laughed. “But I could use a shower and a snack and honestly, the music here kind of sucks.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a loud laugh. “No shit--honestly sounds like someone gave the aux to a fourteen-year-old.”
So you managed to escape the night without having to say too much. Jessie and Bryn were happy to head out around midnight and you soon sat in the backseat of an uber on your way to Harry’s.
He was in the shower when you got home, the water shut off when you sat on the edge of his bed and toed off your boots.
“Hi,” he greeted, towel around his waist and a cloud of steam behind him when he pulled open the door. “How was Naomi’s party?”
You smiled up at him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead on his way to his dresser.
“Fine,” you sighed. “One of Naomi’s friends was obviously only talking to me because of you.”
He met your eyes in the mirror, ran a brush through his hair. “Did she say that?”
“No, but she came up to introduce herself and Jessie cut to the chase and confirmed that yes, I’m really your girlfriend.”
He rolled his eyes when you unclasped your necklace. “What?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I just--I dunno, I feel bad that it bothers you.”
“It only bothers me when it makes me feel like I can’t just be myself around people. Y’know, make friends or be normal and just talk to people.”
“And you felt like that tonight?”
“I feel like that most nights,” you replied without much thought, falling back onto his mattress and tracing shapes on the ceiling.
He let out a short and sarcastic laugh, unamused as he dropped his towel and pulled on a pair of boxers.
“What’s the laugh for?”
“I don’t want to fight tonight.”
“We’re not fighting,” you said casually, thrown off by the change in his mood. “M’just being honest.”
“How was work this week?” He changed the subject quickly, came to sit on the bed.
You bit your lip, looked up at him and offered a smile. Maybe now was as good a time as ever.
“Fine,” you sat up. “But I wanted to talk to you, actually, about my cover story.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you stood, used both hands to pull your blouse up and over your head. If you didn’t have to look at him, it’d be easier to admit. “About my subject.”
His eyebrows dipped together as if he should have remembered but forgot. You didn’t draw attention to the fact that you’d managed to leave out that detail. “Who is it again?”
You tossed your blouse onto the floor and then pushed your jeans down to your ankles, stepped out of each leg before you looked back to see him.
“Gigi Hadid.”
His eyebrows lifted, a slow nod as he took this in.
“Sometimes it changes at the last minute and Donna’s been known to switch peoples’ months and everything, so--that’s why I hadn’t told you yet.”
He let out a long sigh, now it was his turn to lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.
“Are you upset?”
“I mean, I wish it wasn’t her.”
You bit back a smile. “At least it’s not Zayn.”
He didn’t appreciate your joke.
“It’ll be awkward, though, obviously. And obviously Donna wants you to do it because of the history and the--y’know--connection.”
You stood half-naked in front of him and pushed out words you didn’t really mean. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
“No,” he waved you off, sat up now and met your gaze. “I’m happy that you’re doing it. I trust you. But please don’t let Tyler convince you to ask terrible questions.”
The corners of his mouth tugged into a smirk and he stood from the bed. He opened his arms and moved towards you, tugging you into him and then resting his chin on your hair.
“I miss you,” he said. “I know you’re here, but--dunno, haven’t seen you a lot lately.”
You knew the feeling.
join the tag list here | talk to me
tag list: @thurhomish @styles217 @ursamajor603 @mleestiles @determined-overthinker
AN: HI FRIENDS!!! I AM BACK AND OUR FRIENDS ARE BACK!!!! I'm very excited to share more about everyone's favorite friend group, which one of you recently dubbed them!!! V FLATTERED. Let me know what you think!
Warnings: This story will contain mentions of smut, angst, and workplace related-racism. Please read with caution!
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ]
When the time comes to meet up again with Niall later that week, Neelam finds that she isn’t nearly as nervous as she has been the previous few times. Maybe it’s because the last session they had together went… surprisingly well.
She’d felt lighter on her way back to her place after leaving the studio. Instead of listening to music on her journey, she decided to replay the audio from the interview that day, recording specific time stamps of notable quotes she wanted to include in the final piece. It’s still too early for her to decide how she’ll lay the piece out, but, she knows that she’ll pursue the narrative idea she told Niall about earlier.
Warnings: This story will contain mentions of smut, angst, and workplace related-racism. Please read with caution!
[ masterlist ] / [ wattpad ]
Neelam walks into the office with her head down on Monday. She’s both sluggish, and avoiding eye contact with any of her coworkers. When she’d gotten the call from Niall on Saturday night, she’d stared at her screen in shock for a few seconds — immediately recognizing his number from earlier.
And while it’d been a relief to hear that he was going to do the feature, she didn’t feel any better after they hung up the call, or when they finalized their schedule of meet-up’s the next afternoon. Because if one thing had been clear from their phone call, it was that Niall was in no way or form happy about this. He hadn’t willingly chosen to do this project and it wasn’t going to be easy.
