you loved your boyfriend. he was it for you. and not in the fleeting, butterfly way. not a crush that faded when things got difficult. no—he was the one you could scream at and argue with and then fall asleep tangled in the same sheet an hour later. the one who knew exactly how you liked your tea, exactly how to get under your skin, and exactly how to worship every inch of your body like it was the only language he spoke.
and oh, my god. he was the best sex you'd ever had. hands down. absolutely zero contest. you’d look at him and think he was very vanilla, but the way he fucked you? slow, deep, possesive—like he was trying to carve his name into your bones and remind you exactly who you belonged to. it made you feral.
so when he asked you—on camera, during a truth or drink sidemen video, the prick—“have you ever faked an orgasm with me?” and you didn’t say no like he expected you to… you picked up your shot of tequila, knocked it back, and put the glass down like you were putting a final nail in a coffin.
trust, he was good at pleasing you. the things he could do with his tongue... jesus. the man was skilled. it was just that one time. to be honest, it wasn't even his fault. you were just tired, your head wasn't in it, and you just didn't want him to feel bad. so, you faked a few shaky breaths, moaned out his name, and smiled through the guilt. and that was it. one time. forgotten.
"it was just that one time—i wasn't in the mood, y'know? stop laughing, jj." you tried to surpress your giggles because of the look on harry's face.
you thought that was the end of it. one shot. one simple, honest answer. the boys were already laughing and moving on—ethan reading the next question with a shit-eating grin, jj still laughing like he usually did.
but harry?
harry was staring. he didn't laugh. didn't even crack a smile. he sat back, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching like he was trying to solve a maths problem. his whole expression unreadable. way too quiet for harry.
the rest of the video felt long. every time he laughed, every time he smiled or chimed in, you could feel the weight of his attention still hanging off you. he didn’t say much after that, just finished the game with a casual shrug, fingers drumming on the table.
the car ride.
it was so fucking quiet. not in an awkward way. no tension between you as people—you were fine. it was fine.
but it was so quiet.
harry's eyes were on the road, hand steady on the wheel. the only sounds were the low hum of the engine, and the occasional turn signal.
but you could feel him.
feel his gaze flicker over to you at red lights. feel the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel. feel the heat simmering between you, hotter by the second.
so, you broke the silence. "what's going on in that pretty head of yours, hm? you're awfully quiet."
his knuckles tightened on the wheel. "hm? nothing. just... thinking."
"about what?" you turned your knees slightly towards him, now looking at his absolutely flawless side profile.
"you know what." his jaw clenched, a small smirk on his face.
you rolled your eyes. "haz, you're still on that? it was just a game. i don't even remember when it happ—"
he didn't look at you. "i'm just trying to figure out how i missed it."
"babe, come on. it was years ago, harry. you didn't do anything wrong. it wasn't about you. i swear." you laughed, reaching over to rub his knee as reassurement.
he looked down, and then up again. after a few moments of silence, he spoke, his voice lower. "i don't want you to feel like you have to perform with me."
"baby. it was one time. it's so insignificant that i don't even remember when it happened." you leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on his cheek.
after you reached home.
the front door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, and that was it. the match dropped.
he didn’t speak. just watched as you kicked off your shoes and turned toward him, still trying to act normal—casual—like your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest.
you opened your mouth to say something—
but he was on you.
mouth crashing to yours, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. you stumbled back into the wall with a thud, gasping against his lips, his body crowding yours, warm and solid and desperate.
"fuckin' hell, y/n," he muttered against your mouth, kissing you like he was trying to devour your soul. "i'm losing my fucking mind."
“didn’t think you’d spiral this hard,” you breathed.
his hand curled around your jaw, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "i’ve been replaying every sound you’ve made with me in my head. every fucking moan. every breath. trying to figure out which one was a lie.” his voice dropped. “you realise how mental that is?”
you swallowed, chest rising and falling fast.
he tilted your chin up. “so now i’m gonna make sure there’s no confusion.”
before you could even react, his hands reached the back of your thighs, and he picked you up in a go. a gasp slipped from your lips as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the pressure of his hard-on pressing firmly against your core through the thin barrier of your clothes. the contact drew a soft whimper from your throat—needy and unfiltered.
harry smirked against your skin. "that all for me, love?" he murmured, his voice rough as his mouth found your neck for the millionth time.
you just whined in response and grabbed his hair, latching your lips onto his again. he chuckled lowly, and carried you to the bedroom door, throwing it open.
he kicked the door shut behind him with a thud that echoed, not that either of you noticed—too lost in the haze of each other, barely making it two steps before tossing you onto the mattress like you weighed nothing. you bounced once, breath catching as you pushed yourself up on your elbows.
he climbed on top of you, hovering for a moment as he tried to take in your presence, his fingers trailing under the hem of your top.
that's it. you couldn't take it anymore.
"goddamn it, harry." you surged up and yanked his shirt over his head in one go, fingers fumbling in your haste, lips catching his halfway through. it was teeth and tongue and heat, and all of it tinged with frustration.
"a little bit impatient there, huh?" he laughed as he tugged your top over your head and tossed it somewhere behind him, already reaching for your jeans.
“can you blame me?” you huffed, breath shaky as you wriggled out of them, your hands everywhere—his neck, his shoulders, everywhere. "you've been staring at me with bedroom eyes all day long, bruv."
harry laughed under his breath—low and rough—as he popped the button of your jeans and slid them down—along with your underwear— in one swift movement, eyes trailing down the length of you like he hadn’t seen you naked a thousand times before.
you bit your lip, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering down for a moment before dragging back up to meet his. your hands moved slowly to his belt, fingers slipping beneath the leather and tugging with careful urgency—like you couldn’t bear another second but also wanted to savour it.
you pulled it free in one smooth motion, letting it drop off the side of the bed with a soft thud. your fingers didn’t falter—next came the button of his jeans, the slow drag of the zip. you felt him twitch beneath your touch, felt the tension ripple through his abdomen.
“you’re killing me, babe,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, as he watched your hands work.
“good,” you whispered, slipping your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and sliding everything down in one go. he kicked them off without looking, never taking his eyes off you.
there he was: all of him, exposed to you, his cock thick and flushed, already dripping with need. your breath hitched in your throat, eyes tracing over every inch of him. the way his muscles tightened under his skin, the deep v of his hips leading to his hard length. It was almost too much.
you reached out, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling the heat of him in your hand. you could feel the veins throbbing beneath your touch, his length heavy and solid in your palm. "please fuck me," you whimpered.
he let out a ragged breath, his hands immediately grabbing at your legs, pulling you to him as he knelt between your thighs. and just like that, he leaned forward, pushing your legs apart as he aligned himself with your entrance. his eyes flickered to yours, a silent question. you nodded, breathless, barely able to form a sentence.
harry didn’t need another word. he sank into you in one deliberate thrust, his cock filling you, stretching you in the best possible way. you gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, and he groaned in response, his hand sliding to your hip to hold you in place.
jesus, even after years of being together, you were still caught off guard by his size every single time. “god,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, as he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to him. “you feel fucking perfect.”
harry didn’t waste another moment. he withdrew slightly, then slammed back into you with force, making you gasp as your body jolted from the impact. his pace was immediate, fast, relentless—he wasn’t holding back. every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
you moaned out his name as your hands scrambled for purchase on his back, digging your nails into his skin. you gasped as you tried to meet each of his thrusts, your body working in perfect sync with his. there was no gentleness in this; there didn’t need to be. after all these years, neither of you held back anymore.
he gripped your legs tighter, pushing them up and apart to get even deeper, his hips snapping against yours with brutal force. every thrust hit you at the perfect angle, his cock filling you so completely that you could barely breathe. "oh my god, harry!"
you gasped, hips bucking as the familiar pressure started to build again in your core. the pace didn’t slow—if anything, harry pushed harder, faster, making sure you didn’t have time to catch your breath. his hands were everywhere—on your hips, your chest, your throat—as he fucked you like he owned you.
you felt your orgasm rise up, sudden and overwhelming. the sensation spread through every inch of you, every nerve firing at once as you came hard around him, screaming his name as you tightened around his cock. your whole body trembled, the force of it making your vision blur for a moment.
but harry didn’t stop. he was relentless, chasing his own high now, his pace never wavering as he fucked you through your orgasm. the tension was unbearable, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he thrust into you with a final, deep stroke, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, his release spilling deep, filling you completely.
you both collapsed in the aftershocks of your highs, your body limp and trembling beneath him, as he kissed your neck, his breath ragged.
"oh my god," you heaved, recovering from your orgasm.
"oh love, we're not done."
summary: harry just can't seem to say no when it comes to his little girl, especially when she's taken his pestering and temper.
warnings: mentions of baby teething, not proofread!
notes: had to pull out the prompt list for this one 😭 anyways babygirl finally has a name thanks to the beautiful anon who recommended it :))
darcy had recently began teething and it was an absolute mare. you and harry were up later than usual trying to get her to sleep or soothing her pain, and nothing seemed to be working. one of the few things that did work was letting her lay skin to skin on harry's chest until she fell asleep.
however a problem with that was that darcy was a biter. as in anything remotely near her mouth would feel the consequences of her not-yet-there teeth.
harry was taking the brunt of it, his skin littered in little marks from when he'd hold her close to him and she'd just grab at whatever was closest to her. and in response, harry would yelp or cuss, hoping she was still in that phase where she didn't yet understand words enough to repeat them back.
with you on the other hand, darcy was much more gentle. she'd only give you a nibble here and there if your fingers were close to her mouth, somehow being able to sense that the look you were giving her wasn't one of approval.
also, unlike harry you actually utilised the teething toys that were gifted to you two at your baby shower, so darcy was pretty much preoccupied with chewing on something else other than you.
today was a pretty regular day for your small family; harry wasn't filming with the boys and you were still on maternity leave with no plans for the day. deciding to use it as a means to go for a big shop later on, you and harry made a start early on in the day.
"did you make her bottle or should i?" harry mumbled as his arms wrapped around your body, tucked in comfortably right behind you as you made yourself a cup of tea.
"that's alright, love, i already did it," smiling at this soft kisses he left along your neck and on your cheek. "is she up yet?"
harry nodded, telling you that darcy was having a bit of tummy time in the sitting room. and as you looked over, you couldn't help but laugh at the makeshift fort harry had made our of pillows to make sure nothing happened to darcy.
he allowed you to finish your tea, opting to get darcy dressed for the day.
"how the fuck does this go on?" harry mumbled to himself, fiddling with the button on darcy's blouse. he really didn't know why kids clothes had to be almost as complicated as adult clothes.
darcy babbled on to herself as harry slid on her socks, making random noises as harry entertained her too, pretending they were having a conversation of their own.
as he picked her up off of the bed, harry looked through his wardrobe in search of his own outfit for the day.
darcy's head lay on her dad's shoulder poking around at his skin before she stopped briefly.
next thing harry knew, her sharp gums were sinking into his bare shoulder.
"ow─── darc!" he groaned, mismatching her smile and refusal to release his shoulder.
maybe that was harry's fault for not wearing a shirt.
"i told you to wear a shirt around her," you couldn't hold in your laugh as you walked in, taking your daughter from her father's arms and wiping over the baby pink mark that she left on him.
"i didn't know she was gonna fucking bite me at every chance," harry huffed, kissing your lips before leaving to get changed himself.
"you," you said, tickling darcy's tummy and hearing her bright laugh. "need to stop biting your daddy."
it turns out you and harry didn't actually pick a place to shop at. usually you'd go to tesco, sometimes asda or costco. but since you didn't plan which of them to go to, harry ended up driving to tesco.
ever since you gave birth, he'd been offering to drive you around a lot more, slotting away from his preferred role of passenger princess. and you weren't complaining, not one bit.
so as you opened up the makeshift shopping list on your notes, harry sat darcy in the kids's seat of the trolley and began to push her.
shopping with harry usually consisted of him grabbing random things and claiming they were needed, whereas you were more organised and actually took note of what you did and didn't have at home.
now with a little one, it was like harry's role had been multiplied by two. whenever she could reach out for something, darcy would make a show of clinging onto it with her little hands until you and harry had no choice but to take it with you to the till.
as you picked out two boxes of cereal, harry was entertaining darcy, who seemed nothing short of unamused. she watched as her dad poked and prodded gently at her, waiting for a smile to decorate her face.
"what's gotten into you, hm?" he frowned, stroking her cheek with his finger, momentarily forgetting his daughter was teething.
"darc, you've gotta stop biting me," harry whimpered, pulling his finger away from her grip. he looked over at you with a frown, cradling his finger but you were to immersed in the food shoo to realise.
you continued to scroll through the aisles, harry and darcy following right behind you. every now and then you'd turn to harry, holding up and item and he'd either nod yes or shake his head no.
it went on like that for a few moments until darcy grew a little agitated with sitting still for too long. just harry's luck, you guys were near the baby aisle, so he took darcy down there in hopes of finding something to distract her for a little bit.
a small teething toy caught his eye, and actually made him let out a sigh of relief, as if darcy would be able to take it out on the toy now and not on him.
"here you go," he smiled, letting her hold on to it. he wasn't sure if you two would end up buying it or not, so he kept it in its packaging, hoping she'd find some entertainment in just looking at it.
and that she did; she was quiet for the rest of the shop aside from the occasional babble and giggle she let out.
now at the till, harry helped you unload the shopping, and it was then that you noticed the nee toy darcy had. "really, harry?" you held in a laugh.
"what?"
"she's got like ten of those already, and some are in her bag," you gestured to darcy's baby essential bag that you brought with you.
harry glanced down at the bag, then back at you, shrugging as he continued to unload the shopping. "one more won't hurt."
harry was such a girl dad, he couldn't ever bring himself to say no to her. quite like he was with you sometimes.
you rolled your eyes, attempting to take the toy away from darcy to place on the till with the rest of the stuff. "darcy, babe, i'm just going to pay for it," you laughed at her super strong grip, and the frown that replaced her smile, similar to how harry looked when he was moping about.
she shook her head, trying to hide the the toy close to her chest. she looked over at harry with those huge eyes of hers, expecting him to intervene.
and that he did. he let you unpack the small amount of items still in the trolley as he picked darcy out of it, kissing all over her face to distract her from the fact that the toy was no longer in her hands, but instead on the conveyor belt.
but darcy didn't seem to notice. instead, both her small hands were on either side of harry's face, squishing and poking as she smiled and babbled to him.
you didn't know how he did it, it was as if he was just meant to understand her better than you. you didn't mind though, it meant that harry was the one who got the end of darcy's little tantrums instead of you.
when it came to pay for the items, harry reached over and tapped his phone on the card machine, ignoring the glare you were giving him as you collected the receipt.
"you thought you almost got away with it," he laughed, knowing that no matter what, he'd always pay if you were with him.
he helped you but the bags back in the trolley, darcy safely in his hold as you walked back to the car.
when she was buckled in, harry handed her the toy that she surely forgot all about, kissing her forehead. "now you can stop biting me," he smiled, going back to the driver's side.
you smiled at your daughter through the mirror, matching that smile to harry's when he put his seatbelt on.
"why're you looking all soppy, then?"
"nothing," you rolled your eyes, smile still on your face. "just happy, is all."
Summary: while playing pub golf with the boys someone tries to flirt with you, that leads Harry to become quite jealous.
a/n: hello my babies! Here’s the request🫶🏼. I know that Harry isn’t great with confrontation so there isn’t much of that in this. I hope you enjoy!!🤗💗
Liked by chrismd, faithloisak and 432,908 others
y/username: so much beer
Tagged: @wroetoshaw @chrismd
-comments-
wroetoshaw: rethinking my life decisions in that second pic
georgeclarkey: I so drunkk rn🍻
-> chrismd: we can tell mate
y/nfanpage21: uhm that outfit❤️🔥
user96813305: I love this post sm😭🫶🏼
Tonight me, Harry, Chris and George are playing pub golf. Some others were going to join us but they cancelled lat minute so it's just us four. I got ready and we left our apartment at seven o'clock. George and Chris were already in the taxi when we got in and it took us to the first pub.
After quite a few drinks and travelling to three different pubs we were all on pretty much the same points. I was quite drunk but Harry seemed to remain just slightly tipsy. As we entered our fourth bar I spotted a pool table. "Oh my god! We should play, yeah let's play. Come on!" I dragged Harry over to the table by his wrist and the other boys followed close behind.
Just as we began playing a group of a few guys walked up to us and watched as I completely missed the white ball. Harry chuckled. "Do you need help darlin'?" One of the men asked, coming towards me. Since I was so drunk I didn't even think about the fact he was most likely flirting so I agreed.
Harry quickly glanced at the boys and then back to the man who now stood beside me, his hands on mine, helping me to push the ball into the net. A large smile spread across my face as I cheered in excitement.
I glanced over to Harry and immediately my smile fell from my face. He looked at me with clenched teeth as his jaw ticked, eyes boring into mine.
The entire vibe changed. Harry didn't move. Chris and George walked up to the guy and told him firmly to "back off mate." I stepped towards Harry, my arm reaching out for him but he stepped back and made a b-line for the pub door. Suddenly I felt very sober as I looked back to the boys, they just sighed.
I followed after Harry and found him leaning against the brick wall. He didn't look at me. "I'm sorry." I told him quietly. He didn't move. It was painfully quiet, the only sounds being drunk people walking around and the odd car driving by. "I would never- you know I-" "I think we should talk tomorrow. I need sleep." He interrupted me, pushing himself off the wall.
We left in a taxi not long after and I text the boys informing them that we were going home. We didn't say a word to each other until we got inside our apartment. Harry took his shirt off then lay on the couch, grabbing the blanket that rested on the back of the sofa and placing it over himself.
"You're not coming to bed?" I asked. "No." He said plainly. I slowly took in a shaky breath then went to bed myself, deciding not to push him any further.
The next morning I woke with a banging headache. I shuffled into the kitchen but stopped in my tracks when I saw Harry sat on the couch scrolling through his phone. Suddenly last night's events flooded my mind.
I walked over to the couch and sat down. He glanced at me. "You know I'd never cheat on you. I love you more than anything. I was really drunk last night and wasn't thinking about the fact that guy was flirting. I'm sorry Harry." I sincerely apologised. He put his phone down and moved all of his attention to me.
"I know. It just really pissed me off. The way that- dick looked at you I-" his eyes flashed with anger then closed as he calmed himself down. I nodded. "I can't lose you." He whispered. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I pulled him into a tight hug and he held onto me as if I was going to disappear "You won't. I promise."
summary: an episode of the sidemen documentary follows harry around his day to day life with you. [12.3k words.]
pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)
notes: longly anticipated!! i’m so happy it’s done and i’m excited to share it with you!! (i’m so nervous and feel like it’s going to disappoint 😃) hopefully it lives up to your expectations!!!! it was so cute to write and soo long to edit i got a bit lazy so hopefully there isn’t too many mistakes. mentions breakup era. pleaseeee let me know what you think and let me know your favourite moments! much love, don’t forget to reblog! <333
TWO MONTHS.
Two months of lights, cameras, and lack of privacy, eight whole weeks of cameras following you, or in particular, your boyfriend, around.
The Sidemen documentary was coming . . . and you knew your boyfriend was dreading it.
“I don’t like this . . never catch a break from these . . bastard cameras,” you made eye-contact as he was mic’d up, your first official day of filming playing in front of you.
You laughed at his attitude, getting mic’d up yourself with cameras already rolling, you snapped the film clapper closed making him jump, “smile! you’re on camera baby!”
As far as you were aware, each of the boys were getting an episode each containing an hour and a half long of footage of them in their natural habitats, showing what they got up to off-camera, how they behaved off-camera, their home life with loved ones, hanging with friends, staying with family, and sometimes, getting up to no good.
Harry was someone who of course cherished his privacy greatly, dropping social media and cameras whenever he could outside work, he was a live-in-the-moment man with no desire to post everywhere he went and everything he did — so the boys agreeing to this idea was against his own will, and he had no choice but to agree to it when the other six signed the agreement, loving the idea of getting their own reality show, different from the last which just showed the making of the group.
For eight weeks, the boys all had their own camera crew, nothing too OTT as a big professional team most likely took away from the moment and made the whole ordeal less natural, so most camera footage came from ones placed around their homes, with just a couple days a week, a pair following them around if the occasion required them too. They’d then have extra footage to throw all together, jumping from one boy to the other to see what they got up to, already one episode complete with the amount of footage they’d gathered from them all working and hanging together in London.
You couldn’t lie, you were pretty stoked.
You felt like the Kardashians, hoping to get your moment and show everyone just how loveable you were, how you, dare say, could be funnier than your man, and more importantly, were not the heartless cow the little boys following them made you out to be.
You supposed you were excited because you got to show everyone why Harry picked you, why he liked you, and just how well you went together. You wanted to show them how much you loved him, and effortlessly.
Harry and the boys had spoken on how far they agreed to get into it, how deep they would dive into areas and share even more of their lives with the world, and according to him, they were willing to spill most, taking in the fact they didn’t have much . . dirty areas of their lives to uncover. Ethan may have some younger day recollections he may sugar coat, and JJ might not go too overboard on those first paycheck days but Harry felt like his was different than the rest – stuff he wasn’t sure about sharing fully that people probably knew about anyway, most revolving around you . . and the timeframe you split ways.
On one hand, he wanted to say fuck off, it’s nothing to do with anyone, but on the other, he felt like it was a dirty secret he’d have to live with forever, not knowing if telling everyone would make him feel lighter, and he felt like he owed it to you.
You did feel bad for him, but he was in control of what he wanted to share, and you wouldn’t dare say anything he didn’t want you sharing, so you didn’t get the point in it, “it’s your show, you show what you want to show,” you’d told him the day before, “you know I don’t care.”
Not that it mattered, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be in it much, it was Harry’s episode afterall, not yours.
“Do I share these?” he pulled out the massive photobook thrown carelessly in a box under his bed, busting with photos of just the two of you from 2014 to 2018.
The documentary was based around these boys from YouTube, from social media, of course there was gonna be hundreds of clips and photos imported. Just last night, JJ had sent in a snapchat from 2017 he’d said he’d sent to the crew to include on his episode, sending the boys into hysterics of laughter.
You also had the fun job of getting to pick what songs you wanted over some footage, Harry allowing you to do that job as he said you were best at picking songs that fit the moment, so you’d started a list already of 30 songs they could put over your fun, chill moments to add to the carefree vibe. You didn’t think there’d be much heavy songs for Harry’s segment. “Yeah . . just do it.”
I suppose you didn’t have issue with sharing those moments because they only worked in your favor, and it just showed Harry’s . . humane side, I suppose.
Plus, they were still only seeing a fraction of the memories you created together, but it was Harry’s call, and you just wanted to reassure him it wasn’t the biggest deal.
“Why? ‘Cause you look good in them and I don’t?”
“Shut up, man,” you’d rolled your eyes playfully, “you were the internet’s crush back then.”
A lot of footage had been captured back in London and although you appeared in scenes, mostly around the house, it was casual conversation and moments between you, nothing personal or intimate.
Today, you were back in Guernsey and Harry’s family were in the middle of saying their piece in the series:
“As his mother, can you tell us what he was like in school?”
“Did you ever think he’d end up in this type of career?”
“Do you think he’s good at what he does?”
Talking about his upbringing, what he was like as a kid, how he is as a brother, what they thought he’d grow up to be, they liked getting to have their say without Harry interjecting, sitting in a room without him barging in to tell them not to do him dirty with their stories. Big things that played a great part in his life, that made him . . him, of course they had to be discussed.
“Can you tell us what he’s like as a boyfriend, do you think he’s a good partner to y/n?”
Harry’s mum looked around to make sure he wasn’t about before continuing to speak, “—dying about her,” she breathed exaggeratedly, shaking her head, “absolutely dying about her.”
Cameras followed you a lot more than usual that week, capturing clips of you doing the most normal of things, standing by the sink, making a cup of tea, playing with Herb on the floor. It cut to you leaning on the counter, arms folded as you watched Harry faff about for something in his suitcase alongside his mother, watching him get worked up while you stood and watched humorously.
“He . .” she couldn’t explain it, “he honestly — i can’t imagine him with anyone else . . . i can’t visualise them with anyone other than each other, they just fit, I just . . .” she shook her head again, “i just can't imagine another girl sticking him that long - putting up with him the way she does. Nobody will compliment him as well as she does - in the way that she does.”
Everywhere began to play as your photos began to pop up, a small edit of a stack appearing on top of the other, photos from the year you got together until the most recent ones of this year, ones of you in different countries, different events, dressed casually on vacation or smart for a wedding.
“Think they began dating in 2014?” she guessed, “not that he was telling anybody, he was very hush hush as you can imagine . .” she rolled her eyes, more old pictures appearing of the two of you from that year, a fluffy-haired teenage Harry smiling in multiple pics with a fresh-faced girl, full of youth with her full rosy cheeks and bright eyes, wrinkle-free with her signature messy ponytail and frizzy flyaways. A lot of your photos were taken in secret places, from cars when you used to only go out at nights or his room during the day when no-one was home in his house, your aesthetics and styles extremely different from how they were now.
You’d forgotten Jack Wills existed until you saw those photos.
“Never used to let anyone even look at her, you weren’t allowed to speak to her when he brought her home,” Rosie said her bit from the seat in the sofa, “just used to rush up the stairs before we could get the chance to. And I hated him for that ‘cause I was the most excited, I was waiting for the day I got a girl in the family, you know?I wasn’t even 15, I was buzzing at the idea of this person being able to . . be like a big sister to me? I think most girls have that dream of being besties with your brother’s girlfriend, them treating you like you’re older than you are and treating you like a friend rather than a kid.”
It cut to a clip of you curling Rosie’s hair, then another taking pictures of her at the front door, and another of you laughing about something on your phone with glasses of rosé. You could say she got that sister dynamic she always wanted.
“ ♪ Feel the rain on your skin! No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in! No one else! No one else can speak the words on your lips!—”
You were driving and she was next to you, belting out the words alongside each other while the sun blazed down, dancing with your arms and hands. She was a friend for life.
“Your brother is being a massive dickhead right now, I’m going to kill him when I see him,” it cut to another of you being able to vent to her, biting your knuckle in the passenger seat as she drove you both in her car, nodding whilst checking her blind spot, “yeah, he’s a prick,” she agreed, not even knowing what wrong he’d done.
“—she’s known me since I was 14, she came into my life when I was at that age you kind of distance yourself from your family, you think you’re more grown up that you are and you’re going through changes and you feel alone - she is exactly what every young girl needs at that time, she was a very . . safe space for me and she’ll always be a safe place for me.”
Few images appeared of you both, a lot when Rosie was just a girl when you tagged along on their family holidays and she somehow managed to get Harry out of his room for you two to bond and mess about, taking pictures and helping her with her hair and makeup to take selfies on your phone that was much cooler than hers - not forgetting the trendy filters at the time.
“Harry is very . . .” Rosie struggled to explain her thought process, “he’s a good boyfriend to sum it up, he is very good to her as she is to him, they’re very settled together, but like . .” she was leaning back in the chair, playing with her ponytail in thought, considering she didn’t know a lot of sides of her brother, she could only base her knowledge on her experience around them, and him at certain points in his life, “I think if you knew Harry before y/n . . and when they weren’t together, you wouldn’t expect him to be the boyfriend type? Not in that sense, but like, my brother is so laid back and careless about . . a lot of things, including people.”
It cut to him walking around the kitchen, eating something from his hand as her voice played over, “he’s a dickhead a lot of the time. He can’t do dating. He can’t do high maintenance, granted - he does if y/n requires it,” she giggled, “but he hates people, hates socialisation and meeting new people, he can’t do it,” she almost laughed, not painting her brother the best, “he doesn’t care about stuff like that, he doesn’t have an opinion on marriage, he doesn’t care to have kids ‘til he’s like 40. I think he can be viewed as a very selfish person which I do get, like he wants to live his life and that’s it, which is why I think if you didn’t see him with y/n you would think . . he’d be awful to a girlfriend? Very self-absorbed, not very attentive . . doesn’t care what she gets up to . . . really only cares about himself, like, wouldn’t take a great lot of pride in an other half, like they’d kind of just be someone for him to have when he comes home like . . a convenience I guess?”
Him walking around his kitchen panned out to him approaching you by the island, looking down at the recipe you and his mum were going to make, he appeared behind you, violating your personal space, head almost in your neck as he peered down, still chewing on whatever, and your hand subconsciously slipped into his to take a bit of whatever he was eating as you both observed the page below you, chewing obnoxiously.
“But he worships her. He is a very different person when he’s not with her.”
“—What are you doing you donny?! ‘Av just - what you doin’!!!”
“What?!!!”
“Stop!!!” He pushed you away from the sink.
“I’m putting it in the sink!!!”
“No!! Don’t!!!”
“They are . . a very secure couple.”
It cut to you both standing amongst your friend group, standing the same, swaying side to side, and then smirking at the comment made by a friend before looking at each other knowingly.
“They just make it work.”
You both sat on the sofa, one at each end, your legs over him, his hand massaging your socked foot, your eyes glued to the movie on the TV while his stuck to his phone he had propped up on the arm of the chair to watch the football game. “Effortlessly.”
And then it was Harry in the chair, that look on his face that showed he was not nervous or angry to be doing this bit but . . had been putting it off. “So how did it start?”
He slowly broke out into a smile, eyes closing at the famous question.
The date ran back to 2014, footage showing the old school building and other places around Guernsey you could always be caught at growing up. “Basically we knew each other from school . . that’s where we knew of each other, nothing major. We didn’t speak or anything, just had classes or whatever . .” he sat with his fingers hooked, head low in thought as he sat with his legs spread, trying to think, “she didn’t even like me, she’ll tell you.”
Photos and videos of Harry in his school uniform appeared, of him in class and with friends and of course, that god-annoying video of him trying to be funny by running headfirst at a wall in a changing room. “I was an annoying kid. I was as I am today, probably worse,” he evidently cringed. “Y/n hated school as it was, all her friends left, she didn’t enjoy it very much, she was pretty . . Wednesday Adams coded,” he laughed taking the piss out of you and your heartless youth, “didn’t give a fuck if the person sat beside her in maths died, y’know—”
A pair of socks hit him as he shielded himself with his arms, laughing at your attack and scolding, “now take that back! That’s not true!—”
Photos of you appeared on the screen, taken by old friends who helped get you through the rest of school at the time, sat in class with always a nonchalant judgmental look on your face, an expressionless one in your shirt and tie or one of you sticking your middle fingers up by the front desk as your teacher had their back turnt, taking wayyy too long to find their glasses to read your paper. You were as pretty back then as you were now, having the flex of not having horrifically ugly photos from school, you’d always had your bold features and a natural face, hair always in a messy ponytail. Anyone who saw you knew you wouldn't have been the popular it girl at school, but you were unofficially crowned the prettiest girl in the school by everybody, you were just too . . scary to be the obvious highschool crush . . and as effeminate as her, I guess.
“So we did know of each other beforehand, never interacted though—”
“Did you fancy her?”
Harry dramatically sighed and groaned, rolling his eyes as he fell back in his chair, feeling like the piss was being taken out of him but he didn’t say no to the question. It cut to him sitting up and whispering after you’d gone, rushing a little, “i feel like everyone had this unspoken crush on y/n but we never acted on it ‘cause she had this weird vibe she didn’t give a shit about you, so . .” he quickly explained, “not that you’d tell her that ‘cause she could do without the ego boost, y’know?”
He explained how it basically started over a text he’d sent, not even officially shooting his shot but something that required you to come to his house after you’d spotted each other in a shop a year after you’d both left school. “I saw her when I was out with my mum . . and I think I text her on Instagram or Facebook for something — ‘cause I’d never text her on my own accord, I wasn’t that ballsy,” he cringed again, explaining smoothly, “was I what? Seventeen? NO! Wait! Y/n, weren't I 17?” He asked off camera.
“—16? Think we were 17 that year, no?”
“16?” He questioned, leaning back in his chair. “Fucking hell, was I 16?” He began to laugh, waiting for the crew to work it out, which was right, he wasn’t 17 until that November. “Fuck me, any wonder my mates thought I was a fuckin’ weirdo.”
Jeez.
“Anyway, shoppin’ – we got to talk for a bit and then . . I dunno, we just bumped into each other after that, we always saw each other on nights out and then . . I dunno, I somehow did get the balls to–to ask her to go out with me,” he looked oddly at the camera, “something like that, there’s no proper timeline, it just . . just felt like it happened. It did just happen,” he licked his lip in thought, “one minute she was this girl from school who hated everyone and definitely hated me . . and the next I–I was sat across from her at dinner and going to festivals over the summer and,” he scratched his nose, “ . . . and now I can’t get fucking rid of her!” he threw himself into the sofa in a fake cry, covering his eyes in a distressed manner.
Clips appeared, captured by friends and camera crew, of you both in your unusual couple state of hidden moments of affection and intimacy, like Faith who’d zoomed in on you both talking to each other in your tipsy manners, dressed elegantly for Vik’s wedding, Harry’s hand pulling you into him and not so discreetly dropping to your ass, his evidently drunk smile on his face, eyes creasing as you both snickered together over something funny — not forgetting the caption ‘GET OFF MY WIFE!!!!!!’
Another was a video from your snap memories, the pair of you in bed, Harry’s head under your arm while the other curled under his neck, cradling him at your chest with your thumb stroking downwards from his cheekbone while he, was evidently, rough from his night out, but clearly not suffering too bad with your touch.
And another was from Freezy when it was 2:00AM in Ibiza one year, and an 18-year-old Harry carried you up 5 flights of stairs bridal style in your bikini, after you’d conked out at an after-after-party.
“Most people at that age don’t really want a relationship but . .” he shrugged, “i did. With her.”
A snapchat of you both at 16, running down the paths of Guernsey to his house at 12:00AM in the dark featured, the camera flying around you could hardly hear anything, just laughing ‘cause you were partly scared, and he made it worse by screaming behind you to scare you, which did, ‘cause you screamed back.
And then another of you in his room at his first house, baby faces talking to the camera in his bed, the caption saying something about getting him to watch love island with you.
“—he surprised me, getting into a relationship that young and I did have my doubts . . you know, he’s your average lad, he’s young and he’s making more money than . . anyone at that age for a start,” his dad laughed from his seat, “but . . you know, these boys trips, parties, moving to a different city — they never changed his mind. He’s never been — I don’t even think he had a—a celebrity crush or . . .”
Videos from Christmas of you all sitting at the kitchen table at night, sipping over glasses of Bailey’s and munching on crisps and pretzels with a board game played on the screen. You and Harry were in partnership, and you were tucked right into his side, chewing on your crisps whilst you both drunkly observed the cards in your hands, and then you moved to the left to show his Nan, who hadn’t been playing the game but was helping you out more than Josh and his dad agreed with.
And then the next was another video in the club, quite a suffocating club you could remember, and in the world of the prettiest of girls with their killer bodies, dazzling wardrobes and sexy dance moves they were currently showing off - you were being filmed with your dweeb boyfriend and his chicken-neck dance moves with sunglasses on, your friends laughs, but you too, in your sexy little two piece were mimicking his dance moves, smiling idiotically at each other like you were the only two in the club, ignorant to everyone around you trying to intervene.
“Did you ever think you’d last this long?”
And then it was your turn.
You sat on the sofa, smiling at the lens and thought about your answer.
First, you had to introduce yourself in his story.
“I’ve been with Harry for almost 10 years, we went to the same school although I didn’t like him as much as I would have, had I got to know him . .”
“—perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover,” the camera zoomed out on you to fling to Harry interrupting, waving his finger at you.
“—well no because you were still really annoying,” you looked at him, fighting to roll your eyes. “We didn’t start going out until we’d left, I was seventeen? I think?”
My girl played over old pictures of a 16-year-old you, your old instagram selfies and school pics taken just before Harry entered your life - before London took over your feed and your social life went from 0 to 100.
The clip cut to you in your house, standing with Harry in the living room with your mum around the corner in the kitchen. Two suitcases lay on the floor, open and overflowing with clothes that needed sorting, trying to sacrifice what was coming home with you and what was staying.
“I’m getting flashbacks,” the woman started, circling the mess on her floor.
You snickered a little, knowing what she was getting at, and found it the perfect subject to focus on whilst the film crew were in your home. “What was that like, like did you not want to kill me.”
“Kill you?! I could’ve trailed you around this whole island and broke my frying pan across you head when you told me!”
Harry secretly laughed too, sharing a glance with you leaning on the fireplace. “I—to be fair, I’d have killed me too.”
“You didn’t get it at the time and you said you knew where I was coming from but you’ll never get where i’m coming from ‘til one day your teenage daughter tells you she’s moving to London —LONDON— with her boyfriend –BOYFRIEND OF BLOODY FIVE MONTHS!—”
“—six months.”
“–shut up,” she threw a t-shirt carelessly behind her to hit the boy, “either way, don’t come crying to me when your child pulls a stunt like that, goodness sake. The balls you had to tell me, not even ask, to tell me—”
You laughed at her, and she laughed too telling the story, but you knew at the time she did probably want to kill you all jokes aside. Call it your biggest rebellion move but hey . . it paid off.
“Were you just scared for me?”
“Of course I was scared but . . I was more scared you were,” she let out a huff, folding a pair of jeans, “diving head first, it was so fast. What if you were dropped sooner than expected and . . I don’t know. You just think of these things when your parent, you always assume the worst! I love you Harry but I had to be prepared incase you broke up with her and I had to fly over and beat you up for making a fool of her and embarrassing her like that!”
“— ♪ heartbreak is one thing, my ego’s another, I beg you don’t embarrass me, motherfucker,” you danced in the kitchen to the song, hand gripping your boy’s arm while the other hung around his neck, waving your finger warningly and poking his chest like there was some truth in the lyrics.
You sister stood in the back too, half-smirking at the discreet telling off you were giving although it seemed like a cutesy little joke.
No, there was truth in the lyrics.
“I wanted to kill you because you aren’t usually that stupid and thick, but you thought this was the brightest idea ever and your little plan sounded clever . . . you didn’t think ahead or take in any ‘what-ifs’, your mind was made up already! No point in arguing with you, you were going whether I said yes or no,” she ranted. “Can’t keep you apart for five minutes!”
“Did you think you’d ever last this long?”
You swayed on your chair, facing the lens in your face and made a face, “. . not at all, no.”
Videos of your first apartment in London began to play and it brought all the nostalgic feels: regular videos of you and Harry appearing in the back of Freezy’s recording or you giving a haul of clothes in your first bedroom; videos that Lux had taken of you passed out on the sofa by 9:00PM after a night out made you laugh but it was the view of the city lit up that stole the show. “Since I was young, I used to hate people my age getting into relationships because I knew it was a waste of time and they got really dramatic about it. When they were together barely a year and acting like a married couple it used to bore me. How do you not realise you are both 17 and are not going to end up together? It just doesn’t work, it’s a normal thing like you’re still so immature at that age and you shouldn’t really settle — so I didn’t count myself any different,” you explained. “I knew I loved Harry and I really did want it to last a long time but mentally I did give it a year in my head ‘til he fucked off and left me for someone else,” you shrugged, “th—that’s just how I thought, I knew he had money, he was young, he was good-looking and girls really fucking fancied him - I wouldn’t have blamed him for tapping out I mean yeah, I would have been heartbroken and I’d probably hate him but as well like, I was being honest with myself, I was 17, I knew it wasn’t that deep. I knew he might not be the one for me.”
Harry playing with Herb took the screen and you sat in the back, watching the dog get hyper, wagging his tail and scraping the floor with his nails.
“Especially with the friend group, like, they used to joke and say he was getting girls and all that in front of me to wind me up but deep down I genuinely expected something to come from them. I think 8 months into dating Harry it must have been like . . . Ayia Napa or Ibiza? He was on a proper lad’s holiday, and I had like, fully accepted my fate. He was going to cheat on me, he was going to break it off - I was fully prepared – I was ready. I was like ‘this is where it ends ‘cause if he’s going to cheat on me, it’s going to be on that holiday, in Ayia Napa, surrounded by his mates who will be egging him on—’”
“Are you home my darlin’?!” keys slid across the counter as Harry kicked the door closed, making eye-contact with the camera in their kitchen and immediately cringed, regretting the pet name.
“—yep! I’m in the room!”
“But he was the one,” you sighed dreamily, visibly warmed, but you did bang your head on the wall, leaning too far back and grabbed your head.
“Ok, see you later, love you.”
“See ya.”
“Love you.”
You continued to the door.
“LOVE YOU!”
“See you later?!”
“LOVE YOU!!!”
You opened the door and proceeded to close it, biting your tongue as you heard a thump of footsteps before Harry’s head poked out from the living room and look at you like you’d grown 20 heads. “Did you not hear me?!”
“What?!” You played dumb.
“I’VE SAID ‘LOVE YOU’ ABOUT 80 FUCKING TIMES!”
“Love you?!” You said back passive-aggressively, trying not to break, and it was even harder when his face fell and formed into a genuine offended and slightly irritated look.
“Are you fucking serious?”
You laughed then, not able to to stay serious as he walked over in his socks and messy hair, phone in hand, you had to lean on the door frame as you cackled. This was exactly how you expected him to go. “I’m joking!” you walked back to him.
“Are you?!” He sassed.
“Yes!” you chuckled, wrapping an arm around his neck, “I heard you, I was just doing it for the cameras,” you laughed, pointing to the one filming you in the hallway, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry,i love you,” you kissed him and his bitchy face, “i’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, just as well,” he grumbled.
“I’ve known Harry since he was a literal kid, bro. Just before he turned 18, we were hanging out, agreed to be roommates, ready to be his brother over in London town,” Calfreezy crossed his leg over the other in the sitting room of the apartment, fingers crossed in concentration, “I brought that guy to his first big nightclub, lads holiday, showed him all the big boy places he could spend his money – y/n if you’re watching, i am not to blame for his gambling habits,” he ruled out, “and he loves it man, it’s Harry bro, he loves a night out and a drink and a good time with friends — but my guy has no interest in girls. Not one inkling and I know it sounds silly ‘cause he’s been cuffed since forever but genuinely like — any other guy that age with that kinda money and attention from girls — he just had this thing – he’s — I mean he doesn’t fucking like anybody! Let us not forget! He doesn’t like people to begin with but . . I think as a longtime friend of his, I’ve seen him go through a lot of phases but the loyalty and . . I think the pure dedication and commitment — I mean this guy - the guy would almost make you think he’s disgusted in women who isn’t his mrs, you know?” he actually laughed, “and he’s always been like that. Any other guy would more than likely give that up and go through girls like a fuckin’ . . pack of cigs. We used to think he was a right twat like we wanted to shake him, he was like a 16-year-old acting like he was married, we were like be young bro! Enjoy life!! We just didn’t want him settling for the first one - no disrespect to y/n but at this time, we y’know, we didn’t know how great she was, we just assumed she was gonna take him from us, deprive us of a fun time with our boy. But I think he always knew it was special . . I think he just knew he found a best friend in it and would never, y’know, dick it up, so big up him for not listening to us.”
Videos of you three in the apartment played, laughing over something in the kitchen, hitting them on the arm. “I have seen the many different versions of that guy but he’s himself most when they’re together. He’s very chilled,” he noted. “I love y/n. I know exactly why Harry’s with her and why it’s worked for so long. She’s a part of our friend group, she’s good with the boys. She has a very loveable soul and they stay the best match I’ve ever encountered.”
Right Here played over a combination of funny snaps of you and the group, the funniest drunk memories caught between you both in clubs, on holiday, random streets of towns being the most unwise pairing, a right pair of dickheads. Falling off chairs, spilling drinks, dancing weirdly or running and swinging from things - there was no time for a backstory to all of them, but the clips alone were enough for viewers to rewind and replay, wishing they could be apart of your friendgroups.
“I’ve never seen two people so suited. It’s disgusting, man,” he finished.
“Don’t freak out . . but we have to get our bloods done next Thursday.”
“NO.”
“Yeah.”
“NO Y/N.”
“Harry, yeah, we have to—”
“NOOOOO—” his fingers gripped his hair before he shoved his face in a pillow, crumbling up into the sofa with a groan, “no, no y/n, I’m not—”
“Listen,” you held up the letter.
“GET THAT AWAY FROM ME, NO!”
“Harry—”
“I’M NOT GOING! YOU KNOW—”
“It’s just a needle, Harry, it takes 10 seconds—”
“NO!”
Cut to you both in the car on your way, Harry’s head leaning on the window, hand stressfully on his temple, silently hyperventilating in his seat while you were driving with a hand patting his thigh every now and then, holding in laughter whilst steering the wheel. “S’okay, don’t worry about it—”
“Please shut up.”
“Does your partner support your career?”
Harry pulled a confused face, itching his ankle in the chair. “Eh?”
“Right, bye, love you,” you kissed cheeks at the drop-off, watching him hop out for the building before indicating back onto the road, singing to yourself, “back home I go, lonely two hours ahead.”
“Oh man, she’s like . . it’s not even in question, obviously she does. It’s something I’ve taken for granted and still probably do at times,” he scratched his beard. “She just took to it as I sort of expected her to and . . yeah. I mean I-I don’t think my ‘lifestyle’” he air-quoted “involves much adaptation I mean, I’m not a fucking footballer, I’m not gone every day, left her with three kids to deal with, embarrass her with cheating rumours in a paper every week, y’know–” he grinned playfully, picking at the armrest, “but I-I understand it’s still not normal. These last couple years more than ever, I see it more as the channel grows and evolves into bigger things: it’s not just filming once a week on a fuckin’ – football pitch or at home in your bedroom anymore, we’re doing what we been doing: big videos, all the side channels, SidePlus now, products and just– fuckin’ everything – it’s a lot. I am gone more but I–I like to think I’ve done pretty well at – working things around us, though. No-one will understand that but trust–trust me! Arguments have been had! I have refused point blank at times ‘cause I’ve felt like I haven’t seen my mrs!” He awkwardly laughed, waving his finger. He felt like he didn’t see his front door sometimes, let alone his girl.
“Do you really want to bring that?” You screwed your face up slightly at a shirt in your hand he was just not going to wear - you knew he wasn’t, and as he stood in front of you, glancing between you both, he realised too because his smile began to grow, inching closer. You threw it in the case anyway with an eye roll, keeping him happy.
“Does it ever get in the way?”
He scratched his chin again, shaking his head, “nah, not that I can think of. We’ve never had an argument over it, I don’t think – which I think just proves her support and . . understanding. I mean I know it’s time consuming, it bores me at times so God knows how she really feels!”
“Has anything ever got in the way of you two?”
Harry’s expression slowly faltered and he paused, glancing to the camera tight-lipped, he visibly bit his tongue in his mouth as music faded.
Silence, and then a black cut.
A mix of old clips, snapchats, videos and vlogs that had since then been deleted began to play, all of which highlighting the bits that may have been small and unnoticeable, actually were part of a bigger, ongoing problem.
The first was a clip from Freezy’s deleted vlog, you and Harry both sat in the booth opposite him but a foot apart, drinks flowing at a bar in the airport, the boys already tipsy, but you’d been too focused on your phone while Cal was egging your man on with some joke. Cal said something, and anyone watching knew he shouldn’t have said it, because the way Harry’s eyes shot to the left to look at you from his seat, yours shot right to look at him, and silent stare down filled the air before Freezy’s laughter cut in. It was the kind of joke you didn’t make around your mrs, but there was more to it that only you and Harry knew about, and anyone watching could tell there was a warning in your eyes.
‘That why you didn’t want me helping with your suitcase’ you’d started a ‘petty’ argument with him just before your flight, your fault that already put a downer on the trip.
You remembered the comments bashed you for that one 10 second clip, how you were a ‘classic woman’, a bitch-faced spoilsport for leaving the table and unable to take a joke — not that it bothered you.
Another was a snap from one for the boys accounts, videoing Harry so far gone, he was unrecognizable with how outward he was being - the center of attention, sunglasses on, ‘dancing’ obnoxiously but it had the group in hysterics, accidentally knocking glasses down and bumping into people just asking for a fight. Joe had recorded your reaction which was funniest of all, standing there clearly not pleased, not enjoying yourself, arms folded with an untouched drink, you forced a smile so you didn’t get slaughtered again online.
You were pretty sure you tried to take Harry to A&E that night because he’d completely fucked up his face with his antics, scared he’d hit his head a certain way, you remembered the blood everywhere, you’d spent ages washing it out of his hair the next morning.
But he wouldn’t let you, warning you not to, that it wasn’t an option and you weren’t allowed to take him. You didn’t understand at first but Freezy had tried to reassure him, telling him ‘it’s fine! It’s fine! Just say you were spiked?!’ — and then it made sense – and Harry wished he’d hit his head harder to knock himself out instead of having to deal with you when you dropped his hand and walked off.
That clip was also there, the boys laughing around Harry on the ground while you walked off, again, painting you as the joykill you were.
The rest were taken from youtube videos, any drug-related comment or innuendo made about him or from him montaging for a minute, finishing with your clip on a podcast about your attitude towards it, “i don’t find any of those . . drug joke as funny moments, funny, I really don’t. You won’t catch me laughing.”
“Get them the fuck—” you threw the mini weighing scales out of your kitchen drawer to fish for the scissors, wondering why you hadn’t thrown them out yet. Actually, you did know why: Harry refused to because they were Supreme, and it was a funny gag gift.
Harry currently sat in the armchair clueless as what to say, scratching his head as he debated where to go with it.
He didn’t want to touch on the topic but . . he felt like he kind of owed it to you . .
“Weee . . . did . . break up for a bit.”
“VIK! FUCK OFF!”
“You’re all fucking me off, I’m actually quitting tomorrow – Simon shUT THE FUCK UP!”
“Ay— HARRY! You just fucking broke that throwing it at the wall you fucking moron! Get fucked! Move! You’re not even fucking funny!”
Videos of his rotten attitude montaged, his foul behavior seeming different this time around when viewers would now realise he was being genuine and not just messing about.
“I was a massive knob.”
He shared his memories he’d sent to friends of him ripping any photos of you off the walls and facing photo frames down, done as a laugh. Other clips of him throwing your things in the bin when he was moving apartments, makeup wipes and bottles of tan, saluting a good riddance for the camera when really he’d get all deep in his head when he’d first found them and taken an hour to make a move.
“I literally was insufferable, wasn’t I?” He watched his mum who had joined him, squeezing in beside him.
“Oh yes. Oh Jesus Christ,” she mumbled the more she began to think about it.
“Nobody wanted him near, he was a — a literal monster,” she got to say when he left. “Genuinely. The fights in this house — there’s no arguing in any of my kids, they all get along; don’t get me wrong, they’re brothers and sister, they have their moments, but all in all they’re close. They back each other and they get on. At that time—”
Rosie had the most videos from those years when she’d secretly film her brother being a spoiled little twat who argued with anyone going. It was the funniest thing in the world for them to watch back, seeing his bitchy self start an argument with the dog at that point.
She’d zoom in on his oh-so-punchable face and record him have a hissy fit in his dressing gown with their younger brother, Josh, who turned to shoot a look at Rosie at the time to see if she was witnessing that moment then.
“I was kept out of that whole thing, I never got any details but Harry was open and did say it was more so on his part or he he was a dick or something, which, personally, to me sounds about right if it’s between him and y/n,” she shrugged, not wanting to get into it too much either. “I did have my suspicions but to be honest, i’ve never really wanted to know, and even then, there was no asking anyway or you got blown up in your fuckin’ face,” she made a face at the camera.
“When we broke up, my life genuinely flipped, I was so lost on what to do, I literally did not know where I went from there. I forgot who I was for a moment,” you sat in the chair all cozy. “I think I went through multiple identity crises, became an alcoholic, gave my whole family PTSD and spent a million pound on holidays and holiday insurance,” you listed with your fingers. “I transformed into a different person.”
And then Escapism played, and your photos and videos began to play, your hot pics on one of many vacations and recorded memories from friends capturing you in your single era, singing, dancing, living life up as a freed woman.
“If you look at my socials, you’ll think I look like I’m living my best life - like I escaped a horrendous marriage. My media is the definition of a hot girl summer all year around. I made amazing memories and reconnected with so many friends and saw so many different places together and it was the best time, I did find the light at that time, but . . I’m given more credit that I’m due because I was really not that girl all the time. I was really weak and struggled to adjust to my new normal for a long time. I cried a lot,” the camera panned in on your face for your blunt fact, likely to become a relatable meme, “‘n yeah, I was not as I appeared after those holidays ended, I was sad and I missed him. A lot.”
Your own personal videos began to play, ones from your saves, some from your sister as she had hellaaa videos of you during this time as she’d seen it as the biggest pisstake ever. She was like Rosie, secretly recording you starting arguments but more likely - crying to your mum in the midst of an argument ‘cause you were easily set off.
Most were the ones from home as you’d moved back, and everywhere you went, no matter what you were doing, your aura was negative. Always looking lonely. Dress fittings for your cousin's wedding or sitting at your Nan’s 75th birthday, you could tell you were trying to not dampen the mood but you could tell even surrounded by your loving family members, you were still blue and missing a piece of yourself. When you pointed out you were going through a breakup, it was easy to spot in photos and videos.
The funny ones were when you picked your sister up from school, and she always filmed herself singing your breakup bangers together.
“It was a hard timeframe . . and I didn’t ever think we’d ever get back together. like, if we did, it’d fizzle out quickly after, probably worse. It’s a tricky thing to explain because it didn’t end on bad terms but it did in some ways . . and it wasn’t immediate either but it was . . ? I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It was a little messy and it still doesn’t make sense in some areas but . . we got over it and that’s what matters, but it was a big grey area in my life. It’s like falling out with your best mate. I really had to like, rebrand my life,” you raised your brows at the camera. “But there was no . . bad blood between us. I was angry for reasons but I never ever hated him. I never talked bad about him or the boys in general, my side of the street was kept clean. I still cared about him and worried a lot about him, actually.”
Much happier songs played over memories from when you got back to your London life, enjoying the bottomless brunches on balconies and going on runs with your girls under the bridge, you did show the brighter side to it. “Eventually I did get over it, I guess. Still, I thought about him the odd time but I was done being sad. I think we were broke up like . . almost 2 years or som—”
“–were like a year and a half, not even—”
“Ok, a year and a half,” you rolled your eyes back.
Jamming to more songs in the car, more girls holidays, more clubs, more drinking and more new people. “I think it was good to have that time apart and see what life was like when living it entirely for yourself. A lot of issues can come from getting into a relationship quite young and people often forget who they are but I think it was more just finding that again and taking that leap whilst you have no restrictions or responsibilities, y’know? I had no rent to pay for a bit, was out of work for a while, I took that time to spend money and make memories and be on my own for a bit, just as Harry did. We can laugh about it now . . I think.”
When you’re drunk and soppy, maybe it’s the latter.
It cut to a snapchat of the very blond laid on his sofa, hungover and hanging out his arse, contemplating his life choices with his hand on his head whilst Freezy sat and recorded him from the other sofa, laughing his head off at his mate’s contemplation. “I hate being single, I hate hate HATE it. I fucking hate drinking, i’m not going out again, ever in my fucking life . . . what am I even doing? Why did I do that? You can — please fucking shoot me the next time I suggest that, I want you to kill me before that. Never bring me outdoors again, I’m never leaving this room again.”
“Doesn’t matter what we did in that timeframe apart, I think we’ve filled each other in on every little second we lived apart, there’s no secrets, no bitterness — we know all the girls holidays, lads holidays, the stories just get told naturally.”
“AH! Don’t add that photo!” You squealed, unplugging your phone from the laptop downloading your data.
“How did you guys end up talking again?”
“I used to play this when I was broke up with your brother,” you and Rosie jammed to I’ll Be Thinking Bout You on your way back from the store, dancing like that banger like it was just released.
“We basically got to talking and . . met up. Talked. A lot of talking,” Harry explained with his leg crossed, “it wasn’t like we got straight back together, it was a longgg process. I didn’t even think it would happen, as much as I wanted that to happen — I didn’t actually think it would. I didn’t even think she’d agree to meet up.”
About You played over the scenery of London around the area you and Harry had met up at a little over four years ago, after you, did in fact, hold on and hope that you found your way back in the end. “I realllly didn’t want to go, I was a bundle of ner— I actually— this is funny, because I thought at the time, right, I was just gonna run into him and talk and be very mature and hear him out and then . . go home and get on with life and be normal like it was nothing. I was thinking it was gonna be like a job interview,” you were really laughing at this point, “mate, when I tell you,” you were crying from laughter but also maybe because of the bittersweet memory that pulled at your heart, “I had game face on, ready to be all professional and then — it’s like you’re just sucked back to the beginning like the walls come crumbling down . . I was 17 again. Literally lovestruck. I literally got a kick in the face of these feelings I thought I’d never have again. It was like everything was erased and I was just looking at him like . .”
“♪ And the love kickstarts again,” Harry sang from the kitchen.
Little photos from your rekindling era played next and it was sweet to see. Taken in 2020, just before Lockdown, when you started talking again and going for coffees . . and then it was games and activities . . and then it was games and activities with dinner and drinks — and then you were back to square one.
The photos were mostly selfies of you both in dark places as you were still keeping things on the DL and the thought do your friends or family coming across them was terrifying. “I enjoyed Lockdown given the circumstances, it feels like it was yesterday but I feel like we got back together . . 10 years ago,” he chuckled, “it feels like we were never even apart, we spent Lockdown together and . .” he shrugged, “mate I fuckin’ loved Lockdown,” he chuckled, “it was perfect like -not perfect obviously- but I mean we got to be young again, living at home, no work to do – I know I shouldn’t say it so much but I really did love Lockdown.”
“Our normal came back while the rest of the world was all over the place,” you itched your ankle.
“Right, bend over,” you instructed, holding up a belt from your suitcase, “you know the drill.” He laughed, a clip of you both talking about the competition you had over who could take a whip better on a podcast playing afterward, giving context.
“She keeps you humbled, doesn’t she!” Harry’s Mum called.
He just looked at the camera without needing to say anything.
“I’ve never been so grateful for someone like that, she is very important to him and important to his . . growth? He moved out quite young as you know and we haven't always been there to maybe keep an eye on him, per say, ‘n keep him grounded but she has,” his mum ranted, “I’ve always loved the fact she’s kept a normal life and normal jobs and strived to keep that normality y'know? I admire her for that and her independence because she could have easily dropped and been a . . stay-at-home girlfriend,” she laughed, “he has no hold over her that way and it shows she doesn’t care what what he does and how much he makes, and I think it also subconsciously keeps Harry grounded, y’know, he always thinks twice about things he might do or say. . .”
“Yeah she influences my perspective,” Harry rubbed his eye, not really paying attention, “you can’t impress her with money, you can’t bribe her with anything, she’s–she’s someone I need around, yeah.”
“How do you think things would be if she maybe didn’t get along with your career / lifestyle?”
“Pffft,” Harry let out a breath, scratching behind his ear. “There’s–there’s a funny answer and there is the honest answer.”
It was a simple answer. It was the same one he’d had since before his first big cheque and the same since his latest one. He probably had it before he’d even joined the Sidemen.
“Oh he would.” His mum answered.
“Yes. Definitely,” Rosie agreed. “He’ll pretend he wouldn’t but definitely. Absolutely.”
“I think he’d pretend he wouldn’t but I think he would,” Josh fixed his hair.
Nobody would understand the depths to your relationship, how you’d been there for each other during the highs and lows, as a safety net and shoulder to cry on, stuff that would never hear the light of day on the internet. They’d never hear about getting through those hard days together when a loved one passed or when you were in the most manic meltdown over life in general - you had each other and that was all you needed. You’d sensed that pretty early on, but it showed the most on those long days, whether holding each other during a loved ones funeral or stroking their hair from a hospital bed - which most of the time had always been you lying in the bed, the last time being when your appendix had burst.
You never knew something like that could be life-threatening as it was until it happened to you.
The day before, you’d felt like shit, blaming it on the bug, you felt like you’d had a fever while also shaking with the cold; you felt sick and your stomach was in knots, hurting even when you coughed.
You’d brushed it off and gone to bed with painkillers, only to wake up the next morning in 10 times worse agony. You couldn’t even sit up, your stomach ached like never before, especially on the right side.
You had no clue what was wrong, but Harry remembered how you looked, how you trembled and had sweat dripping down your face, how you were breathless and burning up. He had to trail you to sit and stand from bed. When he watched you almost faint he wasted no time picking you up and driving you to the hospital, not trusting an ambulance to be able to find the house in time.
To cut a long story short, your appendix had burst, and as most know, a burst appendix left untreated can cause infection (like Peritonitis) and cause serious complications, and you can even die.
Your issue was . . you had caught Peritonitis.
It was slightly complicated because you had left it later than ideally and although complications were being dealt with, you were frightened for yourself in the long run - what if you got organ failure? What if your fertility was fucked? What if your life expectancy had 20 years chopped off?
You had surgery and it was all well and good now, but at the time - it was really fucking scary.
You felt out of the loop and confused what was happening. You were terrified, but if there was one person who managed to make your biggest worries sound stupidly minuscule - it was your Harry.
You were in pain days after your surgery and just wanted to cry all the time - you did cry all the time, and the many what if’s just made you stress more.
Harry had said he wanted to punch the doctor for running you through all the precautions and possibilities while you were sobbing tears as it was, but you knew he just had to tell you even if they didn’t all apply to you - he was just going over the depth of your situation and why he’d need to check up on your for the coming weeks after.
Really, it was more worries to fill your head with.
You remembered him saying about internal organs being damaged, organ failure being a thing, life expectancy wouldn’t be impacted, pain and bruising, fertility potentially being impacted if blocked fallopian tubes appear and a bunch of other stuff that just made you want to roll off that hospital bed.
“It’s so sore,” your eyes were painfully heavy from crying and your stomach only hurt more with the subtle jumps you gave between breaths.
You clung to Harry’s arm, wrapped around, cuddling it as he sat next to your bed, also tired, his anxiety just as bad as yours.
He’d never seen you in this state and he absolutely hated it. Your parents were on holiday, your mum not able to come comfort you, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you anyway. His heart broke the entire time and he begged he got the pain instead of you, physically and emotionally. “My head is so sore,” you whined more, hand covered your eyes. That was from the crying.
“I know, darlin’, I know, you need to calm down and just breathe, you’re alright now, you can’t do anymore, we just have to wait and see,” he used his other hand to stroke your head, swiping the hair from your face and soothe your thumping head.
“It’s so sore,” you felt disgusting in your body anyway at the thought of a dirty infection creeping through your system, but the pain in your abdomen was still fresh.
“Y/n, it’s only been a few hours, it is going to be sore,” Harry tried not to seem inattentive, tickling his thumb over your forehead and beginning to stroke your eyebrow. You tried to relax.
He passed you water, hoping it’d help with the headache, and took it back as you cuddled more into his arm, your sad frown not budging.
He didn’t want you to cry, but he didn’t like when you went quiet, either. “Stop thinking.”
“What if my tubes are impacted?”
His heart crushed at your tone, broken and hopeless, like you’d already accepted your fate.
“Y/n, as long as he didn’t say you have 10 days to live, I don’t really give a fuck about the rest.”
You knew Harry had an underlining of anger, whether it was because he was scared or for not going to hospital sooner. He’d told you to go the moment he saw you discolored and you refused, reassuring you’d be fine the next day. You’d always brushed off things like that, refused to phone in sick to work or get something checked out, although in fairness, you usually were always fine the next day or so, this time just had to do you wrong.
You didn’t mean to be annoying, but now you felt like you were putting your future at risk being so careless. “But what if they are . .”
The doctors told you they couldn’t see any issue with any of your organs during check-ups, including your reproductive system, but you always had that fear and what-if moments, although you never went to fully look into it to make sure.
It didn’t matter to Harry anyway, and overtime he effortlessly made you not care either - not in a careless manner but he’d proved to you that even if it was just the two of you forever - you’d be fine with that; that it was appealing anyway.
“You need to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you. I told you as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters. That’s my priority. I’m not leaving you if they had to take away all your toes, your eyes, if you had to be in a wheelchair for fuck sake. I told you if we can’t have them naturally then we’ll adopt but I’m not thinking about that right now, y/n. You should just be focusing on getting better and stop waiting for the worst. You’re just stressing yourself out for no reason.”
He was tough with you and you needed it. You’d be the same with him.
“You’re lucky you didn’t faint and hit your bloody head,” he breathed, replaying you losing your footing in the house and scraping the counter with your hand to try and catch yourself. He didn’t know what he’d do in that situation. He’d probably collapse right after you. “You’re so fucking lucky.”
You could feel your lip wobbling as he spoke to you, realising just how much you worried him.
And how much he loved you.
You squeezed his hand. “You make me sound like an ungrateful cow.”
“You are an ungrateful cow,” he said seriously, but then you felt his lips on your cheek, kissing you affectionately over and over again ‘til you gave a small giggle. You could feel his smile on your face too. “Never scare me again like that, you witch,” he’d said, before continuing.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
You wrapped your arm around his head, pulling him as close as the bed allowed you, holding your boy who squeezed you (gently) back. “I love you so much Harry.”
“Not as much as I love you, girl,” he muffled in your hair, kissing you again and again.
“This was me just over a week after my appendix burst,” you held up your phone for the camera focus on, a stunning image of you standing at the stairwell of a club, dressed beautifully for the event in your shimmering short skirt and top, looking like a model posing for a magazine cover with your long crossed legs on display, “–when I nearly died. Well, I didn’t really nearly die but it was serious,” you scrolled through the next couple images, showing the one of you and Harry posing together at the bottom of the staircase, noses an inch apart and smiling wholeheartedly at each other. “Oop, this one’s too lovey dovey,” you said just as he threw himself down next to you on the sofa, throwing an arm over your shoulder, you laughed, “that’s our rule, if it’s too lovey dovey, it doesn’t get posted,” you snorted, leaning into his embrace.
And he’d been with you through recovery, just as he he’d been by your side when you had your wisdom teeth removed, broken your leg, broken your arm, had your kidney removed, gotten spiked, caught covid - he was always there to pick you up. Help you walk if you needed to, help cut your food up, to shower, drive you around or stop you from saying the craziest shit when you were doped up.
He had your back, and you had his, although, in this sense, he seemed to sound the more sensible one, which if you know Harry, is very fucking hard to believe.
Harry sighed in thought as he tried to tiptoe around the previously asked question, bouncing his leg annoyingly high, “i-it’s hard because I know I always sound like I don’t give a fuck about the boys and the channel and I’m overworked and I’m done with making videos – i-i am gratful I’m not gonna get into that but y’know,” great, waffle.
“If we agreed to end it now, I’d have no problem, like, I-I wouldn’t be mad about it. I’m old. I’m ready to, y’know, I’d move back here and think about what I want to do next with my life,” he scruffied his hair, “you can only do it for so long.”
“If you had to choose between the two though—”
“—fuuck sakee,” he groaned.
Why did they want him to be a simp so bad?
“I think . . if I knew . . my lady was getting fed up with my work, and feeling like it was getting in the way of things, or impacting my mood too much, because it does sometimes,” he gave a knowing look to the camera, recalling the many times he came home snarky and cold from a video that didn’t go his way or even filming too long, “I—I would agree to stop, yeah. I would know when to stop.”
You making the bed back home aired the screen, tidying it up and placing belongings on your bedside tables fans would be pointing out in fan account. Harry stood talking with you, discussing something about what he would wear to an upcoming wedding as you put your clean laundry in your drawers.
“Maybe that should be my excuse!” He laughed, the idea shining brightly in his head.
Plating your dinner in the kitchen, pouring a small amount of sauce over it, making it look all neat and presentable while steam was still coming off it had viewers wishing they had you to cook for them everyday.
“At the end of the day, an ideal life for me doesn’t involve work. If I missed it, I would go back to it but on my terms. I want to move out of London, move back to Guernsey. I want to raise my family there. I want to travel any time I want, spend time with my family and friends without a camera in my face all the time. I don’t look forward to coming home to work everyday, the channel doesn’t greet me home every day, it’s not gonna grow old with me and-and have a family with me!”
And more wholesome clips played of Harry’s life with you. Videoed moments at festivals, on vacation, riding jet skis and sleeping on planes together. Partying with friends, cheering him on at charity matches and overdoing every birthday, moments when Harry walked into your bedroom with a cake in one hand and Herb in the other, cards and gift bags on his wrist - purposely singing badly. Mauling a kebab after a night out, laughing at how messy you both are but not caring ‘cause you’re in your own house. Ones of you cracking smiles in hospital, shopping together in town and chilling in your family backyard, waiting on the barbecue. Harry trying to open a bottle of champagne over you on Valentines, shoving the last bit of food in your mouths from going out to dinner, being weird in the living room after sharing two bottles of wine and joining each other on Christmas Day after being with your own families.
“I can’t believe he’s getting married.”
“I know! I’m going to cry seeing them together—” you awed at the idea of Simon and Talia on their big day. You were packing for the airport, making sure you had everything, most importantly, your dress and Harry’s fit. You’d do the same 100 times for Vic and Ellie’s, packing back-ups so you didn’t embarrass them with your underdressed attire if accidents happened.
“Then The Big 123 next,” Harry chuckled, grabbing the jacket you tossed him. “WhO nExT?”
“Tell me about it,” you stuffed your makeup bag inside, “I mean a diamond on my finger wouldn’t hurt,” you bit your tongue to hide your snigger, the camera catching Harry’s amused but tired eye roll.
“No, but it’d hurt my wallet,” he threw your bra at your head.
“Well Boggy, clock’s tickin!”
“And what? You gonna piss off if you don’t get what you want?” He smirked, craning his neck in disbelief at you. You’d never been pushy for a ring but maybe it was all weddings going on you were getting FOMO.
You shrugged playfully, folding a shirt, “look, I know ten other guys who’d already have that rock around my finger.”
“Yeah well, I’ll get you both a rock and tie it to your necks and drop you in the ocean, how’s that sound?” He pranced over the piles of clothes to quickly leave you laughing by yourself in the room, no longer interested in the convo.
The next bit had your journey traveling to Italy to the Minter wedding, reunited with the boys and getting ready for the reception. The ceremony wasn’t filmed but the moments after when music was playing and drinks were flowing and laughs between friends were being shared, had been. Quick shots of you sat on Harry’s lap, dancing with Faith, somehow behind the DJ booth and getting loved up on Harry as he tickled your neck with kisses behind you, fingers interlocked over your shoulder.
. . and then ‘serenading’ him with your 7th glass of prosecco in hand . . . and him reciprocating.
“—♪ LISTEN BABY! AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH! AIN'T NO VALLEY LOW, AIN'T NO RIVER WIIIDE ENOUGH BABY!”
“♪ IF YOU NEED ME, CALL ME! NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE! NO MATTER HOW FAR!”
“–♪ DON'T WORRY BABY!”
“♪ JUST CALL MY NAME, I’LL BE THERE IN A HURRY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY!—”
“—♪ CUS BABY THERE AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH!”
It was entertainment for the guests, friends laughing and family members of the happy couple witnessing the reason for friendships. “—♪ TO KEEP ME FROM GETTING TO YOU, BABY!”
“I do want to get married . . .” Harry shot a look at the camera from the living room sofa, telling the camera he most definitely did not want to get married. “Y/n wants to get married,” he corrected. “I have no issue getting married, it’s nothing to do with assets or fear of commitment or–or any shit like that, it’s the actual wedding part.”
“Tell your son to propose to me already,” you picked at the dinner as it was to be dished, his mum copying you and smiling at the comment.
“Fuck off y/n!” He responded.
“Get a nice holiday booked and do it, love,” she told him casually.
“We’re just back from Italy and Dubai and doing Amaterdam next week! Give me a minute to breathe!”
“Did my best,” she looked at you.
“Where do you see yourself in five years time?”
“Where do I see myself in five year’s time? Hmph.”
The blond thought, trying not to deep it but it was quite a big question.
“I’m not gonna say about the channel being done ‘cause I’ve said that for ages and if we haven’t stopped after 10 years then I don’t know. I can see it slowing down, and I’d be ok with that. I wouldn’t mind doing the odd one every now and again but definitely slowed down with work.” He tried to calculate his age next. “I think I should be married by then . . maybe a kid, maybe.”
You and Harry at Simon and Talia’s wedding stood at the practice dinner, Olive in your arms, laughing away at you and Harry smothering her in attention. Effortlessly making her laugh and hide under your chin with cackles, Harry couldn’t believe a baby this young could be so pleasant. You both looked at her so lovingly and she was so happy being left with you both while Ethan and Faith got to mingle at the bar.
“Kids are so needy though, man,” he rubbed his eye, “mm, five years, yeah maybe one,” he gave in, “new house, maybe married, maybe a kid - I’m saying maybe in case it doesn’t happen. Would I like it to? I mean,” he looked up, shrugging, “not that i’d rush anything but yeah, I’d be happy. I am excited for that stage but I do still enjoy what’s left of my youth . . but I do want a family and I want to grow old with y/n and our kids on a farm . . with chickens and dogs . . and be done with work. If my life is like that in five years, I would not be complaining.”
Harry’s mum put away the dishes after you had washed them, joining your man on the couch after dinner, you threw yourself under his arm as he focused on the match, instinctively pulling you close as you began flicking on your phone. Your natural habitat.
“I’m happy with how things are at the minute though. I moan a lot but I wouldn’t change a thing for now. I’m happy,” he smiled, sending a genuine look to the lens. “Check-in in five years and see where I’m at.”
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