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sushirrrry · 3 months ago

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PART OF US - PART ONE.

a harry styles x original character, 4-part short-story. themes: dadrry, lhh, coming of age, contemporary romance set in NYC. CW: explicit sex, language, & conversations surrounding mental health. 20.4k words. follow me on twitter @/sadprose_em & wattpad @/sushirrrry for notifications. enjoy <3

Spring.

In a moment of panic, Sofia stopped.

"Fuck," Sofia dug into the contents of the small purse on her arm, knowing that she wasn't going to find anything deeper in the tiny clutch, no matter how hard she tried. "I forgot my phone."

Nat looked at her friend with an annoyed face as they approached the entrance to the bar, her feet slowing down to a a few steps before stopping completely.

"You're kidding me." Nat said, a grunt following, watching as Sofia searched through the small clutch that was quite obviously not holding the device, but merely a lipstick or two.

It wasn't there, but Sofia didn't want to have to go all the way back to her apartment for it if she didn't have to. Her eyes looked up at her friend who rolled her eyes right back.

"I'm sorry, Nat– we don't have to go back. It's fine, just make sure to keep an eye on me, please? I don't want to get stolen."

Nat grabbed Sofia's arm before linking them together as they walked through the doors of the building, almost just the answer that Sofia was looking for. The sound of their heels clicked together against the cement in a beautiful harmony– the girl's night out kind of harmony.

"You look incredible tonight so I would take it as a compliment, personally."

The martini bar where they would be meeting Nat's friend and coworker– who Sofia knew to be passionate about the espresso martinis in the city– Niall, was going to meet them on the rooftop bar.

Sofia had only decided to go because this wasn't just a one-on-one meeting with Nat and Niall, but a bunch of other people from Nat's office would be there, as well. Nat had asked if Sofia could tag along, which meant that Sofia was now dressed in some knee-high boots and a black mini skirt that fit like a glove.

Sofia was feisty but introverted; she knew what she wanted and would talk back to those who questioned her. She was excited to meet this friend of Nat's knowing she had talked about him in quite a bright light– even more so because she knew that this could benefit her, too.

"Remember, Niall's bringing that friend of his," She raised her eyes at Sofia, "From what I hear around the office, it's a friend that's quite easy on the eyes. Apparently, his presence at the Christmas party was way better than the shitty gifts our office tried to pawn off too."

Even in her best feeling, highest confidence moments, self-doubt trickled into the conversation.

"So, why do you think he'd even be interested in me? There's going to be so many more people there," Sofia asked. "Plus, how do you know he's my type?"

"I don't know what his type is," Nat looked at her friend as they stepped into the elevator, "But I can't imagine that you wouldn't be, even for a night."

Sofia pulled at the hem of her skirt, but Nat pulled her friend's hand away before giving her that look. The one that Sofia got quite often– it was a look of not just overthinking, but over analyzing any particular scenario that may arise. The elevator they had gotten into stopped on the top floor, the subtle noise of the bar ringing out as they walked along, and back outside.

Subtle breezes of the spring were feeling quite warm as the girls had been wearing skirts. Sofia's being a solid black, a long-sleeve blouse and leather jacket on top. She wore it with her favorite black boots that gave her a bit of height. Her dark hair cascades down her back; dark leather and dark, shiny hair that sparkles when the night light hits it.

The Brooklyn bar was one of Nat's favorites, she had been talking about going out all week. It wasn't that she was trying to get Sofia out of her comfort zone, but she knew that there wasn't anything to lose.

It was about taking chances.

She knew her friend was a good person– she had a sense of humor that not everyone understood but was appreciated by everyone, she had thoughts that bordered every side, and the empathy that she held was something that only a few people could ever relate to.

Nat felt that Sofia was special; Sofia felt she was misunderstood. When Nat had talked about Sofia in the office, Niall had seemingly believed that he had a friend that was quite the same. It was like shooting two stars had both been spotted in the same part of the galaxy.

This wasn't a set-up, if Nat was going to be asked. Instead, it was a coworker get-together that just happened to have eyes and hearts on a particular two. But as she tucked Sofia's hair behind her ears, and handed her a lip gloss for a touch-up, she knew exactly what she was getting her friend into.

"Oh, over there!" Nat had spotted her loudest friend, surrounded by a few others who were laughing at a joke they must've missed. Sofia had a tight smile on her face as they approached the small group; she didn't like meeting new people because she never knew how to start conversations, she just knew how to finish them and walk away.

Nat and Sofia were still linked in their elbows as they approached, Niall immediately noticing the two girls.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, the cocktail– as espresso martini, obviously– was icy in his hands as he gave a soft grin to them. "There you are."

"Here we are," Nat suggested, her eyes moving to the man a step behind Niall at the bar. He was facing the bartender as he seemed to be chatting the guy up, asking for specifics in the cocktail he ordered. He held the small toothpick with an olive in his fingers, twirling it around the glass.

Sofia had noticed him, but her eyes hadn't allowed her to stare too long at his side profile. Even if maybe she wanted to.

"Guys, this is my best friend– this is Sofia, I've talked about her plenty, you all probably know her life story" Nat giggled, before turning to introduce her coworkers, "Fia, this is Niall, Dana, Marie, and–" Her eyes landed on Niall's friend who had joined the conversation with a fresh martini held in his fingers. The way that his hands spread across the glass made Sofia's heart beat quicker than usual, almost skipping a few.

Niall looked back at his friend before introducing, "Sorry, this is my mate, Harry. We went to college together. He just moved to the city a few months back."

Nat bit her lip, Sofia couldn't keep her eyes on him as she felt the blush by just looking at the way his lips molded around the glass as he took a generous sip, before swallowing and nodding.

"Lovely to meet you." The deep voice of the man surprises them.

Sofia is taken by him, their eyes meeting immediately as she watches him shyly smile in her direction. It's a moment where Sofia feels eyes on her as if this was supposed to be more than it was– as if their connection was meant to be electrifying at first glance.

And she wasn't going to deny that there was an electric field that almost made her skin crawl with desire... but she wouldn't admit that.

"Great to meet you," Nat stuck her hand out and he graciously took it with a smile. "Where are you in the city?"

"I actually live around the corner," Harry tells her, his sharp accent is soft but bold– like a dark roasted coffee with cream, "I've been here about six months so I'm starting to really get used to it. Americans are kind of– no offense– bloody rude."

"America is built on colonialism, so I think rudeness is a bit inherent." Sofia stated; it was the quick wit that Nat knew. Her shyness came from within whenever she was able to get a word in, which made Nat smile at her friend's attempt.

Niall made an audible oof sound, holding onto his chest as if hurt by the comment. But Harry just tilted his head as he glared at her with the most subtle grin.

"I'm going to get a drink," Nat interrupted, looking at Niall and their other coworkers as Niall turned to follow her to the bar. Sofia felt her friend leave her side, leaving her standing there as she looked around the rooftop.

The only person standing still was Harry, who had already received his drink and was standing a bit closer to her now, possibly wanting to offer more conversation.

"Are you from here?" Harry offered, taking another small sip from the wide-rimmed glass.

"Uh, no," Sofia shook her head, "I'm originally from France. People think it's a speech impediment, but it's just because my dad refused to speak English at home, so I wasn't really able to practice it a lot, and it left me unable to pronounce my R's well."

Her long dark hair and soft features were gifts from her mother who grew up in Beijing, moving to France when she was eighteen– her father was French and Italian, which left her being a mutt of sorts. It was a mixture of culture and a radiance of knowledge that left her traveling the world at a young age to visit family here and there, but also experiencing everywhere below the surface level.

"Je connais un peu de français," Harry smiles before pinching his fingers together, "juste un peu."

Sofia's eyes lit up, giving her a small smile before she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"I got you this," Nat handed her the orange cocktail that had a small straw, before Sofia handed it back.

"I'm not drinking– I didn't bring my phone, so I don't want something to happen." She shook her head, watching as Nat moved her eyes between her and Harry both.

Nat looked up at Harry with a smile Sofia knew was laced with her own intentions, before handing the drink to him, "Maybe she'll take it if you offer it to her, then."

Harry's brows raised as he held the drink between his fingers, feeling the coldness before he watched Nat walk back through the bar. With the subtle movement, her friend had disappeared once again.

It left the two standing there alone again, which Sofia felt more of the pressure of the set-up currently occurring between the two of them. She wondered how much of this Harry had known, and how much he had been fooled too. The man in front of her was attending, though. He seemed quite intrigued with her, not trying to force his way out of a conversation just because it was a bit uncomfortable.

Harry's lip curled a bit, the smirk on his face becoming a bit more of a blush as he extended his arm to offer the drink back to her as her friend had suggested.

"So, would you like this drink, then?" He bit his lip, hoping that she would at least take this one from him. Her hand steadily took the drink from his fingers as she sheepishly shook her head.

"Sorry about all of them." Sofia muttered out, taking a sip of the cocktail.

When her eyes raised back to him, she noticed that he had been looking at her with an admiration that she wasn't entirely sure she had felt before. It was an honesty, like he had never told a lie, and would never think to.

For the first time in a while, Sofia felt seen– like he had really been taken with her. She stood with her hand wrapped around her drink, looking around at the scenery that surrounded them.

"So, you're French?" Harry licked his lips, his hand moved into his front pocket, the dark pants were fitting him snug, "You grew up there?"

"Oui," Sofia clicked her tongue, "Um, yes and no. We spent half the year in Boston and half in Nice. My dad was a banker, and he did a lot of work overseas. But we traveled with him to stay as a family. My mom was a stay-at-home mom, and she kept my brother and I. During the holiday, we would travel to see my mother's family who still lived in China. We were always on a plane, it felt like."

Harry nodded, listening actively to the story she told of her upbringing. She didn't know why she kept speaking so much, but feeling that he was actively listening made it feel upwardly special and like he didn't have anywhere else to be or anyone else to listen to.

"My last name is Treaveau." She offered him another small detail of her background. It may have also been a small detail that he could keep in his brain for trying to track her down later.

He wasn't looking for an out this time. That felt unusual to him, as he settled on the doe-like eyes mesmerizing him.

"That sounds like a lot. But really incredible." He told her, his words having weight to them like he truly believed that it was incredible. "What brings you to New York, then?"

Sofia took a deep breath as she feels like maybe this isn't the right time to have that discussion. Rather, she wants to keep the conversation as far away from Kendall as possible. But, it was her life story and the parts that she didn't want to discuss were seemingly always there.

But, she decides to just answer it without any further explanation: "I moved here with a partner after college and it just became home. Settled some roots here– my job, friends." With a quick nod, she took another sip to stop her from speaking any more on the topic.

Harry hummed, "I see." He shifted on his weight as he noticed the conversation that looked like it stopped as Sofia's body language pointed out that she was uncomfortable with that question, and, more fittingly, that answer.

He knew that from his interviewing he did, watching as the person in front of him started to redirect their body language or try to look away from him as if that would take the situation away. He knew when asking questions and trying to get a response, body language told it all. If he had one talent, it was being able to read someone– read their facial expressions and the way they interacted with him about it.

Instead, Harry offered a different type of way to ease her nerves.

"Would you like a different drink, then?" Harry asked, his fingers wrapped around the wide mouth of his own martini glass. He could see her eyes flicker as she smiled up at him. "Doesn't seem like you wanted the one your friend gave you."

"Um," Fia answered, a soft giggle, "I think I'm okay. This is fine. Not my preference. Not even really a huge drinker, but when I do, this wouldn't be what I prefer."

Harry hummed, narrowing his brows as he bit on his lip in response to her declining his offer, so he dug a bit deeper into it.

"What do you like, then?" He asked.

She purses her lips, "Long walks on the beach. The offspring of a long island iced tea and a sex on the beach."

Harry felt the edge of his lip tilt up at her quick wit at the ridiculous joke. His blood rushes a bit quicker, before he nods.

"In my part of town, we call them 'sex on long island'," He quickly joked back, the dry humor making her roll her eyes.

Instead, he licked over his lips and tried to make more conversation around her now. "So, why are you here, at a martini bar, if you don't like to drink?" He took a sip of his own, the sweetness of the vodka coating his tongue, "I'm certain there's more fun things for you to do in Brooklyn on a Friday night."

The fact was: she really didn't know why she was there other than she had been convinced it could be fun.

As Nat had persuaded her out of her apartment, she thought of all of the things she could have been doing tonight.

Staying home and watching the new season of Great British Bake Off seemed enjoyable enough, but her extroverted friend pushed further for her to come meet this friend of a friend of a friend– however the connection was. And while she wasn't disappointed– far from it– she couldn't answer his questions without smiling. He pushed back on her attempts at bits of flirting, meeting her at her own game.

"I was told I'd have a good time." She felt herself try to hold back the smile, hoping to make him sweat a bit. But she knew she came off a bit strong; her humor and her lightness didn't mix too well. "Is that an alright answer?"

Harry used his tongue to lick over his bottom lip as he stared up at her with the greenest eyes she had seen. The curls that settled on his forehead were messy, but placed properly. They were quite long, around his neck and shoulders.

The silk of his green shirt under the black blazer seemed like it needed a criminal investigation on the salesperson who sold him it, the longer she stared at him. It was opened to reveal he had tattoos across his collarbone, but not open enough for her to make out the design.

"Sure. You're welcome to make your own choices," he tutted. "Just trying to understand you, that's all."

Sofia rolled her lips into her mouth before she turned to the bartender, asking for a Diet Coke with a hint of lime. Harry smiled at the request, eyes staying on her side profile. She took another sip of her freshly tipped-off drink before returning her eyes to him, sparkling and flirtatious. She noticed the way he paid attention, knowing he wasn't trying to leave.

When she ordered, he nodded towards the bartender, "Put that on my tab."

Sofia looked up at him, shaking her head, "No– really, Harry–"

"I'd like another one of these," Harry smiled at the bartender, pushing his empty martini glass towards them, "Shaken, chilled glass, and filthy."

Her eyes darted to him quickly, but she was ultimately caught. He had already been staring at her. The martini was poured into the chilled glass before Harry thanked the bartender again. He took a sip before they started to move back out of the way, towards a standing table towards the edge of the rooftop. It overlooked down onto the streets; Sofia blinked a few times as she noticed the height, taking herself away from it, and setting her glass on the small table.

There was a breeze; it pushed its way through Harry's long hair settling on his shoulders as he looked towards Manhattan and the skyline that was illuminating the city. Not a patch of darkness in sight.

There was silence– an odd silence, because she knew that there were many people around them, music was playing, the city was below them, but her eyes were fixed on his side profile and the way that he stood in front of her.

Her breath hitched a minute before she let the bold words fall from her mouth. "I-I'd like to talk more about myself over dinner. If you're interested in understanding me, that is. You can ask me, if you want."

When she replayed the words in her head, she wanted to eat them all back and take them out of existence. Not only did they sound completely outrageous, but she knew how egotistical they made her sound.

Harry only stared at her, but his smile kept steady.

"I should, shouldn't I?" His accent rang out as he poked his cheek with his tongue. Her stomach flipped when the dimple in his smile popped. "That's a good idea, Sofia. To ask you to dinner. Why hadn't I thought of that?"

She breathed through her nose with a chuckle, "I didn't mean to sound so-"

"Forward?" He finished her sentence before taking another sip of his drink. The olives bobbed in the glass, his eyes just over the rim. "Something tells me you like being forward, but I think you're being a bit shy with me."

Sofia blinked a few times before she held her shoulders back, pressing away from his conclusion of her. "Where would you take me?"

Harry shook his head with a cocky smile that added blush to her cheeks. "Definitely not a martini bar, I'll tell you that much. What do you like?"

"There's that question again," Fia rolled her eyes, jokingly, but she shrugged her shoulders with no pressure, "Nothing too fancy, I guess."

"I can take you to the best chippy on this side of the Atlantic– up in the Financial District," Harry bites his lip as he tries to chuckle but his teeth bare a smile, "I know the area pretty well– I work up there, actually."

"Will it impress me?" She asks, scrunching her nose a bit.

Harry chuckles but shakes his head, "Don't know– you're very hard to read, so I'm walking on eggshells here. I'm trying to impress you, if that makes a difference"

"You're doing well, I'll tell you that– the only bone I'm going to throw at you, though." Sofia tucks some hair behind her ear as she realizes how hard of a time she's giving him. She takes a small step forward so her hip pops a bit. "I'd love to go to fish and chips with you, but I don't eat fish."

"Course you don't," He shakes his head, "You're killing me, you know."

"We all die eventually, I don't think I'm exacerbating it." Her humor stuck as Harry tilted his head back. Her eyes fell to the way that his curls bounced as they fell back a bit at the motion.

"My goodness," Harry shook his head with that eager smirk, "You're really good at this. And I'd like you to recede your statement because I do think you're exacerbating it. I don't feel as young as I used to."

"Good at standing my ground? Or good at fighting off misogyny while our friends think that I'll just fall into your graces like the start of a silly romance book?"

Harry's dimple popped and Sofia drew in a breath when she noticed how it changed his face. It was such a soft feature that drew away so much animosity and an unrelieved tension that she felt between her thighs.

"I'm sorry– is this not the start of our story?" He questioned her now, watching as she sighed outwardly. "Maybe it's sexist for you to think that you should be the one falling for me– I think I'm the one clearly begging at your feet here."

She liked him. Oh, she really liked him.

She knew instantly that she wasn't the type to take him home, but he was certainly the type that she would make an exception for if he suggested anything. It was a classic question in her own brain; was he just as charming behind closed doors as he was standing there in an open bar with a few drinks already in him? That she wasn't sure about.

But what she did know was that she was slowly watching as his walls were broken with every word she said.

"Is that a line that gets a lot of girls?"

Harry took a moment to stare at her. She shifted her weight, now under his eyes moving between her own as she nibbled on her lip as she waited for an equally witty response.

"I'm very enamored by you, Sofia." He told her softly, curiosity oozing from him.

Sofia tilted her head a bit as she questioned him yet again.

"Enamored or infatuated?" She bit back, but her smile kept her fiercely attractive to him. The energy was just a plus.

"Infatuation would suggest that there's a short-lived passion. I don't believe our story is short-lived," The vodka may have spoken there, but the tint of his blush was illuminating him.

"Oh, is that so?" She teased, leaning against the table then. "What makes you say that?"

Her eyes met his as Harry took in a breath. She couldn't have imagined the man in front of her being any more civil, any more kind to her. He maintained eye contact, blushing as she teased. She hadn't a doubt that he could be like any of the others she had dated in this city.

Something about him felt genuine; it felt like he opened his heart further than she was used to, maybe. She wasn't too sure, because his exterior would suggest he was a bit rugged.

His shoulder length dark curls were tousled and gave her the impression that he hadn't done anything about a haircut on purpose, not for lack of resources. His clean jawline was maintained and structured. But he was dressed well– he knew that he looked good, but without effort which worried her.

But she could tell that he spoke from the heart.

Sofia had no doubt he could have fallen in love easily– could have easily been the love of someone's life. So, in her brain, she wondered what on earth could have been wrong with him. He played the game with her– a game that was usually pushed back on rarely. It was a simple game of cat-and-mouse that only one man in a blue moon would understand.

But Harry kept eye contact, wanting more from her than she had been willing at first.

His body leaned in closer to her, sniffling as he found his footing close enough that he had practically pushed her feet apart with his own so they could be face to face.

"In my mirrorball, I see you and I have the time of our lives and not settling for anything that tells us to stop. I'm a visionary– I'm going to put my cards on the table and let you know what I want." The scent of his cologne flourished around her nose, pushing into her memory.

Sofia stares at the man for a moment when he stops talking, recognizing they had just met, and their connection had created such fire that she was certain it would spread wild.

There was no way that it could've been burnt out then; she watched his eyes follow her, almost obsessed as he stood in front of her, leaning on the rooftop railing.

"You don't even know me, Harry," She shrugged, "And I don't even know your last name."

"That's very true," He finished the last drop of the martini, taking a bite of the olive as he let his smirk take over when he chewed.

"The greatest loves of all time started that way, didn't they, Sofia Treaveau? With a bit of mystery and adventure? Do you need to know my last name to truly fall in love?"

She licked her lips, the taste of vanilla from her lip gloss on her taste buds. She nodded, letting her eyes fall back to him as she noticed a strand of his shouldered locks falling around his cheek as the breeze flew across them.

Her heart burned; the wildfire was spreading at an enormous rate. She had wanted to keep her heart from that feeling, but how addicting it was made her knee knock with his as they stood close.

"Then, I accept," She bites her lip, "I'll be ready tomorrow by seven. No later, or I'll keep the door locked."

Harry tried his best to keep his smile demure, but he knew that the heat of his skin had to be felt by her– the way his heart thumped was that one of a thousand earthquakes.

"I'll be outside your door at six fifty-eight, waiting to take you up the green line like every beautiful woman deserves." He raises his brows with a smirk. "Last week, I saw a rat the size of a raccoon."

Sofia hummed soft before she broke out in a few chuckles. "Wow, I cannot wait to see that– who said romance was dead?"

Harry shook his head with a large smile as he let his eyes soften to the way he looked at her. Sofia seemed the type he'd want to wake up in the morning to see; the type who were kind and subtle at first but open with large thoughts when you were able to chip past the exterior.

"How about I cook you dinner instead? I can come pick you up, we can go to the corner store, and I'll take you back to mine. It's a small place, but I think it may be a bit more..." He trailed off, trying to find the word, "A bit more intimate. And cheaper."

She smirked, looking at the way that his arm rested along the railing before she reached out to brush her hand against his, "So, I'm not worth a fifty dollar seafood platter, then?"

Harry shook his head, "Not if you're going to waste it."

Sofia bit her lip, smiling as she nodded her head. "I think that's a date, then."

Harry took a smaller step closer. "First time you actually said yes to me."

"Don't expect anymore tonight. I don't say yes unless I mean it." She tells him, sipping her coke.

An image quickly runs through his mind as he takes a solid breath in, but he blinks a few times to make sure it leaves so he doesn't get caught. He bit the inside of his cheek to feel some pain to try to get his kind off of how else he could get her to say yes.

Over and over and over–

"So, tomorrow at seven?" She interrupted his thoughts, his eyes meeting hers again.

"I told you," He smirked, "Six fifty-eight. And don't be late coming to the door, either."

Sofia exhaled, knowing the smile hadn't left her lips all evening. It was almost painful at that point; her cheeks hurt and she was a bit worried the blush would be permanent. It was a feeling she knew wouldn't last, but she looked forward to her cheeks hurting just a bit in the morning.

She nodded, "It's a date."

Harry rolled his lips into his mouth before he turned towards the city. He leaned against the railing, staring into the abyss of the lights. He breathed in, heavy, before humming out. Sofia did as he did, standing next to him. She leaned against the railing before tucking some hair behind her ear; the spring breeze gave her a bit of a chill.

"What if I'm a bit impatient?" He said suddenly, pushing away as he held onto the glass railing in front of him.

Sofia turned her head towards him, before she felt his hand on her wrist to request her attention. It was the easiest she had ever been to convince when he led her towards the bar. Their hands fell into place as he requested to pay for the bill, taking his card back.

"Where are we going?" Sofia said, a bit of uncertainty in her voice as she looked around. She didn't want to leave her friend without a bit of a notice– she had no way to get in contact with her.

Harry turned his head up after he signed the receipt, dropping the pen.

"We're leaving," He said, without effort, before taking her hand once again. He hadn't recalled that he had dropped it, but he had missed it. "I know a spot that'll be a bit more... private."

"I can't just leave," Sofia explained, chuckling with a bit of disbelief that he was leading her away, "I have to– I mean, I came with Nat."

Harry turned his head to look around, trying to see if he could find the group that had left them alone. He knew that they had to have been spying on them from another part of the rooftop, but he wasn't able to spot them.

"It doesn't seem that they're around, maybe they left. We'll be back. I'll get you home then you can text her." Harry promised, trying his best to get her to leave with him. He was ready to get out of the atmosphere and move onto seeing something else. He wanted to explore, walk the streets with her.

"Yeah, but," Sofia swallowed, turning her head to try and lay eyes on Nat, just to give her an update. It felt wrong to walk away with someone she barely knew– a bit irresponsible, really. A man, nonetheless. She hadn't felt uncomfortable in the slightest, but she was trying to protect herself.

Harry dug his hands into the front pockets of his pants, standing in front of her, waiting for her to come to a conclusion. His hand moved to her shoulder, giving a soft physical connection before he studied her.

"You can blame me. I take full blame if she freaks out on you." His voice was calm, but it was highlighted with desperation to get her to leave with him– to flee into another world, unknown.

He liked the unknown, which worked in his favor most of the time; it was something that was unagreeable in most of his life. His father would hate when Harry said he hadn't planned for that to happen, or that he hadn't thought of that before. It was just how his mind processed things– and being able to live a life where he didn't have to think about it made Harry feel more inclined to do that behavior out of a rebellion.

Stability was never something Harry needed to feel like he had been doing something right. Most of the time, he looked for spontaneity to keep his mind racing, finding people who were there for a season rather than the long haul. It kept his mind fresh.

"We don't–" Harry started, thinking that this would be how he left her that night. He would leave, telling Niall that it hadn't worked out.

Sofia interrupted, "No, let's."

He stared at her for a moment, looking around before he felt her take his hand that time. She placed her fingers between him, holding them firmly.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked her, looking around at the crowd.

It hadn't occurred to him that he really hadn't seen Niall or any of Niall's friends for a bit, which made him a bit leary that they had moved onto a new spot without them anyways. It would figure as such, because he had known that Niall was going to set him up like this from the moment he had mentioned the words 'and this girl is coming'.

Harry didn't do much dating– it hadn't interested him. Talking and getting to know people was the most extent that he went through, which was fine to him. If he ever brought a girl home, it was always going to be for her best interest. Maybe she was going to try and get home but was alone and too drunk– half the time Harry just took her home so she'd be somewhere safe.

But there was a light about Sofia that allowed his mind to wander about the possibilities of what it would be like if she was around– in his space, in his aura.

There was a great deal of satisfaction and happy wonder that came with those thoughts.

Sofia had breathed out, pulling his hand closer to her as they started to walk towards the elevator on the way down. When it dinged, the two of them stepped into the small space to head back down onto the streets.

The vibrant hum of the city greeted them when they made their way back out of the tall building—distant cars rushing by, the occasional burst of laughter from late-night revelers, and the soft rustle of trees stirred by a gentle breeze. The air was cool, carrying with it the smell of distant rain and the earthy scent of summer that felt so far away. Sofia inhaled deeply, savoring the moment, feeling the weight of the crowded rooftop bar lifting from her shoulders.

The streets weren't deserted, but they were limited to the night dwellers now; the amount of bars around this particular area were sparse.

Harry walked beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets now that they had released their hands from one another, a relaxed smile playing on his lips.

"See? Isn't this better?" he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Their pace had a slow marvel to it, the sound of her clicking heels echoed through the narrow sidewalks.

She looked over, a small smile forming. "Yeah, okay. Maybe you were right."

They wandered through the streets in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps keeping time with the quiet energy of the city around them. Every now and then, Sofia would catch Harry glancing over at her, but he didn't push the conversation especially when they both seemed to find a bit of satisfaction in the quietness.

He seemed content just to be walking, taking it all in. It was something she liked about him—his ability to be present without needing to fill the silence.

After a few blocks, neither of them had made a solid suggestion on where to go or where they had been heading, they found themselves in front of a small park nestled between two buildings. It was a quiet spot, they had noticed that a person was walking their dog, with a few benches and a street light casting a warm glow over the cobblestone path into the small corridor.

Harry stopped, gesturing toward one of the black, metal benches. "Want to just sit for a minute?"

Sofia nodded, and they sat down side by side, the city stretching out before them but feeling a world away from the noise and lights of the rooftop bar. She leaned back against the bench, her body relaxing further with each breath.

"Tell me something," Harry said, breaking the silence, his voice soft but curious.

She turned to look at him. "Like what?"

"Something you don't normally share," he replied, his tone easy but genuine. "Something about you."

Sofia raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on her face. "Why do I feel like this is one of those questions that ends with you telling me something poetic?"

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll tell you something poetic, sure. But you first."

She considered it for a moment, unsure where to begin or what she could say to this stranger sitting next to her that had a lingering smell of vanilla and tobacco. It wasn't often that someone asked her to share something real, something beyond the surface-level conversations she usually had with people.

With Harry, though, it felt... safe. His attention to her never dwindled, it never made her feel stared at or under a microscope. It made her feel... looked after. Listened to.

She fidgeted with her fingers for a minute before she took in a deep breath, trying to imagine what she could say to him in this moment that would ultimately feel worthwhile. Something that would allow their time together to be meaningful. The sound of the leaves in the night breeze took her focus for a moment.

"I guess... I don't always feel very confident and comfortable," she said after a pause. "Like, I put on this front—smiling, laughing, having fun," She looks at her hands in her lap, "Going to martini bars with my friend when I really just wanted to stay home and watch Great British Bake Off. But sometimes, it's not really how I feel. Sometimes I'm just... faking it to make it easier for myself." She glanced away, surprised at her own honesty, but she felt a weight lift as soon as she said the words.

Harry didn't respond right away, just nodded slowly, taking in what she'd said. "I get that," he said after a beat. "It's hard to let people in, isn't it? To show them the stuff beneath the surface."

She met his eyes again, a quiet understanding passing between them. "Yeah," she murmured. "I guess it is."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the space between them.

Then Harry shifted to make it so he was turned towards her a little more, his eyes searching hers, his voice softening. "You know, I probably would have chosen Great British Bake Off, too." He bites his lip with an urgent smirk trying not to overpower him, "But I could take you to get a box of biscuits and it might give you the same feeling."

Sofia's breath caught slightly at his words, at the sincerity in his voice but the same goofiness she was trying to stop herself from blushing at. It was as if he could see right through the mask she wore, and yet, instead of being afraid or pushing her away, he seemed to lean in closer, making her feel comfortable.

"Okay, well, now it's your turn," she said, her voice light but her heart racing a little from the vulnerability hanging in the air.

Harry smiled, looking down for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. He clicked his tongue, analyzing what was behind his brain. When he spoke again, his voice was low and thoughtful.

"Alright. Here's something... I guess I've always had this thing about time. I feel like I'm always trying to make the most of it, like it's slipping away too fast. Maybe that's why I wanted to leave the bar earlier. I hate wasting time and just standing around, especially when I feel like there's something more out there, something better. I don't want to miss out on it."

Sofia watched him, feeling a sense of quiet understanding settle between them. "That's why you wanted to leave," she repeated, the words soft as they fell from her lips.

Harry nodded, his gaze steady on hers. "Yeah. And," He shrugged, "Because I wanted to be with you. Just... you."

Her heart did a small, unexpected flip at his words, the weight of them settling deep within her. There was no pretense with Harry, no games or lines. Just truth. And it made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time—safe, but also seen.

She smiled, a small but genuine smile, and leaned back against the bench. "I'm glad we left," She told him, "And that was very poetic."

"Me too." Harry said, his voice quiet but filled with meaning, "And I thought you'd like that."

He took in a breath as he watched her pull her jacket around her middle. It was a bit colder than he expected it to be, thankful that he had brought the blazer too. Harry chewed on his lip for a moment, pushing the hair from his face.

"You hungry?" Harry asked, noticing the way she hugged herself against the breeze. It may have been a way to get her out of the air, too. "There's a bodega down there. Best late-night snack spot in the neighborhood."

Sofia chuckled. "I guess I'm a little hungry, sure, but I don't trust bodegas unless it's the guy at the end of my block."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it," he said with a grin. "They have the best sandwiches in the city. And I think I need something to balance all the vodka and olive juice currently swimming around in my system."

She smirked, the idea suddenly sounding perfect. "Alright, then, lead the way to the best sandwich in the city," She stood up, following in his lead, "I don't think the best sandwich is in Williamsburg, but I will try and trust you."

"Have I been wrong at any time tonight?" Harry asked, shoving his hands into his pocket again.

Sofia thought for a moment, shaking her head, "Guess not. But there's still time."

Harry rolled his eyes playfully before knocking his shoulder against hers. "So, you're saying you're ready for a full night, then? It's only," He looked at the watch on his wrist, "Watch says eleven-thirty, but I think I could fill our time for the next six hours, at least."

"The longer I'm around you, the more time I have to search for when you're wrong." She pointed out, her hands in her jacket pocket. "So I would be very careful with your time with me."

Harry hummed, "Well, that's too bad," He shook his head, "I was looking forward to spending time with you. I'm having a good time."

Sofia felt her heart flutter a skip as she tried her best not to turn her head to meet his eyes. She knew if she would, she wouldn't be able to contain herself– holding back the smirk was just enough.

"I am too." She agreed, giving him the comfort and satisfaction she would have needed, too.

They continued walking, the glow of the bodega's neon Open 24 Hours sign drawing them in like a beacon– only the 4 had been burnt out; Harry pointed it out with a chuckle. The place was small and cramped, with shelves stocked high with every kind of snack imaginable, and the smell of deli meat and fresh bread filled the air.

A New York specialty.

"This is very classy," Sofia teased as they stepped inside, the pointed-toe boots clicking against the dirty tile, the bell above the door jingling softly.

Harry shot her a look of mock indignation. "Just wait. You'll see," He pushed the hair from his eyes, "The Queen of England recommended this place to me, actually. So I'd be careful with your mocking tone."

"Was this her last meal?" Sofia joked, which made small crinkles by Harry's eyes as he felt himself laugh quite hard at her dry humor.

He licked his lips, "Yes, actually. The Philly cheesesteak was her dying wish."

"Are we sure it's not what," Sofia whispered, pretending to cut her neck in an attempt to mimic out what she meant. "You know, offed her."

Harry's eyes widened, "That hasn't been disclosed, but I think you may be onto something."

He led her to the counter, where an older man with a thick mustache and equally thick accent greeted them.

"Hey, Pauly," Harry greeted the man, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked at the menu that very well could have been a novel with the amount of writing that was on it. He squinted, trying to read it as Sofia tried her best not to be overwhelmed with the options.

"Late night?" The man asked, eyeing them with the knowing look of someone used to night owls wandering in after hours.

"The only kind of night I have." Harry replied, already scanning the menu board hanging overhead. "Can we get two of the specials, extra pickles on both, with tiger sauce and chips on top– well, fries, I guess."

Sofia raised an eyebrow at his order combo, biting her lip at the crazy menu item.

"You'll thank me later," Harry said, flashing her a grin before a thought popped into his head which erased the smile, "You're not vegan, are you?"

Sofia shook her head with a laugh, "No– no, I'm not. This may turn me vegan, though."

As the man prepared their sandwiches, they wandered down one of the narrow aisles, picking out a couple of drinks– Harry went with an Arnold Palmer, Sofia got a ginger ale out of the fridge that had burnt out lights. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a soft, familiar glow over everything. It felt almost like a private moment, even though the world around them carried on.

When the sandwiches were ready, Harry paid for their meal and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter to go along with the meal. He thanked Paul generously before he led the way and pushed out of the small store with a brown paper bag in his hands. The lights of the streets were dim; the roads were slow and calm.

The night had grown even quieter, with only the distant sounds of the city lingering in the air. Harry had moved a few feet down, settling himself on a front stoop before Sofia watched him with surprise.

"We're just going to sit here?" She asked him, looking up at the door, knowing that this was someone's home. "I think this is considered loitering."

"Is that an issue?" He asked, pulling a sandwich out wrapped in foil, and handing it over to her. "We're just eating quickly, I'm starving," He scooted over a bit on the stoop, "You can sit."

Sofia felt a burning sensation in her chest when their shoulders touched; there was an electric force that ran through her body as they touched. She took the sandwich from his hands, opening it and noticing the mess that was about to ensue.

When she turned to Harry, he had already taken a bit before throwing his head back in a pleasurable sensation, "Fuck, that's good. So needed."

Sofia felt her cheeks turn hot at his reaction, not wanting to comment further on it because she was afraid of what would happen if he caught her staring at him. Instead, she unwrapped her own sandwich, tucking her hair behind her ears to get it out of her face before she took a bite of her own.

It was truly one of the best sandwiches she'd ever had in her life– she could feel the way that Harry stared at her as she tried to interpret her thoughts, nodding a bit as she covered her mouth.

"Okay, I'll admit it," she said, covering her mouth as she spoke between bites. "This is really good."

"Told you," Harry replied, taking a bite of his own. "You've got to trust me on these things."

There was the silence, again. She felt it as they sat and ate their meal, shoulder to shoulder. Harry ate his rather fast, crumbling up the foil and the paper before he wiped his hands with a napkin and threw it all back into the brown paper bag. Sofia finished hers up too; he took her trash from her without asking, before throwing it in the house's garbage can closest to them.

"I should be getting home soon," Sofia told him quietly as they sat on the stoop.

She watched Harry digging into his blazer pocket and pulling out the cigarettes and lighter he had just purchased at the bodega. His hands slipped a cigarette out of the container before he lit it and took a drag.

"I can help you get you there," Harry told her softly, "I'll follow your lead, then."

They meandered slowly toward Sofia's apartment, the food warming them from the inside out as they found themselves in a slower pace than even previously before. Sofia had never taken the time to study the streets, the trees and the neighborhood around her. There was something so simple and intimate about it—walking together in the quiet of the city, sharing bites of their sandwiches and laughing about little things, the world around them fading into the background.

Harry cracked a few jokes, asking her simple questions about what she did for work and what she thought about climate change. He asked her about her life and her family's ties to Asia and she told him about how her favorite animal was a frog and she thought they were misunderstood.

As they turned onto her street, Sofia slowed her pace, feeling a mix of contentment and something else—something she couldn't quite name. Her apartment was just a few steps away now, but she wasn't ready for the night to end even just hours before she wanted it to be over as soon as it had started.

"This is me," she said softly as they reached the front of her building, a modest but charming old brownstone nestled between two larger apartment complexes. It had a couple of steps before it led into a few cut apartments.

Harry stopped beside her, his eyes lingering on the building for a moment before returning to her. "Nice place."

"Yeah, it's home," she said, smiling as she looked up at the familiar windows. She pulled the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she awkwardly moved to stand in front of Harry. He was taller than her, his hair hanging on his shoulders as he stared up at the building. His hands were pressed into his pockets as he stood with a careless nature about him.

But then Harry seemed to hesitate, his expression shifting slightly, like he was trying to read the air between them. He stepped a little closer, his voice soft and steady. "I don't know about you, but I had a great time tonight."

Sofia felt a warmth spread through her at his words, the sincerity in them making her heart beat a little faster. "Me too," she said quietly, meeting his gaze. "I'm glad we left the bar."

He smiled, a small, almost knowing smile. "Yeah," He bit his lip, "Me too."

The silence between them stretched, comfortable but charged, as if the night had been building up to this quiet moment. Sofia found herself standing a little closer to him, their bodies just inches apart now, the space between them humming with unspoken possibilities.

Harry broke the silence first, his voice a little lower now. "So, are we still on for tomorrow, then?"

Sofia's smile lingered as she looked up at him, her chest tightening in the best way possible. "Maybe," she teased lightly. "Depends if you can find something better than those sandwiches."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but there was something softer in his eyes now, something more serious beneath the humor. He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I'll take my chances."

For a brief moment, neither of them moved, the world around them completely still. Sofia could feel her pulse quickening, the space between them almost nonexistent now. It felt like they were the only two in the world now– silence around them, no cars on the streets, no people on the sidewalks.

Until a few raindrops hit her nose softly; her focus was taken from him, looking up at the sky as she noticed that it had started to rain, raindrops falling above them in an early spring shower.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, Sofia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him—just a light, fleeting kiss, the kind that hinted at something more but was gentle and sweet for what it was. When she pulled back, Harry's eyes were still closed for a second, his lips curved into a surprised but satisfied smile.

"Well," he said softly, opening his eyes and looking down at her with that familiar spark of mischief, "that was unexpected."

Sofia grinned, feeling a little breathless. "Guess you should start expecting the unexpected."

Harry laughed, his voice warm and full of something Sofia couldn't quite place but liked all the same. "I'm starting to get that."

They stood there for a moment longer, the quiet settling back in around them. Then Sofia took a step back, before she took hold of the railing up the steps and towards the door to her building, "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Sofia," he said, still smiling as she slipped inside.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Sofia leaned against it for a moment, her heart still racing from the kiss, from the way the night had unfolded so unexpectedly. She couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop thinking about Harry and the way he'd made everything feel... easy. She hadn't felt that way in some time.

She hadn't felt security like that in a person in quite a while.

After Sofia had walked through the door, Harry had come to the conclusion that he hadn't even asked the simple question of getting her phone number. He raced up the steps, taking two at a time, before knocking on the door that had simply locked behind her. Sofia's attention grabbed as she looked at him through the glass of the front door that sat between them.

When she went to open it, she was hesitant about what he could have been wanting.

"Need something so soon?" She joked.

"Yeah," He grabbed his phone before handing it in her direction, "I realized I didn't get your number– figure maybe, I don't know– like it feels like we had a good time and maybe I'll text you in the morning."

There was a sense of nervousness that Sofia had felt from the interaction, almost like now that he was standing in front of her he was a bit embarrassed by the urgency that he had felt to knock back on the door when he would be back here in less than 24 hours.

She blinked a few times before she shook her head, "I'm– I'm sorry, I don't just give my number out," It was a rule she had put in place for herself because she knew how many times she sat around wondering when someone would text her. It was a part of her confidence that she didn't want to ruin, especially with the way she was feeling about Harry now.

Digging into her purse, she found a lip liner that was a dark shade of brown before handing it to him. Harry took it with a bit of confusion before Sofia pulled her jacket off of her shoulders to expose her forearm.

"You can write yours down, though," She offered, watching as he held the pencil in his hands. His fingers slipped around the small item, pulling off the cap before writing the 10-digits on her forearm. A small 'x' followed after it before he topped the pencil with the cap and handed it back to her.

"You have to promise to text me," He smirked, "Because I don't know that I can live with the embarrassment, if I'm honest."

Sofia held the jacket on her arm, trying to make sure that it dried down, not smudging.

"I know how it feels to be embarrassed like that– so you have nothing to worry about." Her voice was soft as she stared at him, looking at the way that he held himself between the door and the frame.

"Great," He nodded, feeling excited by her sincerity, "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." Sofia said again, a soft tone in her voice as she watched Harry shut the door behind himself. Her breathing became far more rapid as she was able to let go of the breath she felt like her chest had been holding.

And as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she knew this wasn't the end of the night– her brain was far too engulfed in the events of the night for her to fall asleep now. It felt more like the beginning of something new. Something she hadn't quite been expecting—but now, couldn't wait to see unfold.

Spring had a way of creeping in unnoticed, a quiet promise beneath the chill of lingering winter air. Just like the way Harry had slipped into Sofia's life—unexpected, but inevitable, like the first bloom pushing through thawing ground. Their meeting felt like the start of something new, the kind of newness that hummed beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge, to be felt in full.

The city around them mirrored the changing season, shaking off its cold, gray layers and coming to life again. Streets that had been barren now buzzed with the energy of renewal, of second chances.

And in the same way that spring awakens the world with its subtle touch, Sofia found herself waking up to something she hadn't realized she was missing. With every conversation, every shared glance, Harry became like the warmth of the sun after a long winter—steady, inevitable, drawing her out of the quiet hibernation of her own guarded heart.

The warmth of the sunshine was a gift to her cold, unwilling heart.

As she made her way to her room, she passed by Nat's room, seeing that the door was open and the light was on. The clicking of her heels would give her away immediately– and did, as Nat ran towards the doorway. The smile on her face told her everything she needed to know.

"Tell me everything." Nat demanded, but Sofia just shook her head, making her way past her door and into her own bedroom. Not a word more; keeping it to herself felt like the only way to make sure that it had been real.

As she laid back on her bed, the smile never faltered. Her heart never stopped beating at the highest rate– she felt she could become sick with every thought of him. The way he smelled, the way his green eyes shone in the dim streetlights, the way he walked, talked, pondered through his way of life.

The forgotten phone had been laying on her small vanity; she grabbed it, putting his number in quickly before writing out a small message– a photo of her arm included.

Sofia: Guess who?

Only a few seconds went by; he had been waiting for her number to pop-up. Harry had settled himself on the curb only a block away, waiting to see if he would hear from her. When the message from the unknown number came up, he couldn't believe it.

It made him smile, made his fingers shake with anticipation as he lit another cigarette.

Harry: I know it can't be Your Majesty, the Queen. She died eating a bodega cheesesteak. RIP.

Harry: I hope it's someone named Sophia.

Sofia rolled her eyes, but felt the satisfaction laying deep within her.

Sofia: Ooof. Minus 3 points. I spell it with an F. Sofia.

Harry: God fucking damnit. Of course you do.

He drug the smoke of the cigarette, watching as her message came up. When it did, he stared at it, wanting so badly for the night to replay over and over and over again. It was an inevitable feeling that he hadn't truly felt in a long time.

Sofia: Looks like I end the night with you finally being wrong... victory is so sweet.

Sofia: Goodnight :)

___________

Harry hadn't felt the way he felt at the moment in quite some time. It had been a while since there was a pep in his step rather than a drag of his feet. It felt good to be able to look forward to something, and he had been looking forward to this since he shut the door behind him at Sofia's apartment last night.

He looked forward to being able to see her again. Even in that one night, he had felt that there was an immediate connection. Some may call him crazy– but being a hopeless romantic did that sort of thing. It enabled you to make decisions and think about the future in a way that didn't make any sense.

The walk to her apartment, from what he had gathered using his phone map, was quite close to where his apartment was settled now. They both lived in Brooklyn, which made getting to her a lot easier. He wasn't sure if she lived alone or with roommates; Harry did, though, which made him happy to know that they would be going back to his place. While their spaces weren't entirely large or spacious, he knew that he didn't have any reason to be nervous to show her what he had.

Harry had a one-bedroom, practically a studio as his bedroom door didn't shut entirely. He kept it open most of the time, since it was just him.

When he had approached the door to her apartment building, he texted her a quick message to let her know that he was outside. The day was a bit cloudy, there had been some rain the evening prior once they had left the rooftop bar– thankfully, afterwards, and not during. The spring air was rolling through New York, but it still had hints of chill in the air.

Harry wore a dark flannel shirt overtop of a plain white shirt that had a few buttons down the middle. His black jeans and Nike trainers were a bit rugged, as he was one to wear down his clothes quite well. He didn't like the feeling of new clothing, it was a bit too constricting. To his body and to his wallet.

It wasn't that he struggled with money– he didn't, really. His family helped him with a few things while he was just starting out his career. But there were certainly incidentals that Harry's eyes widened at when he saw the bills coming in the mail. It was a strict, harsh reality whenever he realized that the freelance gig of journalism needed to come to a close. He needed to really settle with a company rather than the continuation of contracting positions.

It wasn't helpful to know that his income was a bit of a harsh topic with family, he knew how it would impact him in the future. He was twenty-seven now, with a whole world ahead of him. He was a bachelor– for the moment, at least. He was having fun and able to figure these things out now. He didn't want to have to settle down or to put pressure where there wasn't any.

It was okay now– it felt fine.

When Sofia popped out of the door, he gave a quick glance at the effortless look of her. She was wearing a long-sleeved button down, a steel blue, with a pair of denim that hugged her closely. A pair of white trainers on her feet, as she came out of the building with a bag over her shoulder and a hairclip pinning back the dark locks from her face. The make-up was practically blush and a bit of chapstick; she looked like she hadn't tried at all, which made his heart skip a beat at the idea she wasn't nervous. It made him twice as much.

She sounded a bit out of breath as she approached him, her smile the same as the night before.

"Hi," He said quietly, watching as her eyes trailed over him.

"I think it's seven," Sofia looked at the pretty, gold watch that settled on her wrist, "It's seven twelve."

Harry pursed his lips as he grabbed the cellphone from his back pocket. He gave a once over to the message that he sent her before pointing out the time that the message was sent.

"Six fifty-eight, I believe." He smirked before he watched her cross her arms with a playful eyebrow raise. "I told you that you'd be the late one, not me. Probably spraying some perfume and making sure your hair was perfect for me. And it is, so I forgive you for being so late because you look very beautiful."

Sofia hummed, "I guess I'll let you off the hook since you said I looked beautiful," When she smiled, there was a small dimple at the base of her chin as she looked back at him with her deep brown eyes that had small, feathered out lashes, "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Appreciated." He told her before he turned on his foot.

They were heading down the street to one of his favorite local grocery stores. It wasn't a place that he shopped often, really only when he was trying to impress someone because their selection was quite niche and for restaurateurs who were looking to elevate their dishes.

Their small talk went from one part of the planet to the other, talking about her favorite bagel place that she would get a macchiato from on rainy mornings or a pizza shop that Harry had on his list to go to but hadn't yet.

When they reached the store, Harry grabbed a basket at the front before they walked into it and Sofia looked around.

"I've never been here," She commented softly. A small amount of radio played in the background as Harry smiled at the cashier that he had recognized.

"I come here when I'm looking for gold," Harry grabbed a few peppers from the vegetable stand before he mulled over the zucchini and eggplant.

Sofia grabbed a bottle of red wine from one of the shelves across the way, placing it in the basket. Harry looked down and smirked at her before she started to walk away, obviously filling the basket with her own priorities.

"Thought you didn't drink?" Harry questioned, placing an eggplant in the basket before following her towards the back a bit.

"I don't," She shrugged, "But I like the idea of you taking me to your apartment to cook me dinner while we each hold a glass of red wine and talk about first-world problems. Like how we have an obstructed view from our tiny apartments, but then you show me the fire escape where you sit and have a cigarette every once in a while."

Harry grinned to himself as he placed some garlic and a can of tomato paste in the basket, still perusing the shelves.

"That sounds like a particular experience. I don't know if that's how it's going to go," He shrugs, "But I can definitely show you the front stoop where I smoke my cigarettes at three AM when I get home from the bars. It may not have the best view, but I think it's charming."

Sofia turned her head, nodding. She grabbed a small block of gouda, placing it in the basket and Harry continued to smile as she felt comfortable enough to add her items to his order. It was kind of cute, in a way, he thought.

It meant she felt comfortable enough with him, and he liked that their chemistry had led them here.

Once they were finished shopping, he had gathered the items at the counter in two paper bags, one on each arm before Sofia pushed the door open for his ease. They had moved in the opposite direction than they had just come, so that Harry could lead them back to his place instead.

"You haven't really told me what you're making me," She eyed him, "Should I be surprised?"

Harry rolled his lips in his mouth before he shook his head and gave her a small smile, "Don't believe so. I think it's actually quite predictable, but it's one of the best things I make, which is just strictly to impress you because you are very hard to impress."

Sofia chuckled a bit as she placed her hands in her back pockets as they walked. "No, I'm just particular and want to make sure that I'm choosing wisely."

"Some may call that picky." Harry looked at her, holding the bags against his sides as he teased her.

Their conversation was easy and flowed, but she felt appreciated that he was able to do so. She hoped that he held tough conversations just as well, without the jokes or the teasing elements.

This was just her way of coping– to make sure that all conversations were light and held together with a piece of beautiful ribbon. Once the ribbon was undone, nothing was pretty anymore. Conversations that weren't held together were messy and unkempt; it was an element of relationships that she hated because she had run from them so often. Her family dynamic felt that way half of the time.

"Fine, you caught me," She shook her head, "I'm picky. But that should boost your ego quite a bit."

"Trust me," Harry told her, nudging her shoulder a bit to get her to turn right down one of the streets, "My ego is fucking over the moon as I get to walk down the street with you right now."

"Oh, please," She rolled her eyes, matching his smile as he nodded undoubtedly. "That's a bit dramatic."

They reached Harry's apartment building; it looked quite similar to some of the townhouses, but Harry walked right into the door as he unlocked it. It had a long staircase as they walked into the front area, it was quite dark when they arrived before Harry nudged her to go up the steps.

"It's the first door on the left." Harry told her before they walked up the small building before Sofia took one of the bags from his arms so that he could unlock the door properly.

Once inside, Harry threw the keys in the small dish by the door before he tread inside. Sofia closed the door behind her, taking in the area before placing the grocery bag on the small kitchen island inside. It was a small apartment, a bit bigger than hers. She liked that it had natural lighting, that it didn't feel dark. She liked that Harry had a sense of style, an element of cleanliness that most of the men she dated didn't seem to have.

It was a solid apartment with warm lighting and felt safe to her, in a way. But there may have been other elements present that kept her feeling that way.

"Would you like some wine, then, so I can explain to you about my front stoop?" Harry offered as he pulled the bottle from the bag. He examined it for a moment before giving a nod of approval as he took two glasses from his cabinet.

"Only if I can see your obstructed view first."

He placed them on the counter, using a corkscrew, and removing the cork out before handing it to Sofia.

"Hopefully you like this because it was twenty-seven dollars and you're picky." He cheered towards her, raising his glass a bit before he took a small sip.

"Cheers." She started softly with a giggle before taking a sip. It was a quite bold red wine, but something about it made her tongue salivate when she held it in her mouth. She felt Harry look at her with a lop-sided grin as she hummed to herself.

"Think I could've gone with the sixty dollar bottle," She told him, watching him shake his head.

Sofia wandered around the small apartment as Harry started to prepare the dinner. He threw a towel over his shoulder as he started to chop some vegetables rather precisely. She noticed the photos of him, the way that he kept memories around his apartment like he wanted to fill it with every ounce of who he was. She was rather impressed by it, knowing that she could've just gotten all of his information from walking around the living room a few times.

Her eyes peaked into his bedroom as the door had been open; Harry caught her.

"Interested?" He asked, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the dimpled smile that kept onto the tray of vegetables he had been chopping. He had returned to looking at his task rather than her, but his eyes lifted back to notice that she was slowly making her way around.

"I am quite interested in how old that blue comforter is and if that's one from an old college dorm room." Sofia started with a plain face before Harry acted as if it had knocked him back off of his feet. "Because if it is, I don't believe I am interested, no."

"Damn," He shook his head, "That hit me where it hurt."

Sofia shook her head, "You didn't answer which means it's not the answer I want to hear, either."

Harry wiped his fingers on the towel on his shoulders as he grabbed a baking dish and started to lay a layer of sauce on the bottom of it, before quickly arranging the chopped vegetables. Sofia sat on a stool at the small island, one of two that were there. They were mixed-match, which made her smile as she took another sip of the wine before she realized what he was doing.

Her eyes trailed him as he concentrated on how to place the pieces neatly.

"Are you," She squinted at him before he looked at what he had been doing, to her, "I told you I grew up in France and you decided to make me ratatouille?"

Harry shrugged as if a bit offended by her reaction to him, "It's a meal based off of one of the most critically-acclaimed films of our generation, so I think you may be jumping the gun a bit with thinking it's always about you."

Sofia swirled the red wine in her glass before she looked at Harry, "You think they named the meal after the film? The cartoon about a rat?"

"Put some honor on his name– Remy." Harry's sense of humor echoed as he tried to keep a straight face before he bit into one of raw peppers that hadn't fit into the dish.

"And you should know, I'm making this for you because it's the meal that got me to be featured in The Sunday Times once in college. I wrote a review about this restaurant in London that I went to as an intern and it was the first time I really felt like," Harry swirled his own wine around as he tried to think of the emotions that came with that small feat. "I really felt like I had made it. I was in a big city, I was doing cool stuff. It was just one of those things that brought a lot of comfort to this meal and it's one that I make sometimes just to really," He thought for a moment, "Don't know– remember that I'm doing well. And that I'm happy."

It was a moment that Sofia had not really been prepared for, as she hadn't seen that soft, kinder side to Harry. They were being playful, they were flirty and harmless– but something about his words made her listen harder. He was proud of himself for an accomplishment, and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'm sure that was a huge deal for you," She nibbled at her lip, tasting the cherry red wine, "Is food what you write about mostly?"

Harry hummed to himself as he thought of her question, "Yes and no," He told her, "I'm a contracted freelance writer at the moment, which means I'm working at this magazine for six months and then they can directly hire me or let me go. It just depends, but I'm not super worried about it."

Harry stuck the dish into the oven, setting a timer on his phone before he threw the towel onto the island. He took the glass by the stem, moving towards the small living room space that was only a few feet ahead of them.

"But yeah, I mostly write about restaurants, the food industry, and the service industry. It's a field that interests me– I want to travel more and learn how to cook different cuisines, but I don't know. I guess the world is at my fingertips, and I always keep it a steady distance so I don't go too overboard with my dreams."

"You have a very wise way with your words, Harry." Sofia's voice was petite, her words were feeling heavy on her tongue as she realized how much the wine had started to take over her. She didn't know how to feel, but she knew that she felt good. She felt ultimately warm and composed gratitude that she was feeling safe in this space with a man.

That wasn't always the case. Her eyes were always on the door, always looking for a way out because that felt safe. That felt more secure than staying. Sofia had one foot out the door at all times because that was the only way she knew how to be.

"I'd hope so," He told her, "How else am I supposed to keep buying you fancy dinners and wines if I don't have a career? I think I need words to keep going on that."

She smirked, "You've already made this a more-than-once kind of thing?"

Harry leaned against the counter, holding his hands on it as he stared at her and nodded a few times. "I don't think this feels like something I want to stop right now," His honesty is refreshing, "Unless you take a bite of the dinner and absolutely hate it, then we might have to part ways."

Sofia finished the rest of her wine, draining the glass before she set it down on the countertop. She removed herself from the stool she had been sitting in before making her way to the small couch that sat against the wall in his tiny living room.

She noticed the stacks of books and DVDs that covered the wall, her eyes moving over them. They told a story of who he was, what he consumed. She settled onto the couch, feeling his presence behind her as he moved to do the same.

They discussed their time in the city; what each of them liked the most about it, what they despised. She told him about her days in college– she had attended a small state school right outside of Boston, where she had grown up mostly. Her high school years were spent in the United States, mostly. She was a good student, she loved learning. Her dreams of being an event planner were more than anything college could have taught her, and she realized that when she started to really make life decisions.

It was when she met Kendall that things had started to take a turn; it was then that her dreams and her hobbies were met with cynicism, not hope. She wanted to start her own business, to create special moments for people who needed that extra bit of joy in their life. Planning parties, birthdays, holidays, celebrations– these were moments in people's lives that made it exciting to be a human being.

It was nice to celebrate being alive every once in a while in a small gesture of kindness, and she loved being a part of that for people.

But her partner was unsupportive, he was pessimistic about that being a career path that would help them advance into the world that they wanted to live in. Sofia didn't come from money– her family was very middle class, but was given the opportunity to travel. They didn't have expensive things, they had memories. They had each other, and that was worth much more than the luxury items that Kendall was used to.

She couldn't help him live the life that he wanted to live because she wasn't making the income that he was. But she was happy. She was excited to go to work everyday. That was the difference, she felt. She had an okay apartment, she had okay clothes and items that worked to the best of their ability– Sofia was living a life that she had wanted, finally.

And something about the used couch, the broken spines of novels that lined the walls, and the mix-matched items that sprawled around Harry's apartment told Sofia that he had the same values that she did.

Harry shared about his working-class family back in England and how they were proud of him, but they also left more to be desired when it came to support. They had told him to stay in London for a bit longer, possibly climb the career ladder in England, instead. But Harry wanted to be more than that, he wanted to take chances.

His father called him irresponsible, his mother had told him that she was angry with his choices to move abroad. They still loved him– maybe that was why it hurt so much more when they said those things about what he was looking for. It may have been quite irresponsible, but Harry knew what he wanted and was going to try to make it work.

If it didn't work, he would have to pick a different path. It wasn't that hard to navigate life when it was just yourself you have to worry about, though.

The smell of roasted vegetables and herbs filled Harry's small apartment, a warm and inviting contrast to the crisp evening air outside. The countertop with his stools was set simply, two plates and glasses of wine, but it felt cozy, intimate. Sofia sat on the couch, watching as Harry moved around the kitchen to try and make sure everything was ready.

"So, ratatouille, huh?" she called over to him, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Didn't realize you were aiming for Michelin stars tonight."

Harry grinned, stirring the pot on the stove. "Hey, I've got hidden talents. Just wait 'til you try it. You'll be saying "Yes, Chef" by the end of the night."

Sofia snorted, leaning back and crossing her arms. "I highly doubt that, but I appreciate the enthusiasm. What is it they say? Confidence is half the battle?"

Harry turned around, giving her a playful look. "Confidence and a really good recipe, which, for the record, I stole from my grandmother. So if you don't like it, you're basically insulting a sweet old lady."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Nice try. Don't think I won't tell her the truth."

He shook his head, ladling the ratatouille onto their plates with a flourish. "Okay, Gordon Ramsey. You're gonna love it. Or at the very least, pretend you do to spare my feelings."

A moment later, he carried the plates over to the tabletop and set them down with an exaggerated bow. "Your dinner, madame," he said in an overly formal voice, pulling out the random barstool that made him laugh thinking about the fact he picked it up from a random street sale.

Sofia raised an eyebrow as she took her seat. "Such a gentleman," she teased, eyeing the colorful medley of roasted vegetables—zucchini, eggplant, tomatoes, peppers—perfectly layered in neat little rounds. It actually looked pretty impressive, but she was trying her best to keep her cool about it.

"I only aim to please," Harry said with a wink, sitting next to her and grabbing his fork. "Now, come on. First bite. Let me see if my future as a chef is secure."

She twirled a piece of zucchini onto her fork, pretending to inspect it carefully. " Color looks great, has a good softness to it without being mushy. Alright, moment of truth," she said, before taking a bite. The flavors hit her all at once—the sweetness of the tomatoes, the earthiness of the vegetables, the hint of fresh basil. She let out an appreciative hum, nodding slowly as she chewed. "Okay, okay. Not bad."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Not bad? Come on, give me more than that."

Sofia laughed, taking another bite. "Alright, fine. It's delicious. Happy?"

He pursed his lips to the side in an attempt to break her smile, watching her delicately as he squinted to try to see into her. Sofia was playing a harsh game with him, and he wanted her approval more than he could admit. Even though he knew how she felt, he wanted to hear her say it.

Approval meant everything to him, even if he knew that she was just giving him a hard time.

"Very," he said, taking a bite himself, his expression smug. "Told you I had hidden talents."

She grinned, shaking her head. "Well, consider me impressed. Just don't expect me to call you 'Chef' any time soon."

"Not yet, but give it time," Harry said with a wink, raising his glass of wine. "To culinary greatness... and to not burning down my kitchen."

Sofia clinked her glass against his, laughing softly. "And to not burning down your kitchen," she echoed, taking a sip. As she did, she glanced across the table at him, feeling the warmth of the evening settle in.

There was something so easy about being with Harry, about the way they could joke and talk, and share a quiet meal. It felt... right. Comfortable, yet filled with something more. Something she was slowly realizing she didn't want to let go of anytime soon.

"Tell me other things you do well." She inquired, taking another bite, covering her mouth as she chewed. She moved onto the next question as he found himself wanting to give a certain answer, but shaking his head instead.

She could tell as he started to blush a bit red at the suggestion that lined his brain.

"Uh," He picked at a piece of the eggplant before licking his lips, "I'm very good at crosswords," He told her, "And building things."

"What kind of things?" She asked, taking a sip of wine to wash down the dinner.

"Anything. It's actually kind of nerdy," He tilted his smile, "But I love building, like, Legos. I always have. I'm very step-oriented. Guess it's why I like cooking, too. There's just a lot of steps."

Sofia cleared his throat as she narrowed her eyes to her plate, before looking back up at him through her lashes. "Would you say you're," She paused for a minute, "Good at following directions, then?"

Harry cleared his own throat, chewing a bit slower as he leaned on the island a bit, body folded in half as he looked at her a bit more directly.

"I'm very good at following directions, yes." He suggested, nodding a few times.

The blush on Sofia's cheeks was noticeable now, too, as she found herself giggling just a bit to herself at his answer. She hadn't noticed that the wine may have gotten to them a bit, but it was starting to feel incredibly warm all of the sudden.

"What about you?" He asked in return, watching as she tried to think about the question. "What are you good at?"

Sofia swallowed, licking her lips. "I'm nurturing, I think. I think I'm caring and I'm honest, maybe to a fault. But I think to the people I love, I'm their number one fan. I'm really good at throwing a birthday party and showering my people with love. Again," She paused, "Maybe to a fault."

Harry licked his lips a bit, tucking some hair behind his ears before pushing the sleeves to his flannel up a bit. "That's a bit more deep than playing with Legos."

Sofia smirked a little at his comment, "I'm also very good at picking things up with my feet. I think my toes are quite nimble."

A laugh broke out of Harry that made Sofia start to giggle as well as he covered his face with his hand; he winked at her jokingly, "You'll have to show me later."

"Oh, great. Another guy in New York with a foot fetish," She jokes, "I share something personal to me, and you go and make it sexual."

He finishes the bite off of his fork before placing his fork down on the plate, "You're the one who shared the foot fact. I'm sure they're lovely. You've kept 'em covered up around me, though– little tease."

Sofia laughed at his banter, taking another sip of her wine before she saw the way that his eyes shined at her. She hadn't felt this safe in a while– she hadn't felt this relaxed. She recognized it could've been the wine, but she knew that it was just the way that they spoke to one another. He was extraordinarily normal, caring. He was mature, but not to a fault.

The air in Harry's apartment felt a bit stale now, but it may have been the fact that she was feeling the heated attraction coming directly across from her. Her leaning into the kitchen island was done unwillingly as she realized that they had started to naturally come together as they finished their meals a bit more quietly, then.

Once she took her last bite, she placed her fork on the plate and looked up at him, "Final review is that I'd say this is a Michelin five-star restaurant and I'd definitely come back."

"Restaurants can only have up to three Michelin stars, so I take that as the highest compliment." Harry explained before taking her plate and placing them both in the sink for washing later.

"Damnit, I was trying to impress you." She explained, finishing her second glass. The wine had started to make her head a bit dizzy at that point, which made the goofy smile on her face more noticeable as she tried her best to keep composed.

Harry reached for the bottle, pouring the rest between them as he stared at her directly again. The night had started to grow darker outside; the dimness of the lights in his apartment created a warm atmosphere as they sat practically in darkness with little rays of string lights and side table lamps that he had turned on.

Harry grabbed a lighter from a drawer behind him, lighting a few candles in the kitchen to add a bit of light and warmth to the space before he turned to her and bobbed his head to the side, aiding her to follow him.

"Come check this out," He stated, taking the wine and the lighter with him as he moved into the bedroom. It was practically dark except for the window that overlooked the city. There were dancing, twinkling lights below them, they radiated off of the street from the rain on the road. It was a view he was happy with, as it didn't back to a wall or to a small courtyard behind the apartment space.

He pushed the window up, moving to sit in the windowsill– straddling it to keep himself balanced as his foot hit the fire escape on the other side.

"I thought you told me you didn't have a fire escape," Sofia laughed, mirroring him.

She held the wine in her hands as she felt the breeze on her face, watching as the lights illuminated over his face. Harry grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the floor before taking one and lighting it quickly. The flame to the lighter shone over him, her eyes fixed for a moment.

"I don't think I said that." He explained, "I told you I'd show you the front stoop, so I could be a bit different– that was just to impress you. I think I'm over trying to impress you now, though."

Sofia raised her brows as she took the cigarette from his fingers. The smoke blew back into his face as he tried to blow it away. She took a drag, humming as she held the cigarette between her fingers. He didn't take her as the kind to smoke, but he liked the view as she sat across from him.

"Already done trying to impress me on the first date." She shook her head, "I knew you were too good to be true."

The sinking of Harry's dimple in his cheek brought her heartrate up as he took another sip of the wine; they had finished the bottle quickly, which was a good choice on her behalf. He rattled his brain as he saw the way that the lights shone over her skin. He couldn't help but want to caress it, feel her for himself. But he refrained. He didn't want to move too soon or to push too hard.

With time, it would happen, he thought.

But right now, he wanted to take his time with her. Get to know her properly. Get to know what she liked and didn't like, her favorite spots to go on walks, her favorite place to get a croissant in the neighborhood, her favorite way to drink her coffee.

Harry wanted to ask the questions that he didn't know if anyone else asked her.

"Cause I've realized that all the impressing I've tried to do hasn't really worked on you," He explained, he shook his head a little bit as he pushed his shoe a bit to touch her calf. It was some of the intimate touching that he had been working on pushing; Harry was intimate, he was a skilled lover with a love language that exceeded personal space.

He bit his lip, "You're literally the first person in a really long time that I've been able to be myself around."

Sofia stared up at him, flicking the ash of the cigarette before handing it back to him. She leaned forward a bit, his hand moved to grab it before their hands touched just a bit. Her eyelids fluttered a bit with heaviness at the feeling of his index finger gently moving across hers and the way that they both stared at the interaction was enough to make her breathing hitch.

"Is this, uh," She rolled her lips into her mouth as she let her own index finger move across his. She watched the small interaction before his other hand dropped to her knee just a bit. The feeling of his fingers caressing her just enough that she felt secure and safe was enough. "Is this the first chapter of our story, then?"

"Do characters usually kiss in the first chapter?" Harry asked, his voice just a bit raspy as he scooted himself a bit forward, letting his hand move towards her jaw. The way that her head rested against the windowsill was out of comfort, out of letting him take the control which she hadn't imagined that she could have let him have.

"I think that only happens in the movie version," Sofia teased, her voice low.

Harry scoffed, "Damn, and the movie is never as good as the book."

"I guess we have to keep reading to see what happens." She laughed a bit, quiet, even though they were the only two alone.

"Yeah," He laughed, "Keep reading. Promise the book gets better."

The sound of the honking horns, the chatter along the streets– it added to the way that both of his hands wrapped around the sides of her face to pull him closer. He smelled like tobacco and vanilla, the cigarette burned between his fingers as Sofia held onto his thighs as she leaned forward into it. The scent of him and the feeling of his lips against hers were far too heightened from the wine.

Her senses were higher in some elements, lower in others. She had tried her best to try and level herself out, but his tongue licked at her bottom lip and it interrupted all thought.

She tasted sweet like the wine, as he would have imagined. The feeling erupts in him as he had thought about doing this all night and finally feeling as if the moment had come to him in the perfect timing.

Harry fell too hard, too fast. But his values and ideals never changed. He wanted to love– wanted to be loved and to feel the support from someone who was never going to let him down. Harry ached for the love of someone, he had never truly been himself around someone before. He didn't think that being himself was good enough.

He wasn't the man who was going to support the family, he wasn't the person that had all of his shit figured out. That's what scared him the most about being in a relationship; as he sat here, leaving gentle kisses along Sofia's lips, he felt the urge to scream that he had finally found someone who looked at him just a little bit differently.

He had found someone who had opened up a part of him that he had been hiding away for a long time. Sometimes, it only took one night– one decision to change it for the best.

As they pulled away for a moment of air, Harry's forehead leaned against Sofia's for a moment as she tried to catch her breath. She felt a sense of relief leaving her chest, knowing whole-heartedly that he had given her a night that she wasn't expecting. She wasn't expecting to leave here tonight with a smile or with the hope that harbored in her belly; she expected the disappointment.

Her lips tasted like his, and her heart raced at the thought of his lips all over her. Everywhere, all the time.

Her breathing stabilized a bit before she spoke again, shaking her head with disbelief.

"You're right," She nodded. "That was a really good book."

Her eyes were heavy as she watched the smirk of his lips; his face closer to hers as their noses practically brushed together.

"Just wait then," He said, his accent raspy and full of grit as he kissed her lips gently once again. "That was just the first chapter."

_____________

hiiiiiiiiiii <3

even if you're not obsessed with them, I am!

ily you guys for loving me & keeping up with all of my antics ugh thank you, thank you!! remember this is a short story so we're gonna move fast with time but I will try my best to cover as much as possible <3 let me know what you think so far!!!!

love you!!!!!

- em

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sushirrrry · 7 months ago

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CELESTIAL | I. LAW OF UNIVERSAL GRAVITATION 6.1k words - on-going story story summary here ** please be nice, this is the first on-going story I'll be posting!!

Tuesday mornings were nothing to brag about, especially when my statistics class started at eight in the morning. I’d gotten in the simple routine—wake up around six, roll out of bed, take a shower, eat some breakfast, and get on my way.

It was weird what our bodies did normally. The idea of routine, the idea of being simple. Creating routine was one of the easier things that I had been able to teach myself. It was scientific; learned behavior became natural to humans. Practice made perfect.

I always got ready that early and found time to myself before the sun fully rose in the sky. I didn't have a problem waking up early, I never had—maybe that’s what made it easier for me, though. I never bothered my mum about school, or never once tried to sleep-in because I didn’t want to go to school. Something about being up early was always comforting to me.

Well, being up early and being in school were both comforting to me in different ways.

Seeing the moon circle around the earth again was kind of freaking cool, if I was honest. My mum never had to worry about me staying up late and hiding under my covers with a book—well, she did have to worry about that a little bit— but mostly, she had to worry about me taking the telescope to the window so early in the morning.

The moment when the sun and the moon pass because the darkness is fading– everyone always talks about the sunrise, but what about the moon falling? I always liked seeing the change. It was when the night met the daylight, and the world turned over.

This morning wasn’t really like that at all, considering it had been chucking it down with rain since the moment I opened my eyes. The sound of rain woke me up early. I sat with the window open next to my bed, listening to the sounds of it pour off the roof of our apartment.

When six rolled around, I was ready to get up. I rubbed over my eyes, yawning. The glasses that sat on my nightstand were thrown on my face as I trekked to my own bathroom—thankfully, I didn’t have to share with my roommate.

I turned on the shower, letting it run for a minute to warm up. I shivered at the thought of the water hitting me instead. The warm water soothed me this early, breathing in the steam to release anything that had built up in the night. I let it run over my neck and face, feeling the warmth of the water wake me up.

The shower routine turned into brushing my teeth, towel drying my hair a bit, and doing my morning skin routine.

Once the shower was done, I chose a plain black sweatshirt with a hood and a pair of jeans, threw on my old pair of black Vans, and made my way out into the kitchen with my backpack.

All the lights were off still; Chase didn’t have class until around ten, so he was never up this early. He strategically chose to make sure that all his classes were later in the morning because he knew he’d never make them. I smiled to myself at the thought.

I threw a Pop-Tart in my bag and started to head out of the apartment, knowing that I’d have a bit of time to just eat on my way to class instead. Campus was only a short walk, but the rain was chucking it this morning and didn’t seem to be letting us even as I had gotten ready. I decided that I’d just hop in my car and head over to the building instead of walking a mile in the rain.

Parking on the street was the only option for our apartment building, so I hopped into my car and headed towards the main mathematics building on campus. As soon as I turned on the radio, I let the sounds of 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins in the speakers as I relax against the seat. I push my hand through my damp hair, annoyed that there were a few rain spots on my glasses.

There are a lot more cars on the road around the flats and campus when the weather was bad. Kids always decided to get rides or drive to class themselves, which meant that parking was like receiving a trophy. There were only a few spots here and there.

But, because I was prompt and on time, I got a spot close to the door that I had to go into. I put the car in park, sitting for a moment before I went to grab the Pop-Tart from my bag. I opened it, taking a bite of one of them as I relaxed in the seat and let the sound of the radio mix with the sound of the rain.

It didn’t bother me that I hadn’t spoken to anyone yet that morning. Life was usually quiet. There were people who I knew needed to have that connection of someone else around them. I never understood that.

Silence and the solace seemed to comfort me in a way that wasn’t too explainable. I knew that people worried about it—people saw it as a sign of something worse than it was—it was odd to people who didn’t know how it felt. But I truly felt more comfort in the way that my routine worked, rather than the fast-paced environment of always needing to be around others.

I didn’t let myself down, usually. I had comfort in knowing I was dependable; I would always be there for me.

I was at my own pace; I had my own comfort in satisfaction rather than needing distraction. I was able to work on my own life and not worry about having to work on anyone else’s. There was certainly a difference between being alone and being lonely.

My mum worried I didn’t interact enough, my sister worried that I wasn’t thriving in the space like anyone else was—she liked to project herself onto me at times.

“When I was college, I was at the bars practically every night. You can afford to go every once in a while, you know.” She’d tell me. In some respects, I understood what she meant. There was validity to her concerns for me. And I was glad that she was able to experience what she wanted, and she was able to look back and feel that it made her a better person.

But that didn’t interest me in the slightest, and I think I had to respect that for myself.

I wouldn’t be able to wake up early if I drank too much; it would throw my routine off, and I wasn’t interested in losing that, either. I didn’t want to not know where I was, or how to do something. I didn’t want to lose control like that. The people that I hung around with to study—none of us were interested in that.

I was interested in receiving my degree, I was interested in the mathematic world—I was interested in everything that was built up around the world. I was interested in learning why everything happened and figuring out scenarios that felt impossible and making them work. I was interested in logic and satellite launches that I had to live stream from the space stations.

In school, I was the captain of the academic team and won gold with the national robotics team two years in a row.

Now, I was finally in the part of life where I had always dreamed of having—studying astrophysics and mathematics at Oxford. I was following in the footsteps of only the greatest mathematicians and physicists of my generation, and eventually my name would be just as notable as his.

Stephen Hawking and Harry Styles. I thought they sounded nice next together if I was honest.

I check my phone, noticing I have about fifteen minutes until class begins. I throw my hood over my head before I grab my backpack from the passenger seat. The rain is coming down when I step out in the parking lot. I quickly make my way to the door, holding it open for another person coming in behind me. The hood hangs from my head as I take my glasses off to wipe the residual rain droplets off them.

The lecture hall that I make my way inside is old. It’s not been updated in so many years, but something about that makes it feel that much more incredible to be walking the same halls of some of the most extraordinary brains to ever exist.

Even if it’s for a general ed statistics course that I need to fill; it’s one of the easiest courses on my schedule this year. I didn’t fill it first year, as I wanted to give myself the most difficult courses I could my first year. I was excited to learn—and statistics wasn’t what I wanted to enjoy when I was in college.

So, I decided to add it in this semester. It’s almost October now—we’re a few weeks into my sophomore year. I’ve loved every minute of being here in this establishment, and I’ve loved everything that it has brought me.

My gravitational pull to this place feels right, and being in this class must have meaning other than the obvious need to graduate. Maybe something will strike—maybe a thought or something that the professor says will undoubtedly make me think about all the other unanswered questions.

I take a seat closer to the back; I think it helps me to be able to set all my papers out in front of me and be able to take notes where I need to. I’m not a huge note person, as I just try to listen. I feel it helps to just keep my mind open. Information goes in, and seemingly, just stays there.

I’m one of the first ones in the hall, but as the time starts to near, there’s around a hundred kids that take up the lecture hall—easily. It’s a gen-ed course, which means that it’s kids from all over the university. The row I’m in is seemingly empty; kids don’t always show up to class, a lot of kids like sitting closer to be able to see what the professor is drawing on the board to try to copy for themselves.

I basically teach myself as I sit with the textbook, trying to follow along with the professor’s words and everything seemingly makes sense.

I pull my water bottle out of my bag to take a sip. The sound of the room in seemingly quiet except for the professor’s words; my brain is focused on the ideas of categorical equations and numeric sequences before an overwhelming presence takes over to the right of me.

“Excuse me,” I hear the voice again, a bit closer to me, “Is this seat taken?” I hear as I stare at the front of the room. I turn my head to the side a bit in a little confusion.

She's standing there with absolutely dripping hair; her jacket is sand-colored but looks like it’s coated in water droplets. She has the most doe-eyed stare I'd ever laid my own on; her eyes are chocolate and amber at the same time and for some reason I don’t know why I can’t answer right away.

I’m not even recognizing that I’m staring until I can't let my eyes leave, and I watch her shift on her toes a bit impatiently before she looks at the students behind us.

“Oh– no, no it's open.” My voice is quiet, as the professor is talking only up ahead. I'm trying to pay attention to both, trying my best to be respectful to the professor and the girl next to me who’s trying to find a seat even though it’s almost halfway through the lecture.

I move my backpack from the seat that she goes to pull out, my hands place the backpack under the desk near my feet instead. My eyes try not to drift, but I can't help but watch as she starts to unpack her belongings. There's a notebook, which is undeniably wet, and a small textbook which we use for the class.

Also, soaking. Dripping, practically.

“Fuck,” She curses, her hands going to run through the dripping pages before she lets her backpack fall to the floor in a huff.

I can tell that her stress level is at a high, all her belongings are soaking wet from what looks to be walking to class in the rain. I’m watching as she fumbles her way around her bag, trying her best to wipe some of the water off, trying to salvage what’s left.

But it’s obvious that most of her belongings have been ruined from the rain.

“Do you need paper?” I ask her, my quiet voice possibly too quiet as she starts to search through her bag without acknowledging me.

She didn’t hear me. I adjust in my seat a little bit, maybe seeing if she would look over from just my movements. She was distracted from trying to piece herself back together, and I could tell that her brain wasn’t in the place to hear anything else.

I clear my throat, turning a bit towards her again so maybe my voice would be heard. “Sorry, do you need some paper?”

Her head jerks towards me, almost a bit in shock like she was surprised I was talking to her at all. I watch as her face goes from an anxious state to a more softened one when she sees that she's also startled me in the process.

“Oh,” She nods a few times. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

I opened my folder up, pulling a few blank pages out to hand to her. I see that her nails are chipped lilac when she goes to grab them.

The paper was gifted to me every year from my grandfather who was the one providing me the opportunity to go to college in the first place. Well, providing the funding for this adventure, at least.

So, in true Styles fashion, the small H.S. imprinted on the top with a simple logo of Saturn sat next to it. It was an official letterhead, and it was the only loose paper I had with me.

For a moment, I thought about forgetting the whole thing because in honesty, this was a bit embarrassing– but my brain and my actions didn't catch up as I handed her a few sheets and watched her eyes trace over it.

I can tell a hint of a smile when she sees the writing up on it at the top, her pen clicking in the process. In our lecture hall, there are over a hundred kids sitting and listening about chi-squares tests and the uses of categorical variables.

And I seemed to miss a bit of the conversations due to lack of concentration, a bit of distraction. That never really happened to me before, but this overwhelming scent of orange blossoms must have been trailing from her. An obvious distraction, but not one that I thought I would be caught up in.

I push my glasses on my face as I go to write down a specific note that was mentioned by the professor about possibly being on the test for tomorrow. I had caught that bit, thankfully.

The girl next to me sighs; the audible noise of annoyance is obvious when I look over at her. Her eyebrows are knit together as she pulls out her agenda, making more noise that just seems to be audible to me as we’re a few of the only ones in our row of seats.

When she notices that the notes of her calendar are also damp, she settles back in her chair for a minute.

“God fucking damnit.” She huffs. She takes a ribbon around her wrist. Pulling her hair back frantically into a taut ponytail, she holds her head in her hands, staring at the dampened notebook. “Could this day get worse? We have an exam tomorrow?”

I hear her words, and I'm not sure that she's talking to me or if she’s just speaking out into the universe. So, I stay quiet for a moment before I look up and feel that her head has turned to me. She was addressing me again, so I turn to see the amber eyes pleading at me as if I was the one who set the test schedules.

“I’m– uh, we really have a exam tomorrow?” She asks again; this time, I see she's looking at me with a worried glare.

“Yeah, uh,” I flip through a few papers to grab the printed-out syllabus to show her. I clear my throat, trying to stay quiet. “It's just going to be on basic inferential and standard deviation, I think. Maybe a bit of categorical stuff, we just learned that on Tuesday, but I'm going to confirm with the professor after class. Not hard stuff, so we should be good.”

I watch as she looks away from me for a moment, “I just…yeah, I don't know. Statistics and I aren't really friends, I guess. I don't understand it at all, and I already feel like I’m behind. It's only the third week– fuck.”

She sounds stressed, and I feel bad. I don't know what to say to her, because I'm still not entirely sure if she's talking to me or if she's taking to herself. I just know that I'm listening and I'm struggling between involving myself and leaving it be.

“Thank you all. Let me know if you have questions, I will see you tomorrow for the exam.”

The professor’s words made everyone start to stand up, grabbing their materials to leave. Her eyes look around the room in the same amount of panic.

“Shit– lecture is already over?” She says, checking her phone time. The way that her shoulders shrug down is so dismissive as she looks around at the kids starting to move up the aisles and towards the door.

“It’s only a fifty-minute lecture,” I tell her softly, trying to not make her any more upset. “Do you—” I take in a breath, wondering if I’m starting to intrude on her life and what she’s needing, but I still feel like I have the obligation to ask, “I mean, do you have some questions about the test tomorrow?”

I see her looking over some of the notes—some of the papers that weren’t completely drenched by the rain that I can tell that she raced through to be here. Her eyes fall down the messiness of the handwriting. I can tell that there were many times she messed up, or times she didn’t completely understand something and wrote in the margins. There’s ink everywhere, I don’t know how she stays organized or knows what she’s looking at.

The scratches over things are plentiful, and I relax in my seat rather than starting to get up like everyone else.

Maybe she doesn’t even know where to begin. It’s our first exam in this class, but I’m not worried about it in the slightest bit. I’ve passed through Calculus and Algebra, and since this is just a required class for graduation, I know that I don’t have to worry.

She starts to shake her head as she looks flustered, throwing her papers back into a folder with finality.

“I’m not trying to hold you up, you probably need to get somewhere—I'll just, um, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, zipping up her backpack quickly.

She’s trying her best to get away, and I can see that she’s possibly a bit embarrassed by how quickly she came in. How she wasn’t just late to class, but she also didn’t seem to have any idea about what was going on in the first place.

It seemed that maybe she had something else on her mind, and I don’t thinks he can be faulted for that.

“No,” I shake my head, standing up with my backpack to mimic her. It hangs from my shoulder on one side, pulling it up a bit as I watch the lecture hall clearing out quite quickly. “No, I’m not in a hurry. I mean—”

“Just—thanks for the paper. That was nice of you.” The girl gives a soft smile, the softest smile that her face can seem to manage as I notice that she seems to be a bit upset. Her back turns to me and I’m now left standing there with no one else now.

I look around for a moment, thinking about what I was doing before my life was interpreted in a way. My life is always so ruled by the way that I wanted to live it—I was not easily distracted, my mind never really went to places that felt fuzzy or uneven.

But something about that interaction left me a bit speechless. I don’t even know her name, but something about that made my brain feel a little bit blurry.

There’s another person down with Professor Turvel, asking questions about the exam for tomorrow, I was certain. I knew that I needed to go down there—to make myself known and question the best ways to solve the problems, to understand what needed to be studied the most. Most people didn’t take these kinds of classes seriously, but anything that had to do with my education was serious to me.

I always asked questions—every time there was a exam, I made sure I had all the notes to understand concepts and what would exactly be on the exam so I could stay up and ensure that I knew the concepts like the back of my hand. Sometimes, the professors even assured me that I would know all the material, and not to worry so much. That didn’t keep me from asking.

As I watched the girl moving to leave the lecture hall, opening the door herself because someone hadn’t held it open for her. An instinct rose in me that was so foreign that I hadn’t understood it before.

I didn’t know why I decided to follow her instead. But my feet drug me up the steps and towards the door that would lead out into the halls, where kids were now scattered. Her backpack was purple, a dark purple with small white polka-dots. It should have been a bit easier to find, but I just held my stance at the door, turning my head to see if I could find her.

I’d know her if I saw her, she was distinctive, striking, even. Her dark hair and eyes shone against the warm tones of her skin. When she came in, it was a curly mess—dark curls, practical ringlets.

I held onto the shoulder strap of my bag, watching as kids were moving out of the corridors to head out to their next classes and outside. It seemed that she must’ve slipped out, gotten away from me when I had been looking for her.

Letting out a sigh, I lick over my lips softly. My shoulders let go—I try to push the thoughts out of my mind. Instead, it was time for me to start to prepare for my next class of the day. I had a physics class just upstairs, but I would show up prematurely to prepare and write all my calculations on the board for the lab portion of it.

It was best to be early so I could collaborate with fellow students, and it was even encouraged to allow for that time. I pull my backpack fully onto my back, both straps on my shoulders as I start to head towards the stairs to the lecture halls that were situated upstairs. They were smaller, for the specified classes.

I pulled my backpack around my middle for a moment to grab the headphones that I had placed in the small pocket in the front for my short walk. When I go to insert the headphones into my ears, I do a double take because I’m not sure that I believe my eyes as they seem to possibly trick me.

Over by the large doors. Purple with white polka-dots. The phone against her ear is being held up unwillingly; she doesn’t look like she’s invested in the conversation, but mostly upset by it.

I watch as she shakes her head, her mouth stern as she speaks into the receiver. Instantly, she takes the phone away and shakes her head before placing her thumb to end the call.

I couldn’t make out what she’s saying because we’re still too far apart. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m staring, or that I’m listening in at all. My feet guide me towards the general area, as the door to the stairs is just around the corner from where she’s standing.

She’s standing there with her arms crossed, looking out of the door as if she’s waiting for someone. It looks a bit impatient; she’s just as upset as she was back in the lecture hall, and maybe now even more so.

I don’t know what it means, but it seems that she’s a bit off and I just can’t let it go. I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning, but my feet seem to only… pull me closer. I’d have to debate Newton’s laws of gravitational pull, because the Earth’s axis seemed to be tilting just a bit.

Wherever she seemed to be is where gravity was pulling. And nothing about that made sense in the logical world, so my brain was a bit scattered about how that could have even been a possibility.

In an anxious turn of my shoe, I head towards her. I pivot from walking towards the steps and decide that a soft approach towards her is an option that I’m willing to take.

“Um, I’m sorry—I’m not trying to interrupt,” I approached her, softly. As one would a wounded animal, like she might get scared if I spoke loud enough. Her head turns towards me, her fingers move up against her cheek as she tries to look more pulled together, like she was unraveling quickly.

I notice that there’s a tear stain on her cheek, but she did her best to clear it away. Something about that doesn’t sit right with me and I clear my throat as I try to not embarrass her by noticing.

When she doesn’t speak, I just shake my head a little, trying to make sense of what’s come over me.

“I—I mean, are you okay? You,” I push my glasses up on my nose, “Are you waiting for someone?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes in a deep breath. I watch the sleekness of her hair back in the ponytail cross over her shoulder when she stares at the ground.

I’ve always been partial to understanding when people were upset. I didn’t know what it was. My mum always told me I was just sensitive, my sister telling me that I probably watched too much Bambi as a kid.

Something about watching someone suffer endlessly, without another word, hit home. I didn’t want her to feel like she was alone, if she didn’t want to be. That was the difference—I wanted to be alone most of the time, so I didn’t mind. But that didn’t mean that she did. Maybe she wasn’t—maybe I was overstepping. As I overthought it, I shifted on my feet as she stood in a solitude of silence from the corridors of the university filtering out for the next sessions.

But it just felt like my heart was understanding right now.

“I’ve just had a... difficult morning, really,” She starts, shrugging. The problems are brushing off her shoulders when she looks up at me once again. I see that the sadness reigns in her eyes, but it’s being shielded by the layers of needing to show that everything was fine. “I’m okay. Seriously. I know this probably looks insane but trust me. I’m fine.”

There wasn’t anything I could do but trust that she was. I didn’t know her—I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t know anything else about her, and while I could notice that there were still tears welled up in her eyes, the smile had been the greatest mask of it all.

I nod at her, taking the moment to try to understand if that’s the cue to leave. When she starts to turn around just a bit, I settle with the idea that the conversation has ended. It’s ended, and it’s time for me to move back towards the stairs.

My brain recomputes that I have physics in about twenty minutes, and I’m going to go upstairs to dispute Hawking’s radiation theory of black holes. That’s where the gravitational pull is taking me next—it has to be.

As I go to place the earbud back into my ear, making a few steps towards the door that held the stairs, I hear the voice again.

“Hey,” Her voice rings out just a bit, as we’re now the only two in the corridor of the hallways. I turn my head back, our eyes reconnecting. Her eyes blink a few times as she lets out a sigh, which almost makes her look like she could break down at any moment, but I hold my breath. It looks like she had been holding in that breath for a while, so her shoulders drop to meet mine. “Do you—what if I did have questions about the exam tomorrow?”

I don’t know if words come out of my mouth in an answer, so I’m trying to compute what she said. Unfortunately, I think that she notices so she presses on.

“Like, could you help me study?” She asks, pressing on. “You said it was easy—I just, I need some extra help because I—I just have a lot going on.”

I pause in my tracks, not anticipating her questions or flat-out asking for my help.

“Oh.” I swallow dryly, as she stares at me with the slightest bit of eagerness for my answer I hadn’t noticed that in her eyes before, and I’m not sure that I’m used to it. I’m not sure that I’m prepared for how… she looks with hope coating her eyes. “Oh—yeah, I mean, I’ll be in the library tonight around six if you want to, like if you want to come study or something.” I shrug, “I can help you.”

I watch as a hint of a smile starts to turn at the edges of her lips. She holds the crossing on her arms over her chest tightly, as if to feel an odd sense of comfort from it.

“Can I meet you there tonight, then? You won’t mind?” She asks, her voice a bit unsure. It’s like I’d say no, even though I was the one who offered in the first place.

I’m still taken aback by the response of her wanting to meet me there at all. Thursday nights usually meant that the library was the quietest day in the week. Most people went out on Thursday’s around here to start their weekend—it was apparently the best bar deals, but I hadn’t taken advantage of that.

It was the best day to be in the library, just because of that.

“Yes. Yeah, of course, you can—” I pause for a moment, blinking a few times as I stick my hand out to her recognizing how I hadn’t even introduced myself to her yet, “Sorry—I’m Harry.”

Her eyes widen just a bit at my words before she starts to giggle a bit, her hand fitting into mine. My molars bite the inside of my cheek just at the grip, the softness of her hand in my palm has me distracted for a moment.

“Stella.”

Stella.

Stella. Stella. Stella. Stella.

“Star.” I say, a bit under my breath. She tilts her head a little bit at my whisper before I shake my head with a little bit of a laugh. I feel embarrassed that I spoke out loud and she heard, so I just try to explain the thought process with a simple shrug.

“It’s, your name, it’s ‘star’ in Latin,” I pull on the strap of my bag before I’m biting on my lip a little bit, “It’s a nice name.”

I watch as Stella’s face has started to turn into more of an arraigned softness; her features not as harsh, her brow isn’t knit.

“Sorry, I don’t know the origin of Harry.” Her chuckle is playful as she shakes her head.

“It, uh,” I rub the back of my neck as I feel an odd hint of embarrassment play on my cheeks, “Means ‘home’. Or something like that.”

As I watch her face, I study it as best as I can without seemingly staring, I watch her eyes move between mine.

I look away when I notice that she hasn’t—she’s still looking for a moment longer. I clear my throat to try to break up the instant staring game that we’ve started. I check my phone in an awkward angle to get out of the moment that has seemingly turned quiet, when I recognize how long I’ve been standing here.

9:26.

“Shoot,” I say quickly, “I have class in a few minutes. I’ll—”

She cuts me off as I adjust my bag on my shoulder, hoisting it up.

“Oh, fuck—I’m going to be late.” She checks her own phone to confirm the time for herself before the smile catches on her face, “I’ll see you tonight, Harry.” Stella confirms, nodding a few times.

Before I know it, I watch as she walks behind me and towards the other door on the other side of the hallway. I didn’t even get a chance to ask for her phone number—knowing I’d stumble my way through that sentence.

Not really a sentence I’ve ever really asked casually before.

It was odd—that feeling in my brain. The feeling of blurriness, almost like nothing had been in there at all. It was like every thought I’d had was placed into a certain box now, unable to think of anything else except for the way that Stella’s eyes were merely amber and bronze all at the same time.

I shook my head, thinking that the physical movement may take my attention back to what I was supposed to keep my eye on. I put my headphones back in, moving towards the stairs as I climb them quickly.

I wouldn’t have enough time to write all my worked equations on the board. But, for the first time in my entire life, there was a feeling of ease that happened to replace the anxious voices that mirrored in my head. There was confusion; one unexplained.

Having to be smart enough.

Having to be good enough.

Having to be enough.

Logically, this didn’t make sense—this feeling of satisfaction that rested in my chest and head. It was like an overcome sense of relief.

Maybe Hawking had a theory to explain this feeling that had completely dismissed my thoughts and worries— it had complete trampled it, made me unaware of the worry that I may be late to class, or that I may not be prepared. Maybe it had already been explained and logic had nothing to do with it.

I shook my head at the thought, entering the familiarity of the physics lab. The third table to the right was where I placed all my belongings in the same routine that I had made for weeks.

This time, just another atom of a thought processes through my brain and into my cerebrum—allowing the thoughts to muster and to sit as I thought about what I would be doing for the next eight hours.

The library never made me feel lonely, and for once, I wouldn’t be alone.

And today, I was okay with that.

________________

THANK YOU FOR READING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS <3 please please please let me know what you think!!! I'm excited to share this with a new audience, so please be nice!!

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