#amelie is there with sunglasses and a camera

[spacedoutcowgirl]

felix, adrien, and kagami all turn 18 and immediately run their family names/businesses into the ground. except, yknow, kagami and adrien expose GABRIEL and Tsurugi Electronics (or whatever the fuck its called) for tax fraud and unfair labor practices, but then theres felix burning down his dad's penthouse in the middle of london with wacka flacka playing in the background.

[elizabethrobertajones]

summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

[matildashoney]

Golden

an ‘all i’ve ever known’ first look.

MOODBOARD // TAGS // PLAYLIST // TAGLIST

let’s talk about harry and amelie!

“Not letting you listen to the album all about you in your studio,” Harry says, holding his hand out and waiting at the door of the art studio. “I’m taking you on a drive so you can hear it how it’s meant to be heard.”

“But it’s not even out yet. I want to wait until it’s released, like I always do,” Amelie pouts, holding her paintbrush between her fingers and wiping the excess paint on the linen tarp beneath her.

“Only want you to hear the first song.” Harry walks into the studio and turns the stereo off. “Can listen to the singles and all that, or repeat one, on the way home and then I’ll let you listen to the rest later.” His mouth tugs into a smile as she rolls her eyes, setting her paintbrush down and beginning to twist the caps onto the tubes of paint. “Have to listen to this one as the sun is setting because it’s based on a conversation we had at sunset, and yeah. Trust me on this one.”

“You say that as if I don’t,” Amelie laughs, shaking her head and walking towards him. Harry reaches out for her hand, kissing her hairline as he flicks the light to the studio off and they make their way to the garage, his hands pulling his keys off the hook and mumbling a goodbye to their cat before Amelie is yanking her hand away and bounding up the stairs. “Hold on, I forgot my ring!”

“Only going for a drive!” Harry calls, laughing as he opens the door and waits for her to rush through the walkway and into the garage with him. “All better?”

“Much,” she smiles, running her fingers through her hair and slipping her sunglasses – the sunnies she bought for their holiday last summer that are shaped like hearts on the eyes – on her nose before turning to face him. “Alright, it’s golden hour and we’re about to drive on the highway. Care to tell me what song we’re listening to?”

Harry’s teeth bite into his bottom lip, squeezing her thigh and turning the radio on, his phone connecting through the bluetooth and the chimes beginning to play before it could be paused. “I will, but, I want to share something first.”

Amelie raises her eyebrows suggestively, holding her breath while Harry backs out of the drive into the street, his hand holding her thigh as they begin to navigate out of their neighbourhood and to the furthest end of the highway. “Share with the class, Mr Styles.”

“Fine Line is about you,” Harry starts, sucking in a deep breath and taking the moment in traffic to meet Amelie’s stare, “about the good and the bad that we’ve gone through, especially over the last year. All that we’ve done, all that I’ve done, is because of you reminding me that life is the good and the bad times. I tell you this all the time, but I do this all because of you.” Amelie nods, squeezing his hand on her leg. “This song, “Golden”, is about the day before we started writing in the studio, and we sat on the beach and we talked about everything, and how you always feel like the first instinct you have is to shy away from me, to not be vulnerable.” His tongue wets his lips, the hum of the engine filling the void silence between his words. “Made me think about how in the first few weeks we met, that we became friends, I was so vulnerable with you, telling you about Mum and Dad, telling you about the things going on with the band, m’anxiety and all that. That night, you told me that you might not ever be that open, but it meant a lot that I was. And two weeks later you told me about Jack.” Harry’s throat bobs as he swallows down any tears in his eyes. “Never told you this, but you have no idea how much that meant to me, that you told me; not because of what it meant for our relationship afterwards, but because it meant that you trusted me.”

“Always have,” Amelie says, taking Harry’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Baby, it’s alright.”

“Fuck. Know it’s alright, ‘s just, yeah,” Harry sniffles, taking a turn and parking in the cove at the beginning of the highway, his eyes meeting hers as she pushes her sunglasses into her hair to properly look at him. “That night we were at the beach and you told me that you get scared with how open I am sometimes; it gave me this idea. I was staring at you, and you hadn’t dyed your hair the peach colour yet and it was still a bit blonde and the sun was setting over you and I couldn’t get it out of my head that you were as bright as the bloody sun. And that reminded me of the years of other memories that have to do with you and the sun and that’s where the name came from.” Harry smiles so wide Amelie swears that his cheeks are going to ache, and then she realises that she’s smiling exactly the same. “This song you have to listen to driving down Pacific Coast. It’s a coast song.”

Amelie’s eyes are so bright under the setting sun that Harry swears he could go blind. “Let’s listen, then. You have a show tomorrow and I want to listen to the album at midnight.”

Harry shifts the gear and reverses onto the highway, turning the song on and cranking the volume, rolling their windows down and soaking in the way Amelie’s smile changes into one that is wide enough to reach her cheeks and her eyes are squeezing shut to have only the music in her ears, all of her senses working to take in the vocals and the melodies and the chimes and the guitar and the drums. His hand is on her thigh, his thumb rubbing the skin lightly as her tongue wets her lips and soaks in the beginning moments of the song, no vocals or lyrics.

Golden, golden, golden as I open my eyes. Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light.

“Harry, your voice,” Amelie says, eyes wide and staring, shaking her head and staring out the window, the ocean passing in a blue haze beneath them. “Already, I love it.”

You’re so golden. You’re so golden. I’m out of my head, and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken.

“Holy shit.” Amelie’s eyelashes are wet, her thumb brushing away a stray tear as she sucks in a deep breath and swallows any tears threatening to fall, wanting to fully immerse in the song before giving her thoughts and sentiment. “All in one go, you wrote this?” Harry nods and smiles at her warmly.

I don’t wanna be alone. I can feel it take a hold, I can feel you take control, of who I am and all I’ve ever known. Loving you’s the antidote.

“Harry.”

Harry smiles, “To be fair, you are all I’ve ever known. All of my twenties are with you. All of me becoming an adult.”

Amelie stares at Harry as if the words that have come out of his mouth are that of a revelation that should be spoken about until the end of time, until they no longer have air in the lungs or beats in their heart. His words are truthful, honest. Because they have been together for nearly the entirety of their twenties. Her twenty-fifth birthday was barely over a month ago, Harry’s twenty-sixth coming soon. They’ve known each other since Harry was barely twenty-one, and the growing that they’ve done together is more than either of them could have imagine being apart. Harry’s being honest, yes, but there is also a sentiment to his words, that they’re all each other has known, that they know everything about each other, the good and the bad, and have been through life together. Amelie thinks that she learns something new about Harry every day, a new quirk or habit, sometimes it’s something that Harry doesn’t even notice himself, and it reminds her that they’re friends, first and foremost, at the beginning of everything, they’re best friends.

“All that we go through,” Harry says, cutting Amelie out of her thoughts, “I know that as long as I get to love you, I’ll be okay. We’ll be alright. Hence, ‘loving you’s the antidote’. It’s like, loving you is the solve for it all. It’s pretty cliché, to be fair, but love is pretty cliché.”

“Love is both skill and enthusiasm,” Amelie smiles, leaning over the centre console and kissing Harry’s cheek. “Think we’re doing alright with both.”

“I’ll say,” he laughs, reaching for her left hand and lifting it slightly, nodding to the diamond ring sitting on her third finger.

Amelie gasps, undoing her seatbelt and scrambling into the backseat, mumbling under her breath as Harry stares at her through the rear-view mirror and bites his nails worriedly, asking to have her come back to the front and buckle in her seatbelt for her safety. “Can you please put on your seatbelt? Gon’a scare me half to death, I swear.”

“Needed to grab a polaroid and we left our second one in here after last weekend.”

“Need it for what?”

“Have to take a picture of us listening to the album for the first time. Did it with the first and I want to keep the tradition.”

Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek, again, as she manoeuvres her way to the passenger seat, prepping the camera and leaning into his chest, smiling as the flash goes and the picture is taken with Harry kissing her hair and her smiling at him, “Watermelon Sugar” beginning to sound through the speakers.

“Looks cute,” Amelie grins, setting the photo near her phone to ensure that she wouldn’t forget it on her way inside when they get home. “Which song has my voice on it?”

“That’s ‘Cherry’,” Harry says, turning rolling the windows up slightly to alleviate the volume of the wind inside the car. “Can’t listen to that one until midnight.”

“Is that the one you talked about in the Zane Lowe interview?”

“Mean when I said, ‘That’s my girlfriend’s voice’?” Harry asks, smiling as Amelie’s fingers lace through his, squeezing his hand sweetly. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Not too sure how we’re going to keep hiding everything when we make slip ups like that, Harry,” Amelie hums, her elbow propped on the windowsill, her cheek resting in her palm as she stares at him. “Not that it matters all that much anymore, I mean, it’s been almost five years.”

“Having your name on the album is going to have some conversation stir.”

Her hand sticks out the window, the ocean breeze waving against her palm and the sun shining over her face as she lays her cheek against her arm. Malibu is breezy for December, and it’s nice, it reminiscent of London which has become closer to home than Los Angeles or Malibu have ever felt. “Have to be careful about where we’re taking pictures tomorrow night.”

“Make sure we tell Helene in the morning. Jeff said that there have been fans camping all week for the show,” he says, his fingers tapping along her inner thigh as the trumpets sound through the speakers. “How’s your tattoo?”

“Healing nicely, I’d say,” she shrugs, looking at the freshly inked flower on her forearm, one single flower that they got together, matching, after her birthday. “Met me with two tattoos,” she hums, pausing for a second to count the tattoos scattered on her arms and torso, “Now, I have six. How do you feel?”

“Very attracted to you at all times,” Harry laughs, squeezing her thigh a bit tighter and bellowing a laugh as she smacks his hand away. “I adore you; you know that?”

Her voice is etched with sarcasm and teasing in the most flirtatious way. “Oh, so that’s why you wrote a song about me and named it that. Good to know. I wasn’t sure.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “To be fair, I write a lot of songs about you, Ames.”

“Fair enough,” Amelie giggles, sitting upright in her seat and leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth, turning the volume louder and letting the salty breeze wash over her skin. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“I am,” Harry nods, brushing his fingers through his hair and taking a moment to admire Amelie staring mindlessly out to the sea. Moving to Malibu was their best decision at the beginning of the year. “Have the setlist finalised, Fine Line all the way through, Stevie is coming to sing ‘Landslide’ with me.” His eyes run over Amelie’s face, the way she’s listening to him so adamantly and adoringly. “Have you there. ‘s all that counts at the end of it.”

“Doing that ‘Behind the Show’ thing, aren’t you? I’ll have to make myself scarce,” she laughs, tugging her tie out of her hair and letting the waves fall over her shoulders. Her hair was meant to be dyed light blue two weeks earlier, and then there was a delayed flight from New York and a stressful reschedule, and there they were, dying her hair pink to match the album cover a week before the album was set to release. Harry always loved that about Amelie, the expression and the change, it was felt very natural, very her.

“Mean, how horrible would it be if you were in it? One day the world is going to find out.”

“One day the world will know, yeah,” she says, humming along to the melody of the very first released song of the album and laying her hand over her heart, “but maybe we should do that when you’re not releasing the best album of the year.”

“Already have the ring, Cherry,” Harry snorts, indicating his turn and navigating back to the highway to head home. Only a few more hours until the album would be officially released, and they could listen to its entirety. “Don’t really have to flatter me all that much.”

“How many nicknames do you have for me, now? You say Ames and Cherry. Doll. Angel,” Amelie teases, her fingers lacing through Harry’s as he lays his palm open on her thigh. “Going to add any else any time soon?”

“Wife sounds like a good one to add to the list.”

Amelie turns away from Harry, her cheeks flushed and a blushing colour adorning her skin. “Harry Styles, if you say that one more time, I will be leaning over and sucking your dick as you drive us home. Give you road head or summat for saying a thing like that.”

“You say that like I’ve just said something horrible!” Harry bellows, his laugh making her want to cry out of pure joy, the squeak and giggle that follows suit making her heart so swollen she swears it could break her ribs in half. “Asked you to marry me because I want you to be my wife. Therefore, I’d call you m’wife.”

“I’ll lean over and unbutton your trousers, right now. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Amelie Fay!”

“Do you know how many years I waited to hear you say those words? Too many,” Amelie breathes, her sunglasses pushed into her hair and her eyes meeting his. “My wife sounds hot coming from you.”

Harry shakes his head with a smile, “Heading back home so that we can have dinner and you can finish working because we have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Got me all bothered, now,” she sighs, sinking into her seat and letting the glasses fall over her eyes with her hair tugging along. “Come and keep me company in the studio? Have to finish one of the imitation pieces for the Kahlo Exhibition that’s in Italy this summer.”

“That’s the one I’ll be able to come to, right?” he asks, his mind trying to remember the dates for the exhibits that align with the tour dates they scheduled nearly six months ago. Amelie wanted Harry there, and that isn’t something to take lightly. “Don’t want to miss that.”

Amelie nods, smirking at Harry and taking in the way his features are tightly wound with nerves and anxiety for the evening, his hand swiftly pausing the music before the remaining eight songs can play through the stereo for her to listen to early.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Harry says, smacking her thigh and bringing his hand to his legs, laughing when Amelie furrows his brows at him and laces their fingers together to bring his hand back where it belongs, as she would say.

“Can see why you named the song what you did, baby.”

“Why’s that?” Harry muses, wanting to hear her understanding even though he’s given her the entire reasoning behind the song already. Amelie’s interpretations were always so unique, so interesting to him.

“Because I’m looking at you, right now, and the sun is right there, and it looks like you’ve created the whole universe just like that.” Her tongue wets her lips for a moment. “Like you just shine brighter than every star. Golden, it’s what you are, I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like a feeling, isn’t it? Isn’t that how you felt? Like you’re looking at the sun and there is nothing else that would ever look the way this does.”

“That’s exactly how it felt.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　✧･ﾟ

i wasn’t thinking about posting a preview for the sequel for another few weeks into august, but with this challenge going around i thought it was the perfect opportunity! thank you to @helladirections​ for making the summer fic challenge that this prompt was part of!

welcome to the world of harry and amelie, for a second time. this is a scene from the sequel that quite literally fulfils the vibe of ‘driving down the pacific coast highway’ and introduces the song that started it all! their story is one that i love so much and i hope you start to fall in love with them all over again.

[imagines-never-die]

Date Headcanons- Ladies

Pharah

How about a nice flight together?

If her s/o has no means of flying (which it would be unlikely that they do), she’d be happy to carry them, gently soaring through the air and looking down at the world below

Afterwards, she’d take you for some coffee and discuss simple domestic things

Don’t be surprised if her mom plays into the date somehow. Whether Ana simply calls Fareeha to “check in” or she actually happens to “bump into you two,” you’ll probably see her at some point

Pharah’s an early riser, so she’s most likely to schedule a date before noon. Morning is her favorite time to be productive!

Sombra

Go out? In public? It’s dangerous for Sombra to go out where she can be seen and recorded by security cameras. She’s not supposed to exist to the system, after all

Her preferred date would be anything indoors. I have a feeling she’d have a knack for chess and tactical card games

Sombra likes any sort of game that involves a quiet, analytical prowess

Sombra, no, you cannot use blackmail to win chess. And eyes on your own cards!

But she might also play video games with you, but expect her to cheat a bit as well

These sort of indoor dates can go on long, long into the night and well into the wee hours of the morning

If you do somehow convince her to out somewhere with you, take her to an arcade for a bit.

I feel like she’d also enjoy “people watching” which would involve you two sitting on a bench on the street, watching people go by. For a hacker like herself, it’s a good time to check up on targets

But she’ll be in a baggy hoodie, sunglasses, and baseball cap if she goes outside

Tracer

Let’s go for a run! She might even race you a few times!

Afterwards, she’ll take you out for a cold drink to help cool you down

After that, window shopping! Tracer’s more into the pretty shop displays than buying things herself

But Lena lives in the UK, and they often don’t have the most ideal weather for jogging

On days when you’re rained in, she’ll want to cook something with you! Maybe just a snack or even a whole meal~

She’s a bit of a clutz in the kitchen, though, so watch out

Don’t count on her to remember to take the food out of the oven either, she’s going to forget

But even if her partner doesn’t like over athletic activities, Tracer would be fine if they just got to hang out somewhere outdoors

Mei

I think Mei would enjoy being taken out for lunch or ice cream...or both!

Just be warned that this girl can eat, so if you agreed to pay, I hope you know what you got yourself into

Anywhere science-y or learn-y would be right up Mei’s alley, too

So places like a science museum, a zoo, an aquarium

She’ll spend a lot of time at the polar bear exhibit and the puffin house. But in case you get cold, she’ll snuggle up to you and say “this is how penguins keep warm!”

Ooh and take her to the sea lion show! Let her sit up on your shoulders since she’s not very tall and can’t see over the crowds

Widowmaker

Let’s go with a nice dinner at her place. You bring the wine (it better be good or she’ll have some bad first impressions >.<)

She’s got her quarters all candlelit with nice music playing and the table all decked out with silverware and china

Widow’s a decent cook, so while you’re lounging on the couch with her and chatting, she’ll occasionally go check on the food

Then the two of you have a lovely meal together ^^

Although, Amelie does kinda miss being able to go out and eat at nice restaurants. Can’t really do that now that she’s blue and a wanted assassin

You may see a wistful expression from her every so often

Once your done and you’ve had your desert...you don’t have to go. I mean, you can stay the night if you want...

D.Va

Arcade! Arcade! Arcade!

Duh, obviously. Afterwards, take her to a cafe and buy her something sweet! Don’t worry, she’ll share with you

And now that she’s hyper off those sweets, Hana will want to go shopping, and this girl has cash to throw around!

She’ll buy something in about every store you go into, and if you hesitate on buying something for yourself because of the price, she’ll immediately want to pay for it!

But with how much this girl loves video games, Hana doesn’t mind a lazy date where you stay in, playing DS or PS4

During these lazy dates, she’ll still be snacking on something sweet and perusing an online shopping database

D.Va likes little nighttime dates, too, where she can cuddle up to you and watch a movie~

Zarya

Gym workout! Aleks loves her s/o, and she wants to get them as involved in her life as she can, so she’ll want to share some of her workout techniques

There will be a lot of showing off on her part, flexing, picking up heavy weights (maybe accidentally hurting herself trying to look cool)

Super supportive of any pace her s/o goes, even if they just want to jog on the treadmill or want to attempt some of the really heavy weights!

Afterwards she’ll take you out somewhere to eat and order a boatload of food! Gotta eat protein after a workout, after all

She’s a gentleman, so she’ll pay

To wind down the date, she’ll take you on a walk, talking and laughing with you~

Ana

If you’re courting the present day, elderly Ana, she’ll be surprised that anyone wants to go on a date with someone of her age

But she’ll chuckle and play along, letting you make all the arrangements

But her ideal date would involve a nice meal and some quality time at the shooting range, practicing/showing off her aim

She’ll help you with your aim as well if you need it

The younger Amari would have the same ideas, but might be harder to coax into a date

Her whole life is Overwatch and Fareeha--nothing in between. Why should she make time for a courtship?

Though I don’t think it’ll be impossible to convince her. Just keep asking; she admires perseverance

Mercy

Oh, she’d agree to a date, but good luck finding a time when she’s available! Mercy’s always got something to do and she rarely has any free time

The little bits of free time she gets, she spends relaxing and de-stressing

So if you do manage to score a date with her, expect a quiet one with lots of down time

Movies, cooking, card games, those de-stressing coloring books

You may catch Angela tapping at her phone or her laptop, trying to do little bits of work on the side

Don’t let her do that! She needs to be resting! If she starts now, she’ll never stop!

Very likely that she’ll fall asleep on you

But there are those rare occasions when she has the time and energy to go out for a date. Take her for lunch and window shopping! To her, the company is more important than the date, so make sure to be good company~

Symmetra

Such a traditionalist

She wants a candlelight dinner at a fancy restaurant, both of you dressed up, and you on time (do not be late! She likes punctuality!)

The meal will, of course, have five courses (amuse-bouche, appetizer, primi, secondi, and dessert)

Her favorite part of a date, like Mercy, is the company

Make sure to talk about interesting, intelligent to impress her~

Remember your manners~

Afterwards, she’ll want a nice walk in the moonlight, maybe a bit of dancing, then end with a quick, chaste kiss

[guns-n-zeppelin]

Never say die - Chapter one

Pairing: Axl Rose x reader Words: 2561 Summary: Reader accidentally time travels back to 1985 where Axl, Duff, Slash, Steven and Izzy find her. A/N: So i posted this already before but i changed this a bit bc first it was Robert Plant x reader and i don’t have motivation for Robert rn lmao. So now you can enjoy Axl’s company. I’ll try to update asap

”I can't believe it's already today!” my best friend Leo yelled from the living room. I was still in the bathroom trying to fix my hair for tonight. ”I've been waiting for this for such a long time and it's finally happening.”

We were going to see Guns N' Roses at tonight's concert which started at 7 pm. Leo and I loved Guns N' Roses, we were crazy about their music. I had all of their songs on vinyl and many posters on my walls. We were sure for a moment that we couldn't afford to buy the tickets, but luckily I got my salary from work earlier than usual. Probably one reason was also that it was my birthday today and my boss knew how much I loved this band. I finally turned 20 and I was sure this night would be the best birthday ever.

”I know right! I hope they'll play Better, I've been lately really in love with it. My all time favorite is obviously November Rain though, but I know they'll play it every time,” I yelled back and worked with my hair for a couple of minutes more after the curls were good enough. I walked to the living room and saw Leo talking on the phone.

”Dude, how can you not be ready yet?! We're gonna be late soon if you don't hurry up,” Leo said to the phone. Probably talking with Amelie, I thought, she was coming with us and we were supposed to go get her from her house.

”We still have time you know, we're not that busy yet,” I tried to calm him down. He'd been stressing out a lot during the last couple of months. He was sure something bad would happen before the concert and we'd miss it, like for instance Axl would become really sick and lose his voice or the band would get into a car accident.

”We'll be there in 15, you better be ready by then. See you soon!” Leo said and ended the call.

”Calm down, dude. Jesus, you're acting like some young fangirl meeting Harry Styles or who the curly brownie is. Except you're not screaming your lungs out,” I laughed and Leo finally gave me a tiny smile. ”Just breathe.”

”Yeah, let's go,” Leo said and took car keys from the table.

---

It took hours to get in but we finally made it. There were so many people, thousands of them. I had never been in a same area with so many people before. I hadn't been in many concerts because my favorites had mostly either died or they didn't just do gigs anymore. Quite hard to be a classic rock fan in 2017 to be honest. I'd literally do anything to get a time machine and travel back to 70's and 80's. Pink Floyd, The Doors, Nirvana, Queen… There were so many.

”Oh my god,” Amelie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

”What?” I asked and drank water from my bottle.

”Okay, don't look. But how much does that pal look like a mix of Slash and Axl?” Amelie pointed a young guy with long curly brown hair, pilot sunglasses, cigarette in his mouth, a cowboy hat on his head and a red checked shirt around his waist. And right then, I accidentally spitted all of the water left in my mouth straight to some man's back and bursted out laughing.

”Oh my god he really does.”

The man turned around, stared at me and tried to touch his back on the wet spot.

”What the fuck –” he started. Then I fully realized what had happened.

”I'm so so sorry! I didn't mean to do that!” I apologized slightly panicking. He just shook his head and turned back to his friends.

Leo was trying to hold his laughter but didn't have time to say anything when the music already started.

---

The concert was amazing, much more amazing than I expected it to be. I literally didn't have any words for the feeling, it was one of the best moments of my life. I couldn't have had any better birthday than tonight. Their first song was Welcome to the Jungle and I slightly cried during Don't Cry – which is quite ironic. Now was the time of their last song before this all would come to its end.

”So this song is really special to us for many reasons. We dedicated this song to our old friend, our best friend,” Axl said on the microphone. ”Without her, we wouldn't probably be here tonight. She was amazing, more than amazing. She was kind, funny and fucking sarcastic. Steven and her did always pranks on the rest of us.”

I had never heard Axl talk about anyone or anything so softly, deeply or just seen him being so emotional during a concert. Everybody in the audience were quiet, probably even held their breaths and let Axl speak without interruptions. He sighed and continued.

”She was always there for us when we had our hard times. I don't have a fucking clue how she handled our drunk asses after some gigs,” Axl laughed. ”We first met in 1985 when we weren't a big thing yet, we were just a little band nobody had ever heard about. And one night we were playing at a local bar and after the playing and stuff she came to talk to us and said how well we played and we would be some helluva band in the future. Well, she wasn't wrong, like she never was.”

I was speechles like were everybody else. Duff and Slash had become more serious now and didn't move even an inch, just stared at the sky.

”She was from Los Angeles as well. She was on a tour with us quite often actually. She meant a lot to us. A lot to me. There’s not a day when i wouldn’t miss her,” Axl said smiling, but was quiet for a moment until continued. ”But the thing is that she died in 1997, she was only 32 years old by then. We were there when it happened and it was literally the worst moment of my whole life. And why are we singing this song exactly today? Well, because this is the day she both died and was born.”

Axl shared a few words with Duff and Slash that the audience couldn't hear. Then he turned to face us again and said:

”Now I'd ask every one of your asses to calm down and have a moment for her.” Axl looked at the dark sky with a couple of stars, ”this is for you, Amy, happy birthday, honey.”

The band began to play and already of the first words I recognized the song to be from the album Chinese Democracy. It was This I Love.

And now I don't know why She wouldn't say goodbye But then it seems that I Had seen it in her eyes And it might not be wise I'd still have to try With all the love I have inside I can't deny I just can't let it die Cause her heart's just like mine And she holds her pain inside So if you ask me why She wouldn't say goodbye I know somewhere inside There is a special light Still shining bright And even on the darkest night She can't deny So if she's somewhere near me I hope to God she hears me There's no one else Could ever make me feel I'm so alive I hoped she'd never leave me Please God you must believe me I've searched the universe And found myself Within' her eyes No matter how I try They say it's all a lie So what's the use of my confessions to a crime Of passions that won't die In my heart So if she's somewhere near me I hope to God she hears me There's no one else Could ever make me feel I'm so alive I hoped she'd never leave me Please God you must believe me I've searched the universe And found myself Within' her eyes

In this point of the song the camera had zoomed to Axl's face and I noticed a couple of tears rolling down his cheek but there was also sorrow on Duff's and Slash's faces. She must have really been an important person in their lives, I wondered and just now noticed how wet my but also Amelie's cheeks were.

So if she's somewhere near me I hope to God she hears me There's no one else Could ever make me feel I'm so alive I hoped she'd never leave me Please God you must believe me I've searched the universe And found myself Within' her eyes So now I don't know why She wouldn't say goodbye It just might be that I Had seen it in her eyes And now it seems that I Gave up my ghost of pride I'll never say goodbye ---

The band said one more good bye and then people were pushing themselves to get out of the place. When we were finally outside of the concert area thingy and could breathe properly without being stuffed between humans, Leo took a cigarette and put it between his teeth.

”Well don't come to cry to me when the doctor tells that you have a cancer,” Amelie said and rolled her eyes.

”You want some, Ruby?” Leo asked, totally ignoring Amelie, and offering me one from the packet. I shrugged and took the cigarette.

”Eh, why not.” I lighted it and watched the smoke flying in the chilly air. ”Why wouldn't we go to a bar or something? It's only 11 pm anyway. And I need something to drink.”

My friends nodded.

”Sure thing. It's been a while since the last time I had vodka,” Amelie stated.

”Funny, it was two days ago, drunky,” Leo snorted.

”Well, we're both apparently destroying our bodies. You your lungs and me my liver,” Amelie grinned and we started walking to the bar. ---

We were nearly there, when we had to cross a dark alley.

”You know, we could go to some other way. This place gives me chills at night,” Amelie told us.

”Yeah, but it's the fastest and besides, you just think too much. Nobody's gonna attack on us tonight. And if someone did, there's three of us to handle it,” I tried to assure. Amelie just scoffed.

”As if Leo could protect us. He even screams and runs away every time he sees a mouse.” Me and Amelie started to giggle.

”Hey! That's not fair and especially not true!”

”Sureee, remember last week when –”

”Hey, Ruby, wanna hear what happened to Amelie yesterday?” Leo started.

”No, no! Fine, you're the manliest man on Earth! You could even fight God!”

I just laughed. I still wondered how they weren't in a relationship. They would be the perfect couple to be honest.

”Thanks I know I'm quite powerful,” Leo said and did an invisible hair flip thingy because his hair wasn't long enough. We were in the middle of the alley when we suddenly heard noise somewhere near. We saw a drunk man ahead of us pushing a young woman against the brick wall with his body. The woman tried to yell help but the man shutted her up by putting his hand roughly on her mouth.

”Well aren't you a pretty lady?” the man said and brushed her long blond hair. She was wearing a purple dress, high heels and a black jacket. We saw already from the distance how afraid she was and without thinking anything, I approached them.

”Hey, asshole! Let the lady go!” I yelled and got his attention.

”Ruby, no, come back! Let's just leave!” Amelie said and tried to pull me with her but I just pulled away from her grip. The drunk guy stared at me for a moment until let the young woman go. She mouthed us 'thank you', took her purse and sprinted quickly away.

”And who might you be? You're just adorable,” he said and smiled, revealing his dirty yellow teeth. His brown hair was a mess, he probably hadn't washed it in a week. His clothes looked like he had rolled himself in a mud and his shirt was full of holes. Suddenly he was so close I could smell his breath. Beer. Disgusting.

Without thinking anything, I punched him with all of my force to his face and he whined in pain and held his bleeding nose. I had never punched anybody so hard and it fucking hurt my hand. I tried to run away with Leo and Amelie, but he was too quick and grapped me by my arm, so I kicked him on his man parts. But he managed to push me hard enough me to fall to the wet and hard ground.

”Ruby!” Leo shouted and tried to help me up and get me away but suddenly I felt horrible pain on my stomach. I saw blood on my t-shirt and saw a bloody knife falling to the ground. The man just stared in front of me a shocked expression on his face.

”Shit. Oh shit,” he murmured before he turned on his heels and run quickly away. Leo got a hold of me before I could collapse.

”Ruby! Ruby, no!” Amelie yelled and felt tears immediately stream from her eyes, as did also Leo.

”Fucking bastard! No, Ruby. Stay with us,” Leo said with shaky voice. ”For fuck's sake, Amelie, call help! Now!”

Amelie's hands were shaking and she barely got dialed the right number on her phone and told ambulance to come here immediately. Leo kneeled on the ground and held me in his arms. He pressed my stomach on the spot where the asshole had stabbed me, trying to stop the bleeding but with a bad success.

”The help is on its way, don't worry, you'll be fine,” Leo said crying. He had stabbed me badly, very badly. I was sure I wouldn't make it alive back home today. A tear rolled down my pale cheek.

”I-I love you guys,” I whispered. ”I really love you two.”

”No, no don't say that!” Amelie said. She had also kneeled next to me and cupped my face between her hands. ”They're here in any second, okay?”

But then I saw nothing but black and the familiar voices of my friends faded away.

---

The next time I woke up, I realized I wasn't at home nor a hospital. I was sure I hadn't been there before, it even smelled strange. I was laying in someone's bed and when I tried to get up I still felt pain in my stomach but not as bad as before and a shockingly familiar figure came from the door and smiled when he saw I was finally awake.

”Oh, great! You're finally awake!” he said.

I stared at him with wide eyes and he was just about to say something when I got up very quickly and basically screamed the words out of me.

”Where the fuck am I?! Who– what–?!”

”Woah, calm down. I won't hurt you.” He held his hands up as if defeated and kept a short pause. ”My name is Axl Rose and we just want to help you.”

[matildashoney]

Watermelon and Some Sugar

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @detroitkiwis, @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin

talk to me about it!

there’s no excuse for this. watermelon sugar came out. i saw this picture. i had an idea. it’s all smut. have fun.

Malibu is too windy to be wearing a bikini under a half-sorted umbrella, yet Amelie is there, knees propped, toes in the hot sand, sunglasses perched on her nose and she sketches the shoreline of the beach near their home. Harry wanted to film in golden hour when the sun was setting, and the waves were crashing. Having a break from murals and exhibitions for a few days, Harry wore Amelie down, many heated kisses measured carefully between begging until she was falling apart in his hands and agreeing to anything that came out (or onto) his mouth.

“Puis-je les emprunter? Merci,” Harry smirks, nodding towards Amelie’s glasses perched on her nose and leaning down to take the heart-shaped sunglasses from her. “Bisous, s’il vous plait.”

Amelie squints at Harry, trying to gauge why his actions are so sweet and asking for the kisses. Usually, he would walk right up to her and take her sunglasses, kiss her lips without warning, and continue about with what he was doing. “Harry, a quel point cette vidéo est-elle érotique?”

“’s not that erotic,” Harry shrugs, gently brushing sand over Amelie’s toes and nudging her calf. “Offer is still there for you to be in it. Harry brought an extra suit for y���a.”

Her head tilts towards her chest, her eyes blinking at the man hovering over her, his body crouching down and setting his hands on her knees. “Are you fucking insane?” Her lips purse in a straight line as his hands gently pry her thighs apart, kissing the inside of her legs lightly. “Harry, this is your warning.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest, his lips pecking her knee before squeezing her thigh and standing. “Offer is there. Thank you for the sunnies. Je t’aime.”

“Go on. Go make the entire globe horny. Go,” Amelie smiles, her heart warm as Harry turns around to chastely kiss her lips. “Go, baby.”

And Harry goes, and the music video is much more than Amelie thought it would be. Not that she gets jealous often, or jealous ever, really, but there is something about seeing Harry with beautiful women (and men) falling over him, feeding him watermelon, his fingertip tracing the outline, juice dripping down his chin, that makes her stomach twist in an unsettling way. Amelie knows that Harry would never do anything, there’s a reason that there’s a ring on her finger and her initial on his skin, but there is something about the sight that makes her skin crawl.

Maybe it’s because Harry didn’t have time to satisfy her that morning, rushing out of the house for meetings and the final gathering of all the costumes and outfits for the evening, making it their third or fourth day (not that she was counting) without properly tasting each other. Having sex in the shower before a meeting or Harry’s fingers between her thighs while watching a movie doesn’t necessarily feel the same as really immersing in her heat – tongue first, nose second.

Going on five years in a relationship, Amelie halfway expected Harry to get bored with their sex, and yet every time they’re together – whether that be in bed, in the car, in the kitchen, in the shower, in the pool, in the dressing room backstage – there is something about the way his lips burn on her skin and his fingers trail between her thighs to simply get a taste, that would tell her differently.

On the days that Harry will be out of the house until late at night, his fingers inch into her panties in the morning and drag between her thighs, his middle and third fingers circling her heat and barely inching into her warmth to have a ‘proper taste’ because the arousal that sits between her lips isn’t enough. On the days that Harry is especially needy, his throat will wake up dry, thirsty, begging for his one craving to fulfil his desire. On those days, he gently inches her panties down her thighs, slinking his head under the duvet and prying her legs as far apart as they’ll go, his nose nudging the bundle of nerves and his tongue dipping into her, a moan leaving their lips all at once.

Harry was slinking beneath the covers and onto his knees, happily, whenever she mentioned so. His eyes widened like he was being gifted a royal purchase, his favourite meal, his most loved sweet. He very much so got off on the idea of pleasuring her, especially since Amelie’s confidence inspired her moans to echo around the walls of their bedroom and her fingers to find space in his hair. He was addicted to it – to the taste, to the sound, to the feeling.

Amelie only heard “Watermelon Sugar” before the release on Saturday Night Live because Harry needed to listen to the final cut in the car and she happened to be with him. Her excitement geared towards waiting until the single or album was out. That’s what she did with Harry Styles, anyways. And as soon as “Watermelon Sugar” started playing, her jaw dropped, all the innuendos and implications that only she would understand. Her strawberry chapstick in the centre console, the night in June where they went to the beach late at night and Harry ate her out with watermelon juice stuck to his chin. Her memory traces back to the moment Harry wiped his mouth on his hand, kissing the flower on her hip and the moon on her sternum, his lips hovering over hers as he whispered, Don’t I could ever go without that. Amelie laughed at him, playfully nudging his cheek to turn away from her, only for Harry’s face to slink back between her thighs and taste, again.

And since then, Harry’s been innuendo after innuendo, teasing that if Amelie wasn’t nice, they would insert her moans in the track of a song. Hearing “Watermelon Sugar” for the first time, she was surprised that Harry hadn’t done that, merely saying that it had a better beat or sounded smoother than what he could recreate.

Amelie, unlike Harry, never experienced the twinge of jealousy. Occasionally, there was the one or two women that would approach Harry when she stepped away and would try to talk to him, but there was always the comfort that their hands would never be on him, lips never touching his skin. On this beach in Malibu, however, is a completely new territory.

Harry frolicked around the beach with the lovely women and men, their skin shining and their bikinis and shorts tight to their bodies in the fading sunlight. His lips doused in watermelon and juice and strawberries. Kisses on his cheeks and his curls tugged to attention as the song plays over and over. His ripped jeans are sitting perfectly beneath his tummy, the ferns that she has left one too many love bites on display. Her eyes travel alongst his body, his muscular back tensing and loosening beneath the touches that are given, his figure laying on their legs, tossed around in their arms.

Amelie’s stares at him between pencil strokes and light shading, the scenery on the sketch replicating the beach they know so well. Her lips pull into a straight line, an unfamiliar twinge in her belly, a want to go and grab his cheeks and kiss him in a way only she can, to slip her hand in his shorts and feel him harden in her grasp and squeeze a moan out of his throat as she lightly kisses his chin sitting uneasily on her chest. Amelie wants to say that her thighs are aching to have him between, to have him stretching her, to have him tasting her, to attribute her want to publicly bite his lips and mark his skin to that, but it isn’t Amelie is jealous.

Quite jealous.

Her thoughts are swirling in her head as Harry walks towards her, holding a new slice of watermelon and tossing a peace sign towards her, his lips quirked in a smirk as her eyes visibly trail across his exposed skin. “Like what you see?”

“Eh,” Amelie shrugs, taking a picture on the polaroid camera tucked away in her bag, rolling her eyes as Harry makes a point to stand directly in front of the sun beaming down on her. “I’m trying to tan.”

“Tu vas me laisser te baiser pendant que nous déjeunons?” Harry wonders hopefully, his dimple indenting his cheek as he smirks, the sunglasses perched in his hair as he ducks his head under the umbrella. “S’il vous plait.”

“No, you cannot fuck me while everyone eats lunch.” Amelie rolls her eyes at Harry, knowing that his reasoning for asking in another language is simply to persuade her easier. “You had your chance, this morning, but left before I could even wake up.”

“Doll,” he whines, laying his hands on her knees and his chin on his forearms, his knees laying on the fringe of the blanket on the sand, “‘m so hard.”

“Maybe you should go rub one out before you have to finish, then,” she smirks, her belly swirling with butterflies as his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pursed for a kiss, only to have her trail across his groin and squeeze his thigh. “Have work to get done.”

“Hey, that was mean,” Harry breathes, his hands inching down her thighs and his thumbs rubbing lightly over her heat through the clothing. “Think two can play at your game, here, love.”

Amelie sucks in a shaky breath, her teeth biting her cheek as Harry’s fingers nearly sink into the sides of her bikini bottoms. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm, sure you don’t, angel. You’ll pay for that later,” he hums, kissing her knee and snapping the material on her thighs, her chest panting with his touch and his shorts noticeably more comfortable around his groin and thighs. “Love you.”

And Amelie swears that a music video has never taken longer to shoot. Near the end of the shoot, Harry Lambert tells her that there are a few shots that they have to take of Harry alone, and they’ll be a bit longer. Nodding understandingly, she tells him that she’s going to go home and grab dinner – because five years later and she still barely cooks a normal meal without him home – for when they’re finished.

Harry kisses Amelie goodbye, smirking as she gathers all of their belongings and tucks it away into their car, making a show with how slowly she unties the bikini beneath her shirt and her chest breathes beneath the fabric. He wants nothing more than to walk to her and wrap his lips around her nipple and suck, bite the flesh and leave indigo marks on her skin to see tomorrow.

All Harry wanted was to devour her, and Amelie was surely not going to make it that easy for him.

Nearly two hours later, Harry tosses his keys into the metal bowl next to the door, toeing his shoes onto the mat and locking the door for the night. He can hear the music playing on the stereo outside, a smirk tugging on his lips as he slips his shirt over his head, his feet carrying him up the stairs to grab two items, coasting down the stairs and his elbow nudging the garden door open. He can see Amelie’s reflection in the pool, the cabana curtain wide open and her towel slung on the table to the side of the makeshift bed. He walks outside, loosening the ties around his shorts and unbuttoning the buttons on the yellow blouse clinging to his torso.

Harry steps through the open curtain of the cabana, his thumbs gently prying her thighs apart and coasting along her skin, the smirk playing at the corner of his lips telling her everything that he was thinking as she meets his stare. “You didn’t wait for me to get in the pool. Now, you’re all dry,” Harry murmurs against her knee, his mouth sponging wet kisses along her skin, his teeth nipping at her inner thigh. “Most of you is dry, I mean.” His fingertips swiftly dipping beneath the waistband of her suit and dragging it down her thighs, the knitted top strung somewhere behind her. “Oh, baby, you shaved,” he smirks, his fingers inching closer to where she wanted him the most. “Gon’a be soft fo’ me.”

“And you think I’m just going to let you go down on me,” Amelie mutters, taking his hands and setting them at his side, ignoring the fact that her calves are held together by a swimsuit.

“Oh, that makes sense, now,” Harry nods, pursing his lips together and gently moving her ankles to let the suit fall to the concrete by his feet, his knees settling between her legs that are held open by his hands.

“Oh, what?”

“You’re jealous,” Harry teases, his hand grabbing her wrist and kissing her hand, her knuckles, bringing her thumb to his lip and gently suckling on her skin. “Can’t be mad at me. ‘s jus’ work. ‘ve never gotten mad when you’ve done the nude shoots and sketches.”

“Harry, that’s bullshit, and you know it,” she says, her eyes rolling as she recalls the conversations that surrounded him being jealous of the nudist paintings she has done. “Explain ‘Cherry’ if you don’t get jealous.”

“Okay, maybe.” His eyes travel to the watermelon cut on the table near them, his eyes lighting up and his lips wrapping around a bite, the juice trickling down his chin. “Made you jealous and I haven’t tasted you all week. ‘m a horrible fiancé. ‘m gon’a make it up to you, baby,” Harry says, his sticky lips beginning to inch along her thighs, his hands holding her thighs away from his head, his fingertips surely bruising her skin with his touch. Harry knows that Amelie loves his grip, the feeling of his weight on her. “Could smell you at the beach, y’know. Know you wanted to fuck me, there, even though you wouldn’t.”

“’s because tu es à moi, and ‘s not m’thing to have anyone else knowing what we do,” she says, her eyes meeting his as he grins, nodding as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, his hands reaching to the ground where he sets two cameras on the mattress beside her. “Tell me what you brought those for.”

“I am yours,” Harry says, turning on the camera and the polaroid and setting the film to be taken. His hands set the polaroid on her tummy, her chin tucked to her chest, her breathing slightly erratic as his lips return to their home on her knees, inchingly closer to where she’s wanted him for days. “Even though it’s me more than you, sometimes you get jealous, and now you’re going to have photos and videos to remind you like you made me.”

Amelie’s breathing is shaky as Harry’s arms sling her thighs over his shoulders, “Can’t have your hair in my hands if I’m taking pictures.”

“On the nose, Ames.” His lips are wet and sticky against her inner thighs, his mouth travelling along every inch of skin he can reach without ever touching her heat. “Can’t be a brat and expect to have my face between your legs and your hands in my hair. Kinda greedy, if you ask me.” His lips hover over her core, his hands splayed flat on her hips. “Good girls take their pictures. Maybe I’ll let you hold my hair, after. Oh, and don’t disturb the neighbours with your moans. Those are for me, only.”

Harry’s tongue licks along her slit, her thighs spread to him, his cheek nudged in the crook where her thigh meets her core, his fingertip dragging around the warmth of her entrance. His fingers thrust into her, her velvet walls squeezing around him, his middle and ring fingers reaching his knuckle as his fingertips sponge against her sweetest spot. His lips suckle around her clit, solely focused on the way her arousal douses his hands and his skin, the smell of her invading his senses. His mouth quirks into a smile as the flash of the camera sounds around their cabana, her heavy breaths and moans echoing into a pillow.

“Cheating,” Harry breathes, his fingers continuing to thrust into her warmth, her heels digging into his shoulders, “Can’t see you if you have a pillow in front of your face.”

“Harry, you’re asking me to give you the worst case of blue balls you’ve ever had in your life,” Amelie whimpers, knocking her head against the pillow beneath her neck when Harry swats her hand away from his sunglasses on his nose, his eyes tinted maroon beneath the cherry heart glasses. “Baby.”

“Can you take a picture while you orgasm? Think you can do that for me, baby.” Harry moans as a third finger slowly inches into her warmth, her thighs open and his hand holding her hips where her back arches. His tongue circles around her bundle of nerves, her clit sensitive and her thighs shaking beneath his touch as her orgasm begins to wash over her, her stomach tightening and her warm walls squeezing his fingers as he sponges over the spot that makes her writhe with moans. “Good girl, take the picture o’ me.” Amelie’s third picture falls to the mattress, her chest heaving with breaths as her thighs shake beneath Harry’s hands, his thumbs massaging the tattoos caressing her skin. His tongue gently traces over her core, humming delectably as her climax drips onto his face.

“Made m’knees hurt,” Harry says, taking the camera and set the timer on the makeshift table in the corner, his body lying on the mattress next to her. His hands wrap around her waist, coaxing her to straddle his hips, his thumb dragging along her inner thigh and lightly tracing over her slit as goosebumps prickle her skin. “Come sit on m’face.”

“Harry,” Amelie whines, moaning into his neck as her arousal wets his thighs. “Harry, you’re going to tease me, and ‘m sensitive. ‘m sorry fo’ being mean, you don’t have to tease me.”

“Missed your taste. Can’t ever go that long without it, again,” Harry breathes into her, a smirk plastered on his lips as her thighs straddling his shoulders, her warmth overwhelming him. “Grab m’hair, baby. Good girl.”

His mouth is wet and sticky on her core, her fingers tugging on his curls as his hands grip her waist. His tongue gently tastes her, slow and steady with her grinds and the movements of her hips, the sensitivity of her orgasm lingering in her nerves. His thumb rubs her clit achingly slow, his tongue rhythmically thrusting into her warmth and taking her to a new orgasm. Her thighs clench around his head and her fingers squeeze his curls, tugging at the root and whimpers a melody to his ears.

Harry is gentle as Amelie lays on the mattress next to him, wiping his mouth messily on the back of his hand, the light scruff on his chin glistening under the fading sun. He leans onto his side, his fingertips dragging along her naked chest and her bare hips. “Do you think you one more in there for me, mon ange? Only for me.” His lips touch her shoulder, slowly inching his way towards her neck and shifting his body, his knee set between her open thighs. “I love you.”

“Love fucking me,” Amelie says, shaking her head and hiding her face in her hands. Her lips are quirked into a smile, her orgasmic bliss beginning to feel overwhelmed by the thought of his shaft between her thighs. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

His fingertips shove his shorts down his thighs, kicking the material onto the concrete and his blouse following quickly behind. His lips slant against hers, a moan echoing on his tongue as his hand slowly inches her thigh around his waist. “I love you,” Harry stresses, his lips pressing a kiss hard into her cheek, his weight supported on his knee and his forearm, his hand pumping his cock between her thighs and thumbing her arousal and orgasm over his skin. “Love you so much that I want to spend m’whole life with you.” His cock slowly sinks into her warmth, squeezing around him and her teeth biting the skin of his shoulder lightly as his hips rock against hers, her nerves sensitive to the touch and her emotions on fire with his words. “Love your eyes and your heart and your smile.” His thrusts are hard and fast, the frame squeaking, her whimpers and quiet moans sounding so loudly in his ears. His lips are sloppily kissing hers and muttering, “Loving that I get to fuck you and make love to you whenever we want.”

Amelie’s fingers wrap around his arm, her nails inching into his skin, her thighs tight around his hips and drawing his thrusts heavy against her sensitive hips. Her thoughts are clouded in Harry and their love and the tinge of jealousy that made this, and her hand reaches for the polaroid camera forgotten beside her. “Fuck,” she moans, warmth squeezing him deeper, his cock bottoming to her hilt and grinding against her sweetest spot to bring her to her third orgasm. “Smile, baby.”

Harry smirks, his curls falling in front of his eyes as Amelie takes a photograph. Her jaw drops as he pulls all the way out, taking the camera from her and focusing on her face as he thrusts into her, her eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm overwhelms her and her core is clenching around him. His orgasm chases hers, milking all that he has inside her. Her hands reach for the pictures, her eyes going wide with how filthy the images actually are.

“Holy shit, angel,” Harry murmurs, his eyes travelling to where their orgasms are slowly leaking out of her. “Got so much that you’re dripping.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” Amelie reaches for her bathing suit top, tying the knots around her neck and her back. Her hand reaches for a slice of watermelon, her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as Harry holds his hand to her.

“Have a few left in this roll of film,” he says, yanking his shorts onto his hips and stepping outside the cabana, peering through the lens for the perfect angle. “Le’ me take a picture of you, angel.”

Amelie shakes her head, knowing that Harry means that the picture will be her without her bathing suit bottoms. “Harry, we have neighbours and that’s filthy.”

“Got fucked three times out here with the cabana curtains open,” Harry laughs, holding his arms out and nodding towards the uncut hedges, the sun nearly set and their privacy more acknowledged than ever by silence, “and the hedges are taller than me. Find another reason.”

“Can’t make this your background,” she says warningly, holding the watermelon unsurely and standing in front of him. “It’s dirty.”

“Can’t promise you that one,” Harry says, adjusting her pose and the watermelon and the depth, making sure that every part of his idea would be coming to life.

“Baby.”

Harry takes the picture and grins, holding the polaroid to his chest with a blushing smirk. “Don’t worry, angel. I want this one all for me.”

[matildashoney]

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Seven

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TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou​​, @cock-a-doodely-doo

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

this chapter contains themes of anxiety and depression. please read with caution.

All of it happened so suddenly.

One minute, Amelie was watching a movie with Phoebe, and the next, a flight attendant was announcing over the speaker that the plane had landed in Jakarta, Indonesia. Harry was waiting at her gate, his eyes glossy behind the sunglasses and his hair tied into a bun. His mind was everywhere and anywhere, and there was nothing more that he wanted than to have her in his arms. Harry felt safe there, in Amelie’s arms, like nothing bad could happen to him as long as she was holding him. He needed to feel that. He needed that.

All Amelie took was a makeshift rucksack – threw all of her textbooks and notebooks onto her bed and stuffed a pair of jeans, three shirts, panties, toiletries, and a charger inside – and Harry’s sweatshirt that she wore daily, making her departure barely take three minutes, her feet rushing to the front of the line, surely irritating anyone behind her.

Truthfully, Amelie didn’t really care at the moment. All that was on her mind was getting to Harry.

He was easy to see – her eyes picking him out from a mile away, dishevelled and exhausted, hands tucked into the pocket of his sweatshirt, his body rocking on his heels as he stares at the screen hanging above the information desk.

“Harry,” she murmurs, slinging the bag near his feet and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her cheek resting on his collarbone, “’ve got you, baby.”

“Missed you.” His tears wet her skin, his hands clinging to her for warmth and comfort. “Have to, um, have to talk to you about something.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Harry can feel Amelie tensing around him, his fingertips nudging underneath the sweatshirt and rubbing into her spine softly. “Not that, baby. Don’t think like that, please. Not about us.”

Okay. Okay, okay. Calm down for now.

“Harry,” Niall shouts, his face resembling Harry’s in nature, nodding towards the exit where security guards are waiting to escort everyone into a vehicle and drive to their hotel. “Mate, we got’a go.” His expression tells Amelie that something happened, something not very good.

Harry takes Amelie’s hand, squeezing her, taking her rucksack in his hand and carrying it alongside his own. His cheek rests against her shoulder in the car, her fingertips carding through his hair and gently scratching his scalp, her mind racing through the possibilities of what could have happened in the month that they’ve been apart, especially if it doesn’t have to do with their relationship.

Harry’s silence going to their hotel room worries Amelie. Harry isn’t like her. He isn’t one to hold everything in until he shatters, until one thing is the metaphorical straw to break the camel’s back. Harry shares his emotions, his thoughts, his feelings. He doesn’t stay quiet.

Amelie opens the door, having Harry walk in before her and setting their baggage on a table messily, his body sinking into the mattress with his hands covering his face before she could properly close the door. Her heart cracks fully in her chest, his chest heaving with sobs and his fists knuckling at his eyes. His breathing is uneven and shaky, and she is sure that she’s going to have to get his inhaler from the suitcase.

Unsure of Harry’s reaction, she gently nudges his knees apart, standing between his thighs and coaxing him to lean into her. Her arms wrap around him, her fingers tucked into his hair, her eyes watering as she feels him shake with sobs, his hands clinging in fists around her sweatshirt, gripping her to him. Her lips touch his curls, taking deep breaths, gently drawing lines on his back and embracing him as tightly as she could. Her sweatshirt was damp with his tears, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for Harry to feel okay.

Amelie wants to take his pain away. Whatever it is, she wants it. She can handle it. What’s one more thing on her chest, especially if that would mean Harry would be able to be okay, to be happy. This wasn’t Harry.

Her past relationship never felt this intimate, this close. Her only experience comforting someone would have been with her best friend in their early teens when her boyfriend broke up with her via text, or when her younger sister heard a song that simply hit too close to home.

For Harry, she wanted to be better than that.

Can you be better, though? Can you really?

“Harry,” she whispers, her cheek resting on his head as she attempts to soothe him, “baby, what happened? You barely spoke to Niall in the car.”

“Zayn.” His voice goes silent, his breathing shaky as he attempts to regain his composure. “He quit. He fucking quit.”

Amelie’s chest tightens as profanities fall from his lips, the anger and break in his voice hurting her even more. Her fingers continue drawing on his spine, willing her body not to tense, willing her brain to not resurface the memories.

Jack would scream at Amelie when he got drunk, especially in front of their ‘friends’, almost like he was trying to prove his dominance in the relationship. He would only give affection when whiskey poured through him, seemingly working the nerve to say and do something other than destroy her image.

Harry mumbles under his breath, his fingertips releasing her and digging into his eyes, his mind willing him to stop crying. “Fuck, I should’ve asked you if you could come, first. Now, you’re here, and I didn’t even ask. I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t apologise. It’s okay. I’m here,” Amelie assures him, kissing his head, hugging him as tightly as she can, his arms slightly falling and wrapping around her thighs, his tears melting into her tummy.

“Know you were supposed to have a relaxing night with your sister, and you have an exam next week, but–”

“Harry,” she murmurs, nudging his face in her hands, his green eyes hazy as he stares at her, her bottom lip jutting into a pout as a tear slips down his cheek, “don’t. This is more important.”

“Have to rebuild a whole fucking show. They’re announcing it in two days. On fucking Facebook, no less,” Harry spits, his fingers tightening around her thighs, her legs tensing beneath his touch, her fingers squeezing his shoulders slightly to make him aware. “Fuck, I keep fucking up.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m alright,” Amelie sighs, her eyes welling up as she settles on his thigh, her thumbs brushing the tear stains and silently searching his face for an answer to his hurting, an answer on how to take it away.” Tell me what to do. How can I make it better?”

Heartbreak is annoying. Heartbreak is painful. Heartbreak is simply the one thing that Amelie never wants anyone she loves to ever feel.

“Need you to be here with me. That’s it,” Harry sniffles, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at the root. “Can you, can I tell Phoebe? Don’t want her to find out that way. After all, y’know, helping us and all that.”

“Um, yeah.” Her heart pounds in her chest as Phoebe’s name lights the screen, the video clarifying and her worried expression apparent. “Hey, Phoebe. Harry has to talk to you, okay?”

Harry takes the phone, holding the camera far enough away for Phoebe to see him, his distraught appearance making Amelie’s eyes gloss over. All she wanted was to take away his pain, to hold him and tell him that everything would be alright.

Would everything be alright? Is that something you can promise him?

Harry heaves a breath, his mind heavy as her younger sister stares at him curiously. “Harry, something’s wrong.”

“Um,” he mumbles, scratching his forehead uncomfortably. “Two days from now, the One Direction account is going to announce something.”

“Announce what.”

“Uh, Zayn is leaving.” He takes a minute, waiting for the news to register. “He won’t be on the tour. He might be saying things, not great things. Wanted you to know before everyone finds out.” Harry’s heart drops seeing a tear slip down Phoebe’s cheek. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry.”

“I, uh, I have to go.”

One tear falls down Harry’s cheek as the screen cuts. His bottom lip wobbles, his palms covering his face as his elbows rest on his knees. He has nothing left to say.

“Harry,” Amelie mutters, taking the phone away and tossing it onto the table, carding her fingers through his hair and staring at the broken man leaning against her chest, his thighs clamped around her legs, “baby, I’m so sorry. Tell me how to help. I want to help.”

“Need you.” Harry’s eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, a haze fogging the bright green that Amelie adores so dearly.

Amelie desperately tries to gather her emotions, the anxiety over soothing him and comforting him becoming too much for her brain to make sense of. Harry needs her, her anxiety needs to be under control, for once.

“Have me,” she says quietly, trailing her eyes between his and his lips, his hurried nod making her press her mouth to his. Harry kisses her slowly, soaking in the way she is so delicate with him, the way she kisses him making him feel together, again. Her lips touch his cheeks, murmuring quietly, “you have me, right here.”

“Know that you’re like, my angel, right? Get that you’ve not really dealt with any of this before and it’s a lot to handle,” Harry whispers, staring at Amelie like she is the only thing in the world that could make him better.

I’m certainly not an angel. Unless all angels have a million demons just lurking in their brain, Amelie wants to say, yet her voice is silent.

“Can you just believe me when I say that,” Harry says firmly, his arms tightening around her waist, his chin resting on her tummy. “Make me feel something, angel. Please.”

Amelie nods quietly, cupping his jaw and attaching her lips to his, her knees dipping into the mattress as Harry lays back, allowing her to take full control over him. His tongue drags across her bottom lip, a moan leaving his throat as her hips settle over his, the rhythm of their lips and tasting each other, the way her hips grind making him lost with all of his thoughts on her. His hands ghost up her thighs, her tight leggings too tight to move. Harry couldn’t describe the feeling that overwhelmed him when he kissed Amelie – the only words seeming to make sense that she was perfect, made to be his, made to be kissing him. He doesn’t need more than that, more than the way her mouth moulds into his and there is nothing missing, more than the way he knows her taste, yet can seemingly never get enough.

Harry isn’t idealising sex with her, right now. He is thinking about the way having her in his arms feels right, like there is something missing when she isn’t there. He would be insane to not realise, to not acknowledge this feeling, because it lingers in his chest every time their call ends and her flight leaves, it sits like an elephant on his chest when he is alone in his hotel room, reading a novel and marking the pages and quotes that stand out at something she would say.

Obsessed? Not a word to really describe how you feel towards the girl you’re falling in love with, but maybe that will have to do.

Amelie gasps for air, her lips utterly swollen and a bright shade to accentuate the way Harry was nipping at her bottom lip every so often. Her nose nudges his, sponging tiny kisses along his jaw and cheek as her breathing steadies. Harry doesn’t expect her lips so soon, taking a few seconds to meet her rhythm and immerse his thoughts in her. His hands dipping beneath her sweatshirt and tugging it over her torso, the warmth she radiates making his eyes shut as his mouth kisses along her collarbone.

“Needed you closer.”

Harry and Amelie stay like that for a while – kissing and squeezing and gasping air through parted lips. His palms splayed flat against her back, holding her against his chest, their mouths moving together, her fingers gently parting through his hair.

“Harry–,” Amelie goes to say, sitting on his thighs, her heart sinking when Harry take her hand from his shoulder and slots it through his curls, once again, coaxing her to lay on his chest.

“Can’t you just stay holding me? Makes me feel better,” Harry sighs heavily, closing his eyes and trying to have the comfortable silence stay.

“Hold you all you want,” Amelie promises, pressing light kisses to his cheeks. “Have to shower and get ready to go to sleep, though. There are people that are counting on you. They need you to be well-rested and showered and ready in rehearsals. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for you and the boys.”

“We were counting on him,” Harry puffs, shaking his head against her shoulder. His voice is strained, slightly rasped, and Amelie can hear the profanities begging to slip off his tongue. Amelie could see that Harry was trying to be more careful since he squeezed her thighs too tight, but there were simply no other words to express his emotions. “We were a band. Fuckin’ callin’ us his brothers. You don’t do that to family.”

“Know that, baby, I know.” Amelie takes a deep breath, kissing his temple sweetly, trying to coax Harry into taking a shower and calming, readying for bed and going to sleep would ease his mind for at least a few hours. “Want me to shower with you? I’ll come.”

“Okay.”

Harry loosens his grip on Amelie slowly, his fingertips digging into his eyes to attempt to soothe the burning sensation, his chest heaving as she slowly peels her leggings down her thighs and extends her hand out for him to take. He stands, pulling his shirt from his torso and his sweatpants from his legs, his hand taking hers and interlocking their fingers as they walk into the en-suite. Amelie grabs their toiletries from their bags, knowing how messy the shower would turn out otherwise – water splattered everywhere, a possible slippage. Harry gently unclasps the bra stuck to her chest, offering a shy smile as she leans into the shower to turn the faucet on.

Undergarments scattered on the tile, Harry steps in behind her, gratefully tucking his face into her neck and having the warm water soothe the muscles in his back. Amelie has never sought to comfort anyone the way she would with him, never seeing a way that her presence could make someone, anyone, feel better. Harry hugs her hips – his favourite – kissing her neck sweetly.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry smiles shyly, his eyes squeezing shut as her fingertips gently massage through his scalp, “fo’ takin’ care o’ me.”

Don’t know how to take care of myself, Harry.

“Haven’t done a thing,” Amelie sighs. “Here,” she says, giving him a washcloth and moving away to wash her hair. His head leans against the tiled walls, his arms tucked over his thighs, his lips pursed together as the water washes over her.

Only doing what would make me feel better.

“Ames, what will it take for you to see that you simply being around makes me happy? I,” Harry hesitates, hooking his arm around her midsection and tugging her into his chest, the water sputtering against the floor behind them, his lips ghosting over hers. “Whatever Jack ever said to you was so wrong. Make me happy, you do. Know how to make me feel better, just by being around. Fuck whatever he said to you.”

“Don’t,” she smiles sadly, laying her hand against his chest to gently nudge him away, moving under the faucet and rinsing the soap away and leaving the shower. “Gon’a get into pyjamas, okay?”

“Don’t leave,” he says, his lips jutting into a pout and his eyelashes falling against his cheeks. “Only a few more minutes.”

“Alright.”

Amelie stands against Harry’s back, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek against his shoulder. Harry turns the water off, squeezing her hands, his hands taking a towel and wrapping it around her torso. He tucks a new towel around his waist, taking a deep breath and kissing her hair as they walk towards the marble countertop.

Harry stands against the wall, briefs hanging low on his waist, barely covering his thighs. His toothbrush hangs loosely from his lips as he watches Amelie get ready, loose boxers clinging to her hips, an oversized sweatshirt over her torso, her skin underneath naked and slightly damp. He admires her this way, the simplicity.

“Quit looking at me like that and go to bed.” Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek, walking into the bedroom and peeling the duvet away from the mattress.

Harry takes two seconds to mimic her, closing the bathroom door and moving into the bedroom, climbing beneath the sheet, tucking his arm around her waist as the duvet is pulled over their bodies.

“Night, angel,” Harry mutters, kissing her neck and cuddling into her warmth.

Amelie cards her fingers through his hair – as she always does – and begs her brain to quiet. For once, let me sleep. Please.

Unlikely to have the pleads obliged, hours pass in that position. Harry quietly sleeping against her, her chest heaving with pants as she holds in a shivered cry. Her fingertips stalled in his curls, scratching the nape of his neck, her eyes trained on the television that sounded quietly.

Harry is going to realise that you can’t comfort him how he needs, how he wants. He is going to realise that you’re too fucked up to deal with his issues, that you can’t care for anyone, not even yourself. He is going to break up with you and write a song about how horrible you are. He is going to see everything.

All at once, Amelie is quietly padding to the bathroom, closing the door silently and leaning against the porcelain tub, her face in her hands, tears staining her cheeks. Her skin prickles with goosebumps, her body shaking with the struggled breaths and quieted cries. Amelie didn’t want to wake Harry, to worry him.

Harry panicked immediately. He woke up to an empty bed, unable to see the one that he assumed had fallen asleep with him. He certainly assumed wrong. His heart begins to beat slower at the light shining beneath the ensuite’s door, a heavy breath murmured beneath the sounding ventilation.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, creaking open the door, careful not to frighten her. “Ames, what are you doing awake? Come back to bed.” His chest tightens seeing Amelie crying on the tile. “Angel, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Amelie sniffles, wiping her eyes and forcing a smile. “Go back to bed.”

“Only when you come,” he sighs, stepping inside and kneeling down in front of her. He hasn’t ever seen Amelie have anxiety or an anxiety attack. Only once has he seen something of the sort – with Gemma a few years back. He felt helpless then, and Harry surely felt helpless, now. “Come on.”

“Harry, give me a minute,” she mutters, her voice rasped and etched with pain. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Are you overwhelmed by me? Have I overwhelmed you?” Harry has to ask. He could see how this could be overwhelming for her, a bit too much. He never thought about how she would feel in this situation. He was wrong for that.

“Of course not,” Amelie says, tears welled in her eyes as she stares at him. Harry knows that she’s lying. He can see it written across her face.

Of course, I’ve made you think you’ve done something wrong. Of course, you would think you’re wrong. Of course, you’re too good for me.

“Come to bed with me,” Harry murmurs, gently taking her hand and coaxing her to settle on her feet. He nudges her into the bedroom, the ensuite light turned off and the only light in the hotel suite radiating from the television. “Can talk to me about anything, you know that, don’t you?”

“Know that,” Amelie murmurs, sinking underneath the cosy duvet and allowing Harry to wrap his arms around her. “I’m okay.”

“Alright,” Harry says, squeezing her tighter into his chest and taking a deep breath, listening carefully to her breathing to ensure that she had fallen asleep.

Amelie’s words repeat in Harry’s head, the two words seeming to be the furthest thing from the truth.

~

Harry couldn’t describe the feeling in his stomach – nausea, the nervousness, the uneasiness. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, the acid beating at the weak muscle as he sat with his head in his hands, his fingers tugging at his curls and his foot tapping against the carpet as he paces the outline of the suite. Amelie accidentally slammed the bathroom door behind her nearly twenty minutes ago, the lock clicking when the shower sputtered on and the unsettling quiet loomed over the air.

Harry shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have. He was wrong.

“Gon’a burn a hole in the carpet,” Amelie murmurs, shaking her hair into the towel and pulling the sweatshirt sleeves over her hands, the boxers loose around her thighs, her lips pulled between her teeth as she settles on the edge of the mattress.

“Um, yeah.”

“Don’t like when you yell, Harry,” Amelie whispers, setting the towel on her thigh and turning to face the distraught man biting his nails against the makeshift dresser. “Understand that you’re upset – you and everyone on your team – but, baby, you didn’t need to yell at him.”

“Don’t understand how you can take his side on this,” Harry says, his eyes glossing over with tears and his arms folding in front of his chest, anger mending with sadness in his chest. “He fucking quit. Gave some bullshit excuse. Gon’a probably go and sign a record deal tomorrow.”

“Anxiety isn’t a bullshit excuse, Harry.”

“Tell me how Zayn has been touring with us for four years, and only now, when they’re talking about renewing our contract, there’s an issue! Tell me how that makes sense.”

“Harry.”

“None of us were going to sign it, you know. Niall and I have been talking. Capitol made him an offer. Columbia and Jeff were talking about doing something with a contract with me. Not like we were forcing him. He could’ve just talked to us.”

“Harry.”

“Can’t believe this is happening.”

“Harry Styles, calmer, bébé.” Amelie stands from the mattress, laying the towel on a stray chair and walking towards Harry, taking his cheeks in her hands and bringing his attention to her. Her lips touch his forehead sweetly, coaxing his breathing to slow and hands to steady, the shakiness of his breathing similar to an anxiety attack. “Can you feel that uneasiness in your stomach?”

“Mhm,” Harry gulps, his eyes squeezing shut, his thoughts trying to stray from the warm feeling of her lips on his skin and the comforting touch that her hands bring to his cheeks. “God, it hurts, love.”

“Know it does, baby,” she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair and bringing his face to her neck, his arms wrapping around her hips and holding her tight. “That’s what anxiety feels like. Makes you want to get sick.”

“Mhm.”

“Why would you want your friend to feel this way on stage? How would that make your performance any better than if there were only the four of you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, echoing in his ear, her touch making his heartbeat soothe to an even pace. His fingertips clung to her sweatshirt, afraid that she would walk away if he released her from his grasp. “‘cause, believe me, watching the rehearsal today, you blew me away.”

“Hate takin’ other people’s parts,” Harry confesses into Amelie’s neck, his breathing heavy against her damp skin. “Makes me feel like when we first started, and they put all the pressure on m’ to be the front, and what happens ‘f someone hates that. All of it will fall apart.”

“Not like that now, though,” Amelie reasons, gently scratching his scalp and twirling the curls between her fingertips. “Niall has parts, Liam and Louis. All of you are doing more.”

“I’m worried that everyone will hate One Direction, like this.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Harry nods silently, his thumbs tucked underneath the hem of Amelie’s sweatshirt and squeezing her closer to his chest. He breathes her in, the scent of her shampoo and the strawberry chapstick that lingers on his temple soothing him.

“Took a video of you all singing ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and sent it to Phoebe,” she whispers, tightening her arms around his shoulders and nosing beneath his jaw, planting a kiss on the vein the traces his neck. “Called me a few minutes later and told me that it was the best performance you’ve ever given. All of your voices sound incredible. Of course, it’s different and that’s scary, but all of the tens of the thousands of people that are coming to see you are going to be happy to see you on stage, to see you having a good time.”

“Don’t know if I want to keep doing this,” he murmurs, his eyes welling with tears as he pulls away from her neck, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth to shy away from crying. “Need a break.”

“Only a few more shows, baby, and then you’ll fly home to me, and you’ll have weeks alone.”

“Can I have my weeks alone with you? Don’t want to actually be alone,” Harry corrects, gently brushing the damp hair away from Amelie’s neck, his thumb tracing over her lips longingly. “Having you to myself sounds like enough.”

“Can happily do that.”

“Guess I should shower before the show,” Harry says quietly, his toes itching along the carpet as he presses a yearning kiss to Amelie’s lips, her hands squeezing his hips, his fingertips cupping her jaw as he soaks in the way their lips mould together. “Know your flight is early, but you’re coming, right?”

“Always.”

Harry made his way into the shower, taking all the clothes and toiletries that he would need to get ready before security would be banging on the door and telling them they needed to be on their way to the venue. On the forefront of his mind was the idea that Amelie would be sitting by her suitcase, making sure that every item in her bag was set and ready to go for the flight at nearly four in the morning. Harry would barely have enough time to kiss her before they were taking her to the airport and their goodbyes were being shared.

Harry hated – dreaded – that part of the relationship when touring was involved. Goodbyes were never easy.

Under the sputtering water and patters against the tile, Harry could picture what the following day would look like, the pain burning his chest. He couldn’t describe what it felt like, the burning under his skin or the uneasiness that lingers in his brain. Harry could see himself kissing Amelie goodbye, a strained smile on his lips, one more kiss touched to her hairline before she was walking towards the gate and scanning her ticket, the flight attendant escorting her to her seat. He silently wondered why his chest felt so tight and there was a queasy feeling in his stomach, as though her leaving wasn’t ever what was best.

Harry would wait by his phone for hours, patiently waiting for Amelie to text him on her layover, as the flight landed. He answers immediately, talking to her for as long as she could, as long as he could, even waiting a few minutes until she’d fallen asleep and could no longer respond to him.

Amelie would swear that the very first thing Harry would get when the tour is over – for the time being – is the sweetest hug, the hug that takes your breath away. He would talk about how he would be going back to England in May, that maybe she could think about going with him. Harry thought about the feeling that would stick in his stomach, the nervousness and the excitement if Amelie agreed or even the emotions that would linger in his belly when she says that she would think about it.

Harry silently hoped that her semester would lighten up so that she could go. He wanted her with him, all the time, no matter where he was.

Until Amelie fell asleep on her pillow, with her wire-rimmed glasses on and her hair tied into a bun – which Harry knew she would complain about in the morning because it gives her a headache – Harry would be on the phone. He would listen to her talk about her artwork and the assignments that have to be done throughout the week, the pending excitement with each day counting down until they would be together again. Her conversation would trickle into their plans after tour, meeting each other’s parents, spending more time together. Harry spilt the idea that she could leave a few things in his drawers so they wouldn’t have to spend so much time apart on the days they needed new clothes or laundry and Amelie happily agreed.

All of that sounded so perfect, especially knowing he would be with her.

Knocking on the door brought Harry out of his daydream, the bathroom creaking open with a shy smile and bright eyes, a shirt from tour slung over her torso with a pair of jeans that Harry could only identify as hers. Amelie leans against the counter, finishing getting ready, laughing as Harry tosses his towel at her, his briefs slung low on his hips and a stray shirt clinging to his damp skin.

“Think I want a hug,” Amelie whispers, her words quiet and only heard to Harry standing right beside her.

Harry grins, opening his arms and hugging her tightly, her hands clasped around his shoulders and tucking her face into his neck, their lips pursed together and the bathroom only humming with the air vent and dripping faucet, their quietness soaking in the moment simply the two.

Kissing his cheek, Amelie traces the cut of his jaw, stamping her lips across his skin sweetly. Amelie always did this, a few kisses before Harry finished getting ready, keeping him in her arms for as long as possible. Harry knew that she didn’t think much of it, but it meant something to him, and he has never had anyone do something like that before. He thinks about it often, especially when she’s away, and he always finds himself more excited to see her, to experience the butterflies and the swell in his chest when her lips touch his skin, her arms hugging him tightly to her chest.

Out of all the things that a break in tour had promised, Harry being held in Amelie’s arms sounded the most rewarding.

/ / /

Harry flew into Burbank airport for Amelie to pick him up. He liked the quiet bustle around him, all the businessmen and businesswomen seeming to go about their daily lives and not be bothered by a scraggly, tall man with long hair and sunglasses on his nose. His bag was slotted between his fingertips, ready to be dropped the second his girlfriend was standing in front of him.

Amelie could be spotted from across the terminal, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hair adorning a light pink colour that she must’ve dyed in the two weeks that they’ve been apart. Harry couldn’t say that he’s surprised – her impulsivity is something that he found endearing, the way her mind works so quickly to make decisions that would relatively seem destructive – not always the best quality – yet deciding on what to eat for dinner could take hours. Her torso is clothed in another vintage shirt, one most likely from her mother because the logo scribbled in French is beginning to wear away. Her thighs are constrained to jeans – he wonders if she’ll ever wear shorts around him – and her tattoos are poking through the denim that’s ripped to the knees.

Her smile is goofy, a wide smile he’s never seen. Could it just be that she’s happy? Happy to see him? Happy to be in his arms, again? Only knowing each other three months, officially dating for two, it’s weird to think that they have this much of an impact on each other.

“Hi,” Amelie smirks, rolling her eyes as airport security tells her to walk to him. Her feet were nearly lifting off the linoleum to run to him, oblivious to the one or two glares that were towards her. Giggling, she leans over her knees, catching her breath with a laugh as Harry rubs her back. “Okay, note to self, I am not running to you anymore.”

Harry’s arms immediately circled around Amelie’s waist as she stands, nosing his face into her neck, breathing her in, squeezing her as physically close as he could get her. Kissing his cheek, his eyes went wide with surprise, a blush creeping on his cheeks and a smile on his lips at the affection. “Hi, there.”

“Can’t kiss in here, I’m assuming.”

“Don’t want anyone trying to pry,” Harry says, his thumb tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a slight sigh of relief leaving his lips as she smiles up at him. “Are you mad? I just, I don’t want anyone to try and ruin this.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it.” Amelie kisses Harry’s cheek to emphasise her point, smiling as his arms wrap around her shoulders and hug her tightly to his chest. “Dyed my hair, yesterday. Thoughts?”

His fingertips twirl around the curl near her shoulder, his dimple indenting his cheek as he admires her. “Love it. Looks proper cute on you.”

Amelie’s hands card through her hair and shake the curls playfully. “Feels very me.” Taking his hand in hers, she attempts to lift the luggage from the floor, her eyes widening with the weight. “What the hell do you have in here, Harry? Bricks?”

He laughs, taking the suitcase and interlocking their hands, smiling widely as she tucks into his side, her cheek resting on his arm as they walk through the airport. “Want to give you a proper kiss,” Harry says into her hair, kissing her forehead as she tucks her keys in her back pocket and they begin walking towards her car in the car park outside. “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Happy you asked me to,” Amelie smiles, nodding towards her car and opening the boot for his luggage and smirking when he opens her door, knowing full well what he is going to do. “You promised me a kiss, Mr Styles.”

“That I did,” he smirks, leaning into the car, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand cupping her cheek, his lips dragging languidly along hers, the rhythm slow and meaningful and full of lust and desire and longing and all the emotions that encompassed how they felt being away from each other. “Missed you.”

Her eyes soften, her lips pursing together at the thought. Amelie hates to admit it, more so because it makes her feel pathetic than anything else, but the only time she has ever heard those words were from her family and her best friend. There’s never been a person, a romantic interest, in her life that’s openly expressed their feelings for her the way Harry does.

Harry squeezes her thigh, smiling at her and taking her attention. “Missed you.” His words linger in the air, swearing themselves into truth, his heart beating heavily in his chest as he waits for her response.

“Missed you, too.”

I’m fucked. I’m so fucked with how much I like you.

Amelie puffs a breath between her lips as Harry carefully shuts her door, walking around and settling into the passenger seat, his green eyes planted on her as she straightens her back and stares out the window to avoid an accident pulling out of the garage. Harry laughs at the way her lips pull between her teeth and her nose scrunches slightly with concentration, her cheeks flushing at the feeling of his eyes so intently on her.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she threatens, squinting at him as she straightens the wheel and begins driving out, the directions on her phone giving her an estimated time to her apartment. “My apartment is a mess, as usual, but I was working on a few canvasses for Mama’s new book.”

“Ooh,” Harry coos, setting his hand on her thigh and smirking at the music playing quietly in the background. “Take it you liked the concert, then.”

“Maybe I just wanted to listen to my boyfriend,” Amelie says, raising her eyebrows suggestively and fluttering her eyelashes against her cheeks, her mind racing with the name – boyfriend is so official. “Or Phoebe was in the car. Guess you’ll never know.”

His fingers against her thigh, the pads of his digits feeling the silk of her shaven skin. He purses his lips together, humming quietly along with the music before taking a breath to speak. “Feel like this could be an inappropriate time for me to say that I’ve learnt how to say angel in French.”

Amelie chokes on her breath, the brakes jerking her car at a stoplight, Harry squeezing her thigh tighter as the reaction. He can’t hide that his eyes light up at the shocked expression on her face, unbelieving of his words. He loves surprising her, having the very experience of feeling her fall in love with him.

“Say it.”

“Tu es mon ange, Amelie,” Harry says softly, delicately kissing her hand and chuckling at the honking that ensues behind the car as her mind is paused beyond the light. “Go, baby.”

“Can’t distract me when ‘m driving.”

His fingers tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear, his eyes taking in the flushed cheeks and aching smile in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes and the way the sun cast on her through the window, the golden hue echoing all of the features that he attributed to her being an angel. He stares at Amelie without remorse, without turning away, turning the volume lower and taking a minute to appreciate the simplicity the embraced them in the compactness of her car.

“Thought we agreed that only serial killers drive with the music off,” Amelie teases, returning the volume to the original level and smiling brightly as her favourite song plays through the speakers. “Know you’re sick of this song but I don’t think I ever will be.”

Harry smiles at the way Amelie’s entire soul ignites with the song, the lyrics pouring through her perfectly rounded lips, her voice echoing through the open windows, her heart beating in her ears, happiness soaring through her. Amelie’s happiness was a light shining through the darkness, a sun on a cloudy day. He couldn’t compare the feeling – the feeling of seeing her happy – to anything else that he’s ever experienced.

“Can you teach me how to speak French?” Harry pipes, a smirk tugging at his lips at Amelie furrows her eyebrows together in confusion and her eyes narrow. “Want to be able to speak to your mum and grandfather and all that, without you having to translate.”

“And.”

“Can’t I just be a wholesome guy?”

“No, Harry Styles, I don’t think you can be,” she smirks, shaking her head and grappling for his prying hands as his fingers slowly inch towards the waistband of her jeans. Amelie parks in her designated spot, Harry immediately unbuckling her seatbelt and taking her cheeks in his, crashing their lips together and absorbing the way her mouth so easily connects with his, their rhythm aligned. “Didn’t think a wholesome guy would fuck me in my car.”

“Didn’t say that was the plan.” His hands persuasively grab her hips, moving the centre console and having her straddle his waist, his fingers tucked into the waistband of her jeans as her lips mould with his. “Could do that, though, if you wanted.”

Harry chuckles against her lips as she tugs on his hair playfully, their tongues dragging across each other, tasting the lips and the mint and the longing that they were missing. His hands squeeze her waist, his thumbs tucking beneath the hem of her shirt and inching towards her chest.

“Don’t have anything on underneath,” Amelie spits hurriedly, leaning her forehead against his, panting against his lips, her hands holding his beneath her shirt. “All of m’neighbours will get a show if you move m’shirt any further.” Harry’s laugh echoes around them, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his nose nudging her cheek to kiss along her jaw. “Allez, amenons tout à l'intérieur. Peut-être même que je t'apprendrai ce que je dis.”

Come on, let’s bring everything inside. Maybe I’ll even teach you what I’m saying.

“Unfair advantage,” he whines, his forehead uncomfortably leaning against her shoulder as she reaches to turn to switch the engine, her hand gently patting his cheek. “Makes me basically useless when you speak French to me.”

“And who’s fault would that be? Certainly not mine.”

“Actually, I think it is,” Harry smirks, teasingly smacking her bum as she manoeuvres out and onto the tarmac, walking around the car and beginning to take out his bags. “Come on, love, I’ve got it.”

“Mom wanted me to call her when we got back,” Amelie says, ensuring that they have all Harry’s bags and belongings to bring inside. “I’ll call her when you get in the shower.”

“Not going to let me say hello. That’s so rude. Not very angelic of you.” His shoulder leans against the door frame as Amelie opens the door, waiting for him to be fully inside with his suitcases, smiling as Harry begins locking the door, nodding for her to make her call to her mother.

“Bonjour, Mama,” Amelie smiles into the speaker, her mother’s voice always loving and sweet. Once a week dinner, once or twice a week calls – that’s how the Beneventini’s kept up with everything happening in everyone’s lives, especially during the busier seasons of the year.

“Bonjour, chéri,” Fay greets, the smile on her lips heard through the phone. “Avez-tu décroché, Harry?”

Have you picked up, Harry?

“Il y a environ trente minutes.”

About thirty minutes ago.

“Reste-t-il chez tu?” her mother wonders, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she waters the garden planted outside the kitchen window.

Is he staying at your house?

“Seulement pour une semaine, puis nous allons chez lui,” she says nervously, her teeth nipping at her cheek nervously, awaiting her mother’s next question.

Only for a week, and then we're going to his house.

Amelie wasn’t oblivious to what her mother was implying. Family Dinner was on Sunday, and considering how far they’ve travelled to see each other, it could only be assumed that their relationship was much more serious than they let on two months ago. Fay would be right to assume so, Amelie wasn’t denying that, but Harry had never met her nor spoke to her parents, and she surely hadn’t asked him to meet her whole family at dinner, yet.

“L'amènerez-tu au dîner de famille?”

Are you bringing him to Family Dinner?

Amelie chokes on her words as Harry walks up behind her. “Bonjour,” Harry says into the speaker, his suitcase and bag set in her bedroom, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and hugging her tight, his lips touching her hair. “Comment allez-vous?”

“Hi, Harry!” Fay excites, her cheer and happiness radiating through her tone. “Are you coming to Family Dinner on Sunday?”

“Of course,” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s cheek and walking towards the drawer that held all the takeout menus. “I’ll be there right alongside Ames.”

Her heart pounds against her ribs, aching to jump out and sit perfectly in his hands. He could take it – her heart – simply by asking.

“Lovely! Luca and I are so excited to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry says, matching her tone and excitement, setting a menu on the counter to get approval. “Have a great night.”

“Passe une bonne nuit. Au revoir, Harry! A dimanche.”

You have a goodnight. Bye, Harry! See you on Sunday.

“Bye, Mama,” Amelie smiles, heaving out a choked breath as the call ends, her forehead falling to her folded arms against the counter. “Harry, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“’Cause I agreed to come to dinner,” Harry smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and walking towards the refrigerator to get water. “Come on, it won’t be that horrible.”

“Know that.”

“Going to be great, angel.” His wet lips meet her mouth comfortingly, a smile tugging as her hands cup his cheeks, holding him to her. “Excited to meet them.”

“One week to learn as much French as possible,” Amelie giggles, kissing his jaw and walking towards the bookshelf sat neatly in the corner, a journal adorning patterns and stickers set in his hand. “Here is m’fourth grade journal with all the easiest phrases to learn.”

“Don’t think so,” Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest as she attempts to swiftly walk away. “Having your girlfriend teach you is the only way to learn.”

Amelie’s laughter makes him swoon, his heart swelling achingly in his chest, wanting to utterly immerse in her, an itch to crawl under her skin and know her. Harry would give anything to know every thought in her head, the reason words fall so easily from her lips and echo in his ears, the why to every painting and drawing and photograph that makes him think, the how, in so many ways, she makes him fall in love with her every day.

“Fine.” Harry’s grip loosens on her waist, an annoyed sigh leaving his lips as Amelie leaves his arms. “Ha! Keep away.”

“Doll,” Harry muses, a smirk tugging at his lips as her hands raised to his chest, desperately trying to spare their distance, “don’t be a child.”

“Don’t like being tickled,” Amelie warns, her voice desperately trying to sound threatening, a giggle tickling at her throat as his hands sit loosely on his hips, a swear echoed around her apartment as she nearly stumbles over a canvas as they inch towards her bedroom. “Harry, you will not be getting laid for an undetermined amount of time if you do this.”

“Feel like you’re lying about that, angel.”

Harry kicks the bedroom door shut with his heel, laughing as her hands meet his chest, her fingertips curling into the shirt adorning his torso, her elbows tucked near her sides to protect her. His thumbs gently trace her cheekbones, his hands trailing delicately across her shoulders, slowly making their way down her spine. His lips touch her neck innocently, a smirk tugging at his mouth as her muscles release under his touch. Gently guiding her to lay on her mattress, Harry kisses her cheek, persuading her to believe his touch.

His fingertips immediately pinch her sides, her laughter echoing sweetly in his ears, the sound making his heart thump so loudly against his ribs that he swears his chest aches. “Amelie Fay, tell me you’ll teach me French.”

“Fine!” Amelie squeaks, laughter etched into her words. “Fine, you win, Harry.”

Harry laughs with his victory, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest, her arms dangling by his sides and her chin propped on his shoulder. “What did I win? Other than knowing that you’re very ticklish.”

“Me, I’ll teach you French.”

Amelie mutters her annoyance at the defeat into his neck, her words panted as heated breaths across the skin, his hands squeezing her hips to assure her that he’s listening. Harry wouldn’t let go, though. He very well could let go, and probably should, after all, there was takeout to be ordered and suitcases to unpack and laundry to do.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, drawing her away from his neck and meeting his stare, her flushed cheeks from laughing tinted beneath the light.

“Hm,” her voice is gentle, soothing, sounding like a lullaby.

“Did you know that you’re pretty like a star? But like, a million times more beautiful.” His words barely hold the hint of a question, more so a fact that he felt inclined to tell her as his eyes flickered between the distant stars outside the window and the glimmering star laying above him.

“Don’t think so, Harry.”

“Can’t paint a physical picture, so this metaphorical one will have to do. You see all those stars out there, Ames,” Harry whispers, pointing out the window, her body shifting slightly in his arms to peer into the sky. One star was shining brighter than the trickled dozen others, the moon hanging low in the slowly dimming sky, blues and purples coating outside, quiet chirps and buzzing with cars sounding through the paper-thin walls.

“I do.” Amelie looks at him and nods, humming, “Which ones are we looking at, though?”

“All of them. All the stars circle around the moon and they fade when the sun comes out. You don’t. You shine all the time. You shine the fucking brightest, too. You’re like, Jupiter and Pluto and Earth aligning and all the stars dancing because they’ve done it. You’re the brightest star there ever was, and you don’t even know it.”

Her irises sparkle beneath the moonlight that shimmies through the curtains. Golden hues and blue specks that dot her eyes, that make him want to fall in love. Glowing cheeks and freckles and perfectly plumped lips that he could get lost in if she let him. His hands travelled down her sides, clasping together right above where her jeans met her shirt. He is so utterly transfixed by her.

He could let go. Harry just didn’t want to.

~

Harry wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs, laying back against his bed and heaving a sigh as Amelie goes through the list of things to tell Harry about for the evening.

Her fringe fell perfectly beneath her eyebrows, the curls waving down her back the way she knew her boyfriend loved. Her cheeks flushed at the thoughts of what he might say, always complimenting her and making her feel beautiful. His favourite jeans were on her hips, the ones that cuff at the ankle and are loose around her thighs. One of his shirts is on her torso – hopefully one her sister doesn’t recognise – and it’s tucked into the front, yanking the cut down only slightly, yet Harry’s eyes are wide and staring as she walks out of the bathroom with her phone shoved in her pocket.

“Quit staring at my chest,” Amelie says, sighing heavily – trying to hide her smirk – as Harry stands up and walks to her, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses a hard kiss to her cheek. “You were staring.”

“Know that I was,” Harry smirks, kissing her temple and leaning back slightly to take in her whole appearance. “Doll, you look amazing.”

“Nothing much,” she says quietly, her cheeks blushing with the compliment. Harry compliments Amelie too much for her to ever be fully used to it. “This is that shirt you bought a few sizes too big.”

“Can see that. Looks better on you than on me.” Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as Amelie grabs his cheeks, chastely kissing his lips, his bottom lip a second time, before beginning to walk out of the bedroom, her keys tucked into her pocket with her phone as cavasses from the hallway are gathered under her arms. “C’mon, I want to make a good first impression. Have to stop and get your mum some flowers on the way.” He takes two canvasses, pecking her cheek and audibly repeating the checklist to ensure that everything was in tow.

“Mama talks in French and English, so you know,” Amelie mentions, tucking the wine between her thighs and locking the front door, a bag with her clothing and toiletries for the week slung over her shoulder, a canvas tucked under her arm.

“Like you,” Harry says, clicking the boot open with his toe and setting the canvasses inside neatly, Amelie’s bags tossed into the backseat to be taken to his house in the evening. His lips pucker for a kiss, smiling as her lips so easily mesh with his, her fingertips dancing across his cheek, his hands flat against the windows of the backseat. “Can never get enough of those.”

“Have ‘em any time you want.” Amelie blushes profusely, gently kissing the dimple indenting his cheek and slipping inside the car. Harry climbs in, buckling his seatbelt and reaching for her hand before the engine could properly turn over. “Mama uses French more loosely,” she says, carrying on their previous conversation and beginning the journey to her parent’s house nearly an hour away. “Dad speaks in French sometimes, but not as much.”

“Brandon is going to be there, too,” Harry confirms, his thumb rubbing her knuckles as they soak in the sun piercing through the open windows, “and Phoebe.”

“Mhm.”

Amelie pulls into a parking space beside the café, the flower shop across the street brightly shining with sunflowers and daisies and tulips and roses. Harry reaches out for her, interlocking their hands and beginning to walk towards the quaint, colourful store, his jaw hardening at the sight of Jack standing annoyingly against the mural that Amelie painted three months earlier, a cigarette lit between his teeth. Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand comfortingly, kissing her temple and squeezing her tighter into his chest.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, his lips pressing into her hair as her arms wrap around his waist, hugging him tightly as they walk on the pavement, “I’ve got you.” His hands rub her back soothingly, his green eyes shining, his smile piercing a hole in her heart. “Anyone else coming that I should know about? Anyone else to get flowers for?”

“Brandon is bringing Autumn. They’ve been dating for, five years, I think.”

“Five years. That’s a long time.” Harry lays his hand on Amelie’s lower back, gently guiding them towards the bouquets set out that day and trying to make a perfect choice. He waves courteously to the elderly woman behind the till.

“Met in college and they’ve been together ever since,” Amelie says, smiling brightly at a bouquet of tulips and daisies in the collection.

Handing the package to Harry, they walk inside and quietly speak to the woman that owns the flower shop with her husband. Her hair was slightly grey, a freckle above her lip making her appearance quite similar to an actress they couldn’t remember the name of. Martha – the woman – complimented Harry and Amelie as a couple, saying that they looked absolutely lovely together, reminding her of herself and her husband in their younger days.

“I think we’re a good couple, too. Have to do a bit more convincing on this one,” Harry grinned at Amelie, kissing her cheek wetly and laughing as she wipes the dampness from her skin. “Thank you. Have a good evening, Martha.”

“Have a great evening, you two,” Martha smiles at them, waving as they walk outside, hands clasped together, fingers squeezing each other as they walk towards the car. Harry opens the door, waiting until Amelie is inside before tucking his face into her neck and planting a kiss on her jaw. His fingers grip her thigh as they begin driving, Pasadena only twenty minutes away from Burbank on a less crowded day.

“Mama is most likely cooking, already,” Amelie says, tilting her head to look at the beautiful boy sitting beside her as the light shifts to red. “Can show you m’room and around the house before supper.”

“Old fashioned supper,” Harry hums, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t give me the thought of shagging you in your childhood bedroom.” His sly remarks always make her blush, making him believe she isn’t used to anyone being so attracted to her, all the time. He would change that, though, because he is – attracted to her – every second of every day.

“Harry!”

“Can’t tell me you thought I wasn’t going to have to get this all out of my system before we got there.” His voice feigns innocence, shaking his head and clicking his tongue at her, the beige siding and baby blue shutters coming into view at the edge of the cul-de-sac.

Harry could see where Amelie found her love of flowers and the sun and being bright – outside every window – quite literally every window – there are colourful florals filling the gardening boxes, at least three flowers in each. He could see the tinge of France mixed with California in the exterior, the bushes lining the walkway decorated in bright pink petals and rosebuds.

Amelie kisses his cheek comfortingly, her stomach swirling with butterflies and anxiety sitting on her chest, the emotions overwhelming. Harry took the bouquet in his arms, holding his hand out for her, smiling as her fingertips interlock with his and give a squeeze of affirmation.

“Phoebe, they’re here! Get your inhaler from the bathroom!” Fay calls through the foyer, her voice travelling upstairs to her youngest daughter, the front door swinging open before Amelie could properly knock or ring the bell. “Mon chéri,” she smiles, kissing her daughter’s cheeks and taking a look at the man beside her. “You must be Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Beneventini,” Harry says sweetly, kissing her cheek courteously and squeezing his girlfriend’s hand.

“Call me Fay,” Fay insists, shaking her head disapprovingly at the name, tiny strands of greying ginger falling around her forehead. “Luca, Amelie and Harry are here!”

“Hi, honeybee,” Luca grins, hugging Amelie tightly and stepping aside, waiting for their hands to release to shake Harry’s hand. “Harry, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Luca.”

“Fay, these are for you,” Harry says, shaking Luca’s hand firmly and giving a smile. Amelie sets the wine in her mother’s hands. “Wasn’t sure what to bring to go with dinner, so I brought wine.”

“Oh, you just had a birthday, didn’t you! Beautiful,” Fay smiles, taking the wine and the flowers and turning towards the kitchen. “Come in, come in.” Her voice is airy and light, her accent much more distinct than Amelie’s, her syllables all met in a wispy hymn. “Finishing up dinner, now.”

“Would you like any help?” Harry wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, stepping further inside the foyer and beginning to follow her mother into the open kitchen, birds beginning to chirp with the fading sunset. “Used to help m’mum cook when I was younger. Used to work in a bakery, too.”

“Call it what you will, you worked at the registers,” Amelie teases, walking towards the kitchen, shortly behind Harry, residing on the barstool painted with a hideous mustard yellow and graciously taking the cuppa her father sets in front of her on the marble counter.

“Have you learnt how to make bread from scratch? No,” Harry answers, clicking his tongue disapprovingly and shaking his head, washing his hands in the sink and drying them on the tea towel on the counter. “Last time I checked, you almost burnt down my kitchen.”

“One time.”

Luca laughs loudly, clapping Harry on the back and moving behind the counter to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek, taking the meat on the counter and bringing it out to grill in the garden. Fay nods excitedly, setting a tray and cutting board in front of Harry on the counter closest to Amelie and moving back towards her station beside the oven, the bouquet sitting neatly in a vase. “Harry, you can chop those vegetables for the salad.” Fay winks at Amelie, shrugging her shoulder towards Harry standing beside her and muttering, “Il est si mignon, ma chérie.”

“Mama,” Amelie says warningly, shaking her head at her mother, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the thought of her boyfriend standing right there, “no.”

“Hm?” Harry mumbles, his eyes barely lifting from the knife that is carefully chopping the vegetables and sliding them into the ceramic bowl in front of him.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Harry,” Fay smirks, wiping her hands on her apron and walking to the cabinet, taking out a glass and pouring herself a glass of wine. “Did Amelie tell you how I flew to North Carolina to see Luca when he was working on a movie, there? Much like what she did for you. Her grandmother – my mother – did something similar for my father, too.”

“Briefly, Ames did,” Harry says, setting the knife down and his jaw dropping with the realisation of her words. “From Paris, you flew to North Carolina.”

“Mhm,” Fay grins, smiling widely at her husband as he steps in from the outside, sweat beading at his forehead, his lips pursed as he reaches for a glass of water being handed to him by his wife. “Mr Beneventini, over there, came to Paris for a film that was being shot. Came around once and that was it. Luca and I saw each other every day for about two months, while they were filming. Gave me the address to the filming location in Carolina and where he was staying and how long he was staying for when he had to leave, and I asked Mum if I could go, and I was on the next flight out.”

“Ever since then, it’s history,” Luca smirks, kissing her hair and hugging her into his chest, his hand gently rubbing her back as she leans into his embrace.

“Only took him another five months to say, ‘I love you’, and yet here we are,” Fay giggles, squeezing his hip and walking towards where Harry was beginning to pour all of the vegetables into the lettuce mixture that was prepared earlier in the day.

“Hey! I’m slow sometimes. It’s part of my charm, Fay,” Luca drawls, clicking a timer on his phone and settling in the barstool next to his daughter, kissing her forehead as she lays her cheek on his shoulder.

“Oh, is it?”

“Feel like that’s something we would do,” Harry says lightly, smiling at the girl across the counter, her eyes wide and staring at him adoringly.

“Ah, ah, maybe you would,” Fay interjects, clicking her tongue and nodding towards her daughter. “Amelie did it first.”

“Fair.” Harry’s smile aches his cheeks, the way her family is so welcoming and sweet making his chest hurt. He wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t nervous. He wanted to be accepted by her family, to be liked by her family.

“They’ll never let you live that one down,” Luca says, nodding his head disappointingly and smacking his hand against his chest. “Take it from me.”

“Fantastic,” Harry groans playfully, handing the handcrafted bowl, a ray of sunshine adorning the outer glass, to her mother, his cheeks blushing as she kisses her cheek excitedly. “Here you go.”

“Dieu merci, celui-ci est utile!” Fay excites, bumbling about the kitchen and beginning to move all of the prepared plates to the table, awaiting on her youngest to set the place settings. “Beau et utile. Matériel du mari, amour.”

Thank God, this one's useful! Beautiful and useful. Husband material, love.

Amelie’s jaw drops, her eyes widening and her face falling into her hands with embarrassment. Luca chuckles, rubbing her back soothingly and mumbling in her ear to calm her. Fay shrugs, disregarding her daughter’s flushed cheeks and continuing to mill about the kitchen to complete dinner.

“Pardon?” Harry says, his lips pursed together in confusion.

Dieu merci – Thank God. Amour – Love. That’s all I know. Why is Ames so embarrassed?

Luca kisses Amelie’s hair, standing on the tile and turning the timer off, his eyes peering out the window to see the smoke polluting the air above the barbecue. “They do this more than you would think.” Luca looks between his wife and his daughter who are mumbling to each other. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Do you speak French?” Harry wonders, knowing that until he learns the language, this confusion is going to linger on.

“How do you think I got Fay to agree to marry me?” Luca laughs, shoving his phone into his pocket and flicking on the light, darkness beginning to fade over the expanse of the garden. “Amelie will teach you if you ask.”

Harry could make out the planted boxes with dozens of flowers – roses and sunflowers and daisies – and he could picture a young, shy Amelie learning how to care for the florals like they were her friends. He can imagine Amelie going out there to plant new vegetables and flowers on the not-so-good days, laying a blanket out there to stare at the stars that always seemed to fascinate her. He could see all of her, so intimately and knowingly, and he felt grateful to have that vision.

“Thank you for helping,” Fay says, pulling Harry out of his daydream. Her eyes roll as Amelie stalks away from the counter and towards her boyfriend. “It’s very kind of you.” Her smile is warm as she stares at Harry, nodding quietly before walking away and pulling the door open to go into the garden with her husband.

“Good God,” Amelie breathes against Harry’s back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her cheek pressed against his clothed shoulder. “Won’t be translating anything for you, hope you know that.”

“Hey,” Harry smiles, his hands rubbing her arms soothingly, gently coaxing her to loosen and accept him in her arms, “it’s cute.”

Harry turns around in Amelie’s arms, smiling at her and taking in the way her features accentuate through the fading sunlight. Her nervousness is evident in the crease in her brows, her lips pursing together as Harry’s thumbs gently rub the tension with a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, Harry, trust me, if you knew what she was saying, you would be out the door and never look back.”

“Doubtful,” Harry breathes, kissing her cheek sweetly. His fingertips gently brush her fringe away from her eyes, giving her a moment to breathe before nodding towards her parents beginning to situate everything at the dining table. “Come on.”

“Harry,” Luca says, walking in through the open door and beginning to shut the windows as the darkness begins to pour in through the outside. He smiles at Harry standing hand in hand with his daughter, nodding towards the table where his wife was setting the new bouquet, “you’re in that band, um.”

“One Direction,” Harry smiles, squeezing Amelie’s hand and pointing towards the drawers that would have cutlery, “yeah.”

“Phoebe loves–”

“Dad, I am begging you,” Phoebe interrupts Luca from the doorway, her lips pursed together as she smiles and wipes her hands uncomfortably against her jeans. “Hi.”

“Hey, Pheebs,” Amelie smiles, releasing Harry’s hand and wrapping her sister in a hug, squeezing her tightly.

“Hi,” Phoebe murmurs into Amelie’s shoulder, her hands shaking against her sister’s back. Her favourite artist, her idol, her favourite person in the whole world was standing in her kitchen, casually, waiting to eat dinner because he’s dating her sister. Her life was flashing before her eyes.

Coaxing her further into the kitchen and away from the door, Amelie nods towards Harry. “Phoebe, Harry. Harry, Phoebe.”

“Hey,” Harry grins, stepping forward and immediately hugging her younger sister, chuckling at the nervous squeeze. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Phoebe says nervously, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips puff through a heavy breath, shaking her head as she mutters, “God, this is the weirdest moment ever in my life.”

“Pheebs,” Amelie interrupts, smiling gently at her sister and reaching her hand out, smiling as her younger sister grasps for her and goes to her without hesitation. “Help me get the canvasses outside.”

“Okay.”

Harry smiles comfortingly at Amelie, assuring her that he would be completely alright. He silenced his phone, the vibrations with notifications beginning to get bothersome as he is trying to have a conversation. He really wanted to impress her parents and getting distracted or not paying attention would not be the way to do so. Harry shoved the phone in his pocket with the sound of voices drawing near, her mother and father entering the room with him.

Walking into the kitchen, Fay takes her wine glass and pours another drink, her voice low as she smiles at Harry and waits for her husband to walk closer to have their conversation quiet, their daughters laughing outside the front door. “Harry, you’re on tour, right? Came back from,” she says, her voice trailing with her memory. “Can’t remember which city it was. Amelie told us, but I forgot.”

“Dubai,” Harry says, a smile perched on his lips at the thought. He loved tour. Touring was his favourite part of the job – the singing to thousands, being on stage, being in the place that he feels most comfortable. “Our next leg is in Europe, and then we’ll be in America, and then back to the U.K. for the remainder of the tour.”

“Hopefully we’ll get to see you perform! Have heard nothing but the best about you.”

“About that,” Harry says to Fay and Luca, his voice growing quieter to avoid being heard. “Our second to last show is on Ames’ birthday. Um,” he whispers, his forearms leaning against the counter top near the two and have their conversation muted, “Amelie is flying out to celebrate, and you can’t tell her, but we’re throwing her a party, that night. Know it would mean a lot if you were there, too. Happy to help with flights, too, or whatever you need.” Fay’s smile warms Harry’s heart, and there is something telling him that no one has ever done this for her before, especially not including her family. “Don’t want her to know, though – it’s a surprise.”

“That’s pretty far in advance, Harry,” Luca says knowingly, his words clinging to a tone etched with surprise. “Her birthday is in October.”

“Know that,” Harry smiles at him, nodding assuredly.

“Alright,” Luca says, clapping his hands against the counter and staring at Fay. “Guess we’ll figure some things out, and we’ll be there.”

“Il me fait penser à toi, Luca.”

He reminds me of you, Luca.

Luca kisses Fay’s hair, smiling brightly at Harry, his head nodding towards the opening door and the chatter sounding through the foyer. Brandon walks in first, Autumn following shortly behind, Phoebe and Amelie clinging to canvasses.

Amelie sets the freshly painted canvasses against the wall, walking around and tucking her arms around Harry’s waist once again, smiling as his arm wraps instinctively around her shoulder, kissing her hairline without hesitation. “Hi. How’s it going?”

“Good, I think.” Harry nods towards the taller man standing a few feet away who bore an uncanny resemblance to Amelie and Phoebe. “Is this your brother?”

“Hey, I’m Brandon,” Brandon smiles, releasing his girlfriend’s hand and shaking with Harry. He is more muscular than Harry pictured, mainly because the pictures that are around his girlfriend’s house are years old. Harry has been nagging her to have the newer pictures printed to display in the frames on the bookshelf.

“Harry,” Harry says with a returning smile, his hand falling to Amelie’s hip when Brandon releases it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Have heard a lot about you,” Brandon says, a smile tugging at his lip, trying to sound threatening. Brandon’s voice is similar to his father’s, the California twang rooted in every syllable. Amelie’s is much lighter, airy, Harry couldn’t compare it to anything else. “Hope you live up to the hype.” His voice lowers as Autumn steps beside him, smacking his arm with his empty threat. “Have my eyes on you.”

“B,” Autumn says, her eyes widening and staring with a warning, a smile bright on her lips as she hugs Harry. “Hi, I’m Autumn. Excuse him.”

“Amelie is my younger sister,” Brandon says, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the counter nearest to him. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Have an older sister and I’m the same way.” Harry kisses Amelie’s temple, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as Amelie and Brandon share a look. “Truly hope I live up to all that Ames said.”

“Brandon,” Amelie warns, her voice slightly lower and teasingly aggressive. Harry has never experienced this with Amelie, the family and the teasing, and he loved how comfortable she appeared.

“One thing you should know,” Brandon says, laughing loudly and Amelie releases Harry and stands in front of him, her height not allowing her to fully block her brother from speaking to her boyfriend. “Amelie acts like an angel, but she really isn’t.”

“I’m perfect, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amelie puffs, folding her arms in front of her chest and pursing her lips together, her eyes narrowing towards her older brother with a warning.

“Oh, yeah. Who helped Phoebe dye my hair three weeks before Senior Prom?”

“Ghosts,” Amelie gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, the light glimmering in her eyes telling Harry all that she isn’t saying. Her jaw gapes open, her voice feigning innocence, her hand grabbing Harry’s as she begins to walk towards the dining room. “How could I, your baby sister, help with something that mean?”

“Devil’s work, right there,” Brandon says, taking his girlfriend’s hand and beginning to follow Amelie.

“Come on,” Fay cheers, poking her head into the kitchen and waving her hand towards the open door to the dining room. Luca follows quickly behind her, kissing her cheek before finding his spot at the table, Phoebe seated beside him. “Dinner is ready.”

Harry thoroughly enjoys Family Dinner.

He enjoys the dysfunction and chaos that runs amongst the large dining table that Luca built when Fay insisted that she despised every dining table that they came across at the thrift stores across Los Angeles and Pasadena. Luca tells the story about how Fay insisted that they build a house before the market ruined their opportunity, and to this day, they have never regretted their decisions. Fay talks about moving to California from the tiny town she lived her whole life in, and how she believes Amelie got that impulsive gene from her. Brandon talks about how Amelie used to torment him as a teenager, convincing Phoebe to join alongside the destruction.

Fay and Luca tell Harry that they always believed Amelie wouldn’t marry an American boy. One story, in particular, reminding her of the crush that everyone knew about at the fresh age of twelve. Coming home from a holiday in Brighton to meet a boy at the airport with a thick accent and blue eyes. Phoebe tells Harry about a holiday that Amelie had in Copenhagen where she momentarily fell in love with a boy who told her she was pretty on a bench in the park.

Harry enjoys every moment of it, especially when Amelie smiles encouragingly, telling him silently that he’s doing all that he should be.

“Going to show Harry m’room,” Amelie says, Luca and Fay smiling and nodding towards the swinging door where Phoebe had gone to bring her dishes to the sink. “Come on.”

Harry takes their plates, laughing with Fay as they clean the table, Brandon and Autumn gathering the leftovers to bring to the kitchen, Phoebe seemingly disappearing into her room. Amelie takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his and kissing his knuckles sweetly, the affection making Harry’s heart race in his chest.

“This is my room,” Amelie says, pointing towards the first door approaching the platform of the stairs. Opening the door, Harry walks in first, a smirk on his lips as he takes in the peach-coloured walls and decorative posters that display different destinations across the world. Harry could tell which paintings were Amelie’s by the brush strokes and the colours chosen, and every single one was his favourite. “Don’t tell me you really have some weird fantasy about having sex in your girlfriend’s childhood bedroom.”

“No,” Harry smirks, slinking his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest, his lips ghosting over hers. “Only in my childhood bedroom.” His laugher echoes around her bedroom as her hand smacks his bicep, her head shaking with his comment. “Ouch!”

“Deserved it,” Amelie says, opening her mouth to argue with him, a smirk tugging at the corners as Harry’s lips attached to hers. Amelie melts into his kiss, smiling at the blissful feeling swirling with the butterflies in her belly.

Happy, this is what it’s like to feel happy.

Harry peppers kisses along her cheeks sweetly, one kiss sticking to her skin as he gently pulls away, going to stare at the frames on her dresser, all the photos similar to ones that are in her apartment. “Have any pictures of you when you were sixteen? Only see the ones from college, here.”

“No, I didn’t keep them.”

Harry looks at Amelie, a regretful smile on his lips as she bites her bottom lip nervously. “Okay,” he says reassuringly, kissing her hairline and hugging her into his chest. “That’s okay.”

Harry knows why Amelie doesn’t have any pictures from when she was sixteen. That’s when it happened.

Grabbing Amelie’s hand, Harry tugs her out into the stairway and begins calling down the stairs. “Fay,” Harry says, smiling as her mother peers over the bannister and up to the two that are beginning to walk down, “do you have any pictures–”

“Tonnes,” Fay interrupts, knowing where Harry is going without having to hear the question. Her hands begin perusing through the photo albums lining the walls in the living room, Harry and Amelie walking hand in hand into the room, a smile on his lips at the albums being set out to go through. “Here are our pictures from Santorini for Amelie’s sixteenth birthday.”

Harry releases Amelie’s hand, taking a seat on the carpet and opening the album. His fingertips carefully handle the delicate pages, his eyes staring at the young version of the woman he’s falling in love with. “Look at you!” Harry excites, pointing to the picture with her clad in a dress and heels. “God, had we met back then, you would have passed me, right by.”

“That’s not true,” Amelie mumbles quietly, taking a seat next to Harry and leaning her head on his shoulder, her fingertip pointing towards her curved figure in the photograph. “Look at me.”

Amelie’s eyes flutter shut as Harry kisses her forehead, shaking his head disapprovingly at her comment. Harry knows exactly what she is referring to, and he doesn’t like it. Hearing Amelie talk so negatively about her body, about her appearance, about her, makes him sick, especially when he adores every ounce of her.

“I am,” Harry says, taking his attention away from the pictures on his thighs and looking to her mother. “Have any pictures of embarrassing phases? Mum is probably going to show you some of mine, eventually. Only fair that I see yours, now.”

“Mon dieu, I have plenty,” Fay smiles, clapping her hands excitedly against her thighs and standing from Luca’s lap. Her hands immediately reach for the album labelled with a new year.

Fay sets the album in Luca’s lap for him to search through, her eyes continuing to scan through the shelves for more. “Oh, this one! Amelie was ten, I think, right, Fay?” Luca smiles, handing the open album to Harry and pointing towards the photograph with a young girl standing with a bright smile with her artwork on the wall. “Well, Amelie decided that she wanted to make a painting on the wall, and who were we to say that she couldn’t use her resources, right?” Luca smiles, standing up and walking toward the archway. “This wall,” he says, gesturing to the wall separating the living room and the kitchen, “was covered head to toe with paint – a sun, clouds, sunflowers – and surely it wasn’t a Picasso.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Amelie interrupts, shaking her head and tutting her tongue with the comment. Harry squeezes her thigh, her lips touching his cheek.

Fay interrupts Luca and Amelie, “But Amelie never looked so happy. That was the best part.”

“Have another one like that,” Luca says with a smile, laughing as Amelie hides her face into Harry’s shoulder. “Going to sell this one to the Louvre.”

“Tu me mets dans l'embarras.”

“Not embarrassing you,” Luca smiles at Amelie, brushing his fingers through his hair and folding his arms in front of his chest as he stares at his daughter. “Bragging is a better word.”

“Harry, would you help me with dessert?” Fay wonders, walking towards the kitchen and pecking her husband’s cheek.

“Of course,” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s hairline and standing to follow Faye into the kitchen. He reaches for the dishes in the waiting cabinet. “Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Faye smiles, turning around and placing the yellow cake on the counter, her voice quieting at her eyes travel between her fingertips tapping against the marble counter and the young man standing adjacent to her. “Harry, I could ask you a question, yeah?”

“Anything.”

“Amelie told you about Jack, right?”

Harry can feel the air knock out of his lungs. God, he fucking hates that guy. “Mhm,” Harry says sadly, nodding and setting the cutlery on the awaiting plates. “Only talked about him a few times.”

“Amelie asked us to not have pictures from that time,” Fay sighs sadly, nervously folding the washcloths and tea towels waiting on the countertop. “As her mother, I couldn’t forget those memories, you know?”

“Of course not,” Harry assures her, his eyes taking in the sudden shyness that her mother was exhibiting. Amelie certainly got the shyness from confrontation from Fay. “Mrs Beneventini, I don’t have ill feelings towards many people, but believe me when I say that I despise Jack for all that he did to her. I wouldn’t ever.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Fay smiles, patting Harry’s cheek sweetly and staring, her tone etched with sincerity and seriousness. “Continue paying attention to her. Can see that you’re not forcing her into anything, and that makes Luca and I feel very comfortable with knowing she’s with you. Unsure of what you’re doing, but it’s making her very happy. Luca and I haven’t seen her like this in a very long time.”

“I will,” Harry smiles, squeezing her hand reassuringly and taking the dishware into the dining room alongside her. Fay smiles at him, nodding towards the voices that are growing in volume and the swinging door that is accompanied by footsteps. “I promise.”

Amelie holds a picture tightly to her chest, a smile bright on her lips – her goofy smile – a bounce light in her step as she gets closer to him in their designated seats for the evening. “Harry, swear to me you won’t laugh when you see this picture.”

“Won’t make a promise if I can’t keep it, love.”

“Fine,” Amelie whispers, narrowing her eyes at Brandon as his laugh echoes around the room, Harry’s fingertips gently taking the picture.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters, his eyes desperately trying to take in every detail of the picture – his girlfriend, likely fourteen or fifteen, hair dyed dark brown, deep black eyeliner, trainers, patterned shirt tucked into a black skirt. Harry could have never imagined Amelie, his sweet, bright Amelie to ever look like this. “Amelie, what.”

“Going through her emo phase,” Brandon smirks, squeezing his younger sister’s shoulder, reaching around to take a slice and going to sit at the table.

“You, Miss Flowers and Sunshine, had an emo phase.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Amelie gasps at Harry, gesturing her arms around her body. Harry grabs her wrist and nudges her into his chest, kissing her cheek. “There are many layers, here.”

“Harry,” Phoebe says teasingly, a smirk planted on her lips as she walks lightly into the dining room, her hands clutching something behind her back secretively, “you think Amelie didn’t enjoy the One Direction concert, last year.”

“Phoebe, don’t do it.”

Harry’s eyes widen with Phoebe’s giggles, walking around the table and standing next to Harry, ignoring Amelie’s glare and pursed lips.

“Want to show you a little picture,” Phoebe sings, giggling as Harry sets his arm against Amelie’s tummy, creating a guard from her reach to her younger sister.

“Phoebe, I’m warning you.”

“Your threat means nothing to me,” Phoebe squeaks, setting the picture in his hand and rushing to stand behind a chair and guard herself against Amelie. “Here.”

“Ames, look at you! Having the time of your life,” Harry grins, a dimple indenting his cheek as he admires the picture. He kisses her cheek, squeezing her thigh and encouraging her to sit with him. “C’mon and sit with me.”

“I think I’m ready to go.”

“Not so fast,” Harry says, grabbing her hand and coaxing her to sit on his thigh, his arm wrapping around her waist securely. “Phoebe, you have any more of these?”

“Oh, I have plenty.” Amelie groans, begging Harry to not continue, her younger sister laying a collection of photos out on the table.

Harry cards through the photographs, pictures of Amelie in her early teenage years to the recent photos from weeks before they met. Brandon tells stories of when Amelie was a child and delving into her mischievousness, Phoebe right by her side. Fay and Luca tell stories of how Amelie used to get lost in the garden meadows near her grandfather’s house, the sunflowers always being tall enough to hide her as a child. Amelie’s family delves into all of her secrets, the way she would paint her bedroom once every season – Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer – and the workers at the local hardware store knew her by name. Her favourite season was always Spring. Her favourite colour changed every three months. Her favourite song was Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac until her uncovering of a Sonny and the Sunsets vinyl at a thrift store about a year earlier. Her hair gets dyed a new colour every April and is kept until early August. All of the paintings that are included in exhibits are a collection with the exception of one – Amelie always keeps one behind to commemorate it.

Like that, Harry realises that hours pass revealing secrets and laughing and indulging in Fay’s delicious yellow cake with Amelie’s family.

Amelie trading thighs to avoiding making Harry’s leg fall asleep, her cheek resting on his shoulder as his hand gently rubs her back, her eyes fluttering against her cheeks as she drifts in and out of consciousness while Luca and Harry wrap up the ending of their conversation.

“C’mon, angel. Let’s go home.”

His heart feels slightly heavy as Amelie whimpers and tucks tighter into his chest, his lips touching her cheek as he gently coaxes her to stand and walk towards the front door. Harry smiles at Phoebe and Brandon, waving goodbye to the two and clutching Amelie’s hand as they make their way out.

“Nice to meet you,” Luca smiles, hugging Harry and shaking his hand. Opening her arms, Fay brings Harry into a warm hug as Luca continues. “Hope to see you soon.”

“Fourth of July,” Harry grins, his heart warm as Amelie grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, squeezing him sweetly. “I’ll be here.”

“Great, see you then.” Luca and Fay wave as Harry and Amelie walk through the pathway. “Get home safe.”

Harry kisses Amelie’s cheek as she settles into the passenger seat, waving to her parents as Harry begins driving onto the street and turning on the directions to his home in the Hills. “That was so much. Need like eighteen hours of sleep, now.”

“Bit dramatic of you,” Harry chuckles, his voice dropping as Amelie squeezes her eyes shut and pinches her eyebrows together. His hand squeezes her thigh comfortingly, “Angel, it went great. Think they really like me.”

“Oh, Mama and Dad love you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

“Harry, it’s not that anything is wrong, per se,” Amelie whispers, a breath puffing between her lips, her thumbs pressing into the points in her temples to alleviate the tension. “Anxiety is this way sometimes. Get tired after being around loads of people.”

“Oh,” Harry sighs, his thumb rubbing her skin lightly and trying to soothe her. He isn’t quite sure what to do. “Take a shower and go right to sleep when we go home.”

“Okay.”

Harry is quiet for the remainder of their drive, Amelie falling asleep against the window. Her breathing is steady and slow, tiny pants leaving her lips as the car passes the empty streets and whirring nightlife that exists in the city. Going into the drive, Harry mutters profanities under his breath for how loud the garage door is. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning the engine and getting out, quietly opening her door and beginning to lay tiny kisses on her cheeks to wake her.

“Come on, angel,” Harry whispers, a smile on his lips as her eyes meet his. “Good morning, sleepy.”

“Hi,” Amelie smiles sleepily, taking a quiet breath as Harry unbuckles her seatbelt and nudges her into his arms. Holding his hand tightly as they walk inside, she waits at the platform of the staircase for him to finish locking the doors. “Kiss.”

Harry happily obliges, languidly kissing Amelie’s lips and tasting the sweet chapstick that lingers on the flesh. He admires her as she nearly stumbles up the stairs, trying to mask his chuckle with a cough. His gaze rolls over her naked skin as she awkwardly and tiredly fumbles into her panties and bralette, her hands grappling for one of Harry’s sweatshirts before Harry could see her chest bare.

Harry sets all of their laundries in his bin, smiling at the way her laundry has begun collecting with his. He follows her into the bathroom, kissing her neck as he budges her hip over slightly to reach his toothbrush.

“Ugh, hate washing m’face,” Amelie moans, gently massaging the makeup on her skin and begin to wipe away the day with a washcloth – one that she specifically bought to have at his house because she refused to use his nice ones for her makeup, even though he insisted it was fine – and cleanse her skin.

“Would do it for you if it wasn’t so messy,” Harry says thoughtfully, continuing his nightly ritual and soaking in the quietness of the moment.

“How nice of you,” she teases, gently rinsing the warm water over the towel and beginning to wipe her skin. Her eyes are slightly accentuated with the tint to her skin, the wash of colour gone and the freckles adorning her cheeks becoming more apparent under the light. Amelie is aware of Harry’s quiet stare, her fingertips massaging moisturiser into her skin without saying a word to give him a moment.

“Ames,” Harry says quietly, his arms folded over his chest as he leans against the marble counter, his eyes not daring to meet hers. “Do you like staying here, you know, with me?”

“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t,” Amelie says, her lips pursing together, her hand gently reaching to cup his cheek and bring his face to meet hers. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Don’ know,” he mutters, shrugging his shoulders and taking a heavy breath. “Wanted to make sure, you know, with school and all that.”

“Harry,” she smiles, her thumb rubbing his cheek sweetly. “I like being here with you. I wouldn’t stay here if I didn’t.” Her lips peck a kiss to his jaw teasingly. “Great hugs, great food, great sex. All around a great time.”

“Cheeky thing, you are,” Harry says, his hands grabbing her hips and bringing her to stand between his thighs. “Come here.”

“Harry,” Amelie breathes against his neck, Harry’s arms squeezing her middle as he embraces her. “Can’t breathe.”

Harry pulls away, his green eyes meeting hers and a smile perked on his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Have a massive fucking crush on you.”

Amelie kisses Harry, and that’s all she has to say.

~

Harry isn’t entirely sure what happened between now and when he began his run nearly ten minutes ago, but there is a feeling at the pit of his stomach that won’t go away, that won’t stop telling him to go home.

Amelie is at home, working in the makeshift studio that she created for the week – that he would keep for her whenever she came over – on work that will be in the exhibit in July. All that they had for breakfast was coffee and toast. Harry asked Amelie if she wanted to come to Holmes Chapel with him next week, Amelie said yes. Jenny and Dan invited them to dinner for the night. Harry had a meeting with Jeff about his new company tomorrow. Amelie asked if she could paint Harry for a piece for the exhibit.

Harry asked Amelie if she wanted to come to Holmes Chapel.

Harry immediately turns around, his feet carrying him faster than he intended, his house coming into vision in what feels like seconds into his tread home. His trainers are kicked by the garage door, his hand gripping the bannister to ensure that he wouldn’t slip running up the stairs, his heart pounding in his ears seeing the makeshift studio door closed and the bedroom slightly cracked open.

Harry’s heart clenches in his chest as Amelie shudders beneath the duvet, her heavy breathing accompanied by a sniffle and cough to mask the sound. He walks around the wooden bed frame, gently sitting in the open space between her thighs and her chest. His eyes can see the tears staining her cheeks, an empty stare meeting his.

“Angel,” Harry murmurs, his hand gently running over her shoulder, his thumb tracing her cheekbone, coaxing her jaw to turn and face him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Harry, I need a minute,” Amelie whispers, tears pricking her eyes and stinging and she rapidly blinks, her eyelashes wet against her cheeks.

“Talk to me,” Harry says, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as his hand is lightly nudged away by hers, her body turning onto the opposite side, her back facing him. “Amelie.”

“Harry.”

Harry quietly stands, running his hands over his face and pacing out of the bedroom, trying to remember the list that his sister gave him of ways to distract and calm her anxiety. He mulls about the kitchen, swearing under his breath as he nearly burns his thumb on the kettle, waiting impatiently, stalking around the kitchen island as the water boils, making a cuppa and carefully bringing the warm mug upstairs.

Tea. Shower. Breathing. Distraction. Tea. Shower. Breathing. Distraction.

He breathes a sigh of relief to see her upright beneath the duvet when he pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow. “Brought you some tea.” Harry sets the cuppa on the bedside table claimed as hers, kneeling down and setting his hands on her thighs, his chin resting on her knee, his eyes meeting the tears on her cheeks. “Ames, why are you crying? Hate to see you this way.”

“Told you,” Amelie whispers, choking on a sob as her fingertips dig into her eyes and her mind wills the tears to stop, to have her heart slow down and quiet in her ears. “Anxiety is fucking rotten.”

“Told you,” Harry assures her, kissing her knuckles and rubbing his thumb along her skin soothingly. He wants her to hear him, to know that he is there for her. “I’m here. No matter what.”

“Harry, you don’t get it,” Amelie breathes, her voice shaky and tone unsteady with nausea rising in her throat at the thought of speaking. “One day, this is just going to annoy you and you’ll go.”

“Hate that you feel that way,” Harry says, setting his hands on the mattress beside her and slowly settling beside her. “Jenny didn’t leave. Your family didn’t leave. I don’t want to leave. Can you tell me what makes me different? Please.”

“Because.”

Because you’re you and I’m me.

“Because,” Harry says, encouraging Amelie to continue and speak the thoughts in her mind. “Jenny is your best friend, and she never left. Is it because I’m not one of your best friends – you think I’ll leave you?” Harry is scared to know what Amelie will say to that. “Is that why?”

“You are one of my best friends,” Amelie says, shaking her head against his words and aggressively wiping the tears that are spilling down her cheeks and onto her thighs. “One of two.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs, his hand gently rubbing her back and coaxing her to continue, “then tell me what’s going on. Can only help if I know, angel.”

“Meeting people,” she whispers, her voice barely able to be heard and the weariness in her words made his heart break in his chest. “Meeting important people.”

“M’family, you mean,” Harry clarifies. His stomach twists as Amelie nods. “Mum and Gemma and Robin.”

“Harry, they’re everything to you.” Amelie’s face lifts from her chest, her glossy eyes meeting Harry’s, her bottom lip wobbling between her bitten teeth. “Hate to see what will happen when I fuck up.”

“How do you know you’re going to fuck up? After all I’ve said about you.”

“I’m serious. Anxiety is serious.”

“Doll, I have never been more serious in m’life.” Harry says, gently taking her chin in his hands and making her meet his stare. “I need to understand. I want to understand.”

Amelie’s breath staggers, her chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly, panted breaths leaving her lips as tears begin to track her cheeks without warning. Harry wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly in his chest, his heart shattering and falling to the pit of his stomach.

“Come on,” he whispers, gently nudging her closer, brushing his fingertips through her hair and kissing her temple. “Let’s take a shower. Go under the steam, breathe, calm a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Amelie agrees quietly, nodding and allowing Harry to take her sweaty hand in his, leading her into the bathroom and turning on the water. Her hands pry the clothing away from her torso, ignoring Harry’s stare, bumps pricking her with the coolness of the air against her naked skin. Having the water rush over her makes new tears spring to her eyes, and for once she knows that she needs a hug.

Harry’s hug.

“Can I come in? Do you want me to come in with you?” Harry asks quietly, shrugging the sweat-stained shirt and cotton joggers onto the tile. He would wrap himself in a robe if Amelie disagreed, but he really wanted to be with her.

“Yes,” Amelie murmurs. Her eyes well with tears as Harry steps inside the shower, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and holding her close to his chest, his fingertips brushing her wet hair down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he soothes, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to her hair, his ears barely making the quieted sobs against her palms. “Don’t apologise. Have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

“’m a pain,” she whimpers into him, seemingly unable to catch her breath, all the air in her lungs disappearing each time she gasped for more. “’m such a burden.”

“No, you certainly are not.”

Harry gently coaxes Amelie into having him wash her hair, the soap gently cascading across her skin, the steam filling the bathroom giving oxygen to her deprived lungs. His hands are delicate on her, light kisses on her cheeks to ease the pain in her chest, the overwhelming ache in her head, the way every muscle in her body was tense and begging to be still.

“Amelie Fay Beneventini, you are not a burden,” Harry repeats, his thumb tucked under her chin, bringing her face to meet his, her hazy eyes regretfully staring into his. His heart breaks seeing the pain she’s in and knowing that this is all he can do to take it away.

“Feel like I am,” Amelie mumbles, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to try and muster the courage to speak. “Have a fucked-up brain with depression and anxiety that ruins everything.”

“Hey, I happen to very much like your brain,” Harry says firmly, a guilty pang in his chest at her words, anger swelling inside his stomach knowing that there isn’t a way he can simply ask her to not think that, to not feel such a way, because anxiety isn’t always rational or sensible. “Haven’t booked your flight. Don’t have to come if it’s going to cause you anxiety. Can always meet m’family another time.” His heart sank at the thought of her not coming, but there was nothing more important to him than her wellbeing and being okay. Fay and Luca said that they’d never seen their daughter that happy. Harry wants to continue making Amelie happy. “How you feel is more important to me.”

Harry and Amelie finish their shower in silence. Amelie steps out first, gripping onto Harry’s arm as she nearly slips, Harry murmuring that he has her and that she is alright to loosen her grasp. Her towel wraps tightly around her figure, her mind oblivious to the way Harry’s eyes trail across her naked skin until a robe is tied on her waist. His skin is rinsed from the soap, the sweat and grime from the morning run washed away, yet a layer of guilt sits bothersome on his chest. He follows suit, tucking the robe around him and combing through his hair, giving Amelie the space to get dressed without him around.

Harry walks into the bedroom, Amelie tucked beneath the duvet, once again.

His heart sank to his stomach, unable to ease the queasiness that rooted there. Harry has never cared for anyone so deeply, so passionately. He wants to protect her from all things that would ever harm her, to ensure that no one, absolutely no one never comes to hurt her, again.

Harry would do anything for Amelie, and right now, there is nothing.

Heaving a breath, Harry walks to Amelie, forcing a shy smile as she adjusts her body slightly, giving him a space to sit on the mattress near her. “Amelie,” Harry sighs, his fingertips brushing over her stained cheek, “baby, look at me.” His thumb nudges beneath the cheek resting on the pillow, bringing her glossy eyes to meet his. “Want you to explain all of this to me, the best you can, right now. Don’t hold anything back. Want to know it all. Want to know what makes you sad, what makes your anxiety come, what makes you hide away, like this. Want to know everything, and I’ll be there for you. I’m here for you.”

Amelie’s eyes meet his, yearning and longing to know her, to understand her, and every inch that makes her walls falls apart. Harry takes her in his arms, his nose tucking into her neck, his fingertips gently dragging along her spine as she breathes him in. He doesn’t push her, simply happy to have her in his arms. He squeezes her hands as she gently moves away, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, heaving a choked breath before beginning, sharing everything about her.

Amelie tells Harry everything.

Amelie tells Harry about the depression that has lingered in the forefront of her mind since the young age of twelve when she seemingly couldn’t see happy in the happiest days. Amelie tells Harry how the depression worsened with school, with bullying for her weight and her figure, for the way that her body was more supple in areas that many girls were not. Amelie tells Harry how the anxiety came shortly after, the way that meeting new people made her want to be sick, that everyone was always talking about her – even if they weren’t at all – that everyone was always talking about her and hated her. Amelie tells Harry how rational thoughts are suddenly irrational, in every sense of the word. Amelie tells Harry how Jack ruined all that she fought for through therapy, that art and music were her tiny escape from the intimidating world, and for a moment Jack took that away. Amelie tells Harry that sometimes the nightmares come back, and her body shakes and she can’t stop. Amelie tells Harry that he is the very first person that she has been with, in three years, that she hasn’t felt anxious around.

Amelie tells Harry everything.

Harry takes Amelie’s face in his hands, gently kissing her lips, the way her mouth so easily falls into rhythm with his making him lose his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut as her thumbs wipe away his tears. His chest caves as he breathes, the sight of her taking his breath away. Amelie could never see herself the way Harry does – and that is simply perfect.

“Amelie,” Harry says firmly, his lips pressing into her hairline sweetly, “thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for listening,” Amelie smiles shyly. Her heart sinks as Harry moves away from the mattress, the disappointment quickly disappearing as he stalks to his side and untucks the duvet, clambering beneath the sheets and tucking his arm around her waist, gently tugging her into his chest. “Hey, Harry, you’re my best friend.”

“Hey, Amelie,” Harry grins, kissing her cheek and reaching towards the novel on his bedside table, “you’re mine.”

Harry cracks the novel open and tucks the bookmark into the cover. Amelie clings to his chest, her cheek resting above his heart, one of his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Harry’s voice is soothing as the characters she knows so well are read aloud, her mind easing into a streamed consciousness.

Harry knows everything. He knows everything. He’s still here. He’s lying beside you and he’s holding you and he doesn’t want to let you go. Maybe it’s okay to love this time. Maybe it’ll be okay.

Fingers touching her cheek gather her attention. Gently opening her eyes, her sight meets his perfect smile and the dimple she adores. “Earth to Amelie,” Harry chuckles, the cover and printed pages closing around his finger on the designated page. “Welcome back, Ames.”

“Oh,” Amelie sighs, a blush tinting her cheeks as she blinks and redirects her attention to the novel in his hands. “Go over the page, again.”

“As if you haven’t read it three times,” Harry laughs, pinching her hips and smiling brightly at her laugher. He could listen to that sound – her laugh – for the rest of his life. He would consider himself lucky.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want to hear it.”

Harry coughs dramatically to ‘clear his throat’, a smirk on his lips as Amelie shakes her head at him. “You make me love you, and that could be the greatest thing my heart was ever fit to do.”

“That’s my favourite quote from the whole book.”

“Might be mine, too.” His smile makes her heart melt. Amelie swears she would happily spend her life trying to make Harry smile. He kisses her temple, squeezing her tighter into his chest and nodding to the handful of pages left at the end of the novel’s print. “Almost done.”

Harry Styles, I think I love you.

Harry quietly reads the ending pages of the novel they adored, his voice languid and smooth, drawing out each syllable to taste like honey from his lips. He notices Amelie’s closed eyes and even breathing, taking a moment to read aloud the author’s note and a preview to a new novel, simply to have her stay as calm as she was.

For a moment, Amelie’s feels weightless. Completely and utterly calm.

/ / /

Outside of Holmes Chapel, there sat a beautiful newly built home. On the side of the front door, there’s a postbox with Twist written on the side in a prettily painted letter – most likely a project by his mother – two cars parked in the drive. On either side of the walkway, there are alternating rose bushes and stones, the simplicity of the beige siding matching the modernised cottage.

Harry’s hand clutches her thigh, the corduroy dress clinging to her legs, a white long-sleeved blouse on her torso. Her fashion was unique, a mixture attributed to her keen eye to colours and patterns, and simply her persistent nature be outside the realm of normalcy. Harry felt inspired by that.

Amelie’s fingers tap against the windowsill, anxiety pulsing through her veins and twisting her stomach to make her nauseous, her mind overwhelmed with thoughts that couldn’t be quieted. “Oh mon dieu.” Her voice is quiet as she stares at the house, Harry unclipping his seatbelt and turning to face her. “My stomach is in literal knots.”

“Ames,” Harry says, squeezing her thigh and persuading her to meet his stare, “tell me what you’re thinking. Can talk it out with me like we talked about.”

“Know you say your family is going to like me,” Amelie sighs, her palms beginning to sweat and her heart racing in her chest, “but what happens if they don’t like me? Then what, Harry? Are we going to break up? Are you going to never speak to me, again?” Her chest tightens with the thought, her mouth growing dry and her temples beginning to pound. All of the physical manifestations of her anxiety beginning to come to the surface. “Here’s how I see it in my head. Our relationship ends, right,” she breathes out, eyes cast down to his hand on her skin, her fingers toying with the rings adorning his fingers, “then, I’ve told you all of the things that have happened to me, all the things that are wrong with me, all the personal details that I don’t trust anyone with.” Her eyes meet Harry’s and the fear is evident in the crease in her brows and haziness over her irises. “How the hell do I handle that? That you have all this information and I can’t do anything to stop you from sharing it.”

“Amelie Fay,” Harry sighs, his thumb brushing over her cheek soothingly, “breathe, mon ange.” He squeezes her thigh, his voice quiet and gentle as he speaks. “That’s not going to happen. Know it isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do you trust me?”

Amelie nods silently, not able to meet his stare without crying.

“Good,” Harry says, nudging his thumb under her chin and coaxing her to meet his eyes. “I need you to believe me when I say that I would never tell anyone the secrets that you’ve confided in me. That’s between you and me, and you and me only.” Harry would never tell anyone the secrets that Amelie has told him. “As for my family, I never stop talking about you. Gemma knows all about you, Mum and Robin. Dad isn’t here, obviously, but I’ve told him about you. All of the people inside know you and think you’re wonderful simply because you make me happy.”

Amelie’s eyes meet Harry’s, a heavy breath leaving her chest. He is so good. He is so good to her. “Me.”

“You,” Harry says, his lips tugging into a shy smile. “Have a few more people inside other than Gemma and Mum and Robin, but if you need a minute away, all you have to do is look at me or squeeze my hand.”

“Don’t want to seem rude,” Amelie murmurs, her heart beginning to pound in her ears at the thought.

“Gemma has anxiety. Trust me, not one person in there is going to think you’re rude.” His heart sinks as a tear slips down her cheek. “Angel, please don’t cry.”

Amelie exhales a shaky breath, taking the mirror down and patting her cheeks, quietly ignoring Harry’s hand squeezing her thigh. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you telling me or telling yourself? Because I know you will be,” Harry says reassuringly, turning the engine off and climbing out of the car. He walks around to her door, taking her hand in his and kissing her hairline as she squeezes his fingers. “C’mon, love.”

He smiles at Robin standing in the window, his lips curved into a smile at the young couple holding each other closely. He kisses her temple, gently releasing her hand and setting his hand on her lower back, encouraging her lightly to walk closer to the door.

“Anne, Harry and Amelie are here!” Robin calls through the foyer, opening the door wide and welcoming them inside the warm home. “Hi, I’m Robin.”

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” Amelie smiles at him, accepting his hug graciously. “Have heard so much about you.”

“Oh my goodness! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Anne cheers, wiping her hands on her patterned apron and embracing her tightly. Harry smiles at his mother, hugging her tightly and his cheeks blushing as her hand cups his cheek. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Mum,” Harry smirks, his palms splayed across Amelie’s spine, the warmth of his touch making her more comfortable. “Amelie, this is m’mum. Mum, Amelie.”

“Mrs Twist, it’s so nice to meet you. Harry has told me so much,” Amelie smiles, her fingers gently pinching his side as they move further into the house.

“Call me Anne, please,” Anne smiles, gently wrapping her arms around Amelie’s shoulders and nodding towards the sunlit kitchen. “Come in, come in. Would you like some coffee, wine, water? Anything you like.”

“Mum,” Harry drawls, nodding towards the way his mother was walking nearly on his girlfriend. Amelie smiles appreciatively, squeezing his hand as he reaches out towards her.

“Oh,” Anne squeaks, gently stepping away and simply linking their arms together, their bodies turned to meet his stare. “Just excited, Harry. You’ve been talking about Amelie so much; Robin, Gem, and I are happy to meet her, ourselves.”

“How was the flight? This isn’t your first time to England, Harry said,” Robin mentions, patting Harry on the back and nodding towards the kitchen to follow the women.

“Um, no, it’s not.” Amelie smiles at her boyfriend, her cheeks burning with the way Harry genuinely talks about her. “Um, my mum–”

“Oh, Mum!” Anne grins, washing her hands quickly and going to cut the vegetables on the wooden board.

“Mom, Mum, Mama, I use all three,” Amelie explains, her heart-warming with how Harry leans over the counter, his forearms against the marble, admiring the interaction between the two carefully.

“My mother is from France, just outside Paris, and my father is from California. All my mother’s family is in France, so I would come and have holidays in England and France every year until I turned sixteen.”

“Oh,” Anne sighs, her eyebrows furrowing together with disappointment.

“Nothing bad,” Amelie correctly quickly. “My dad works on movie sets as a photographer and my mom is an author, and our years got very busy. Every summer I spend in Paris, though.” Her eyes meet Harry’s a smile perched on his lips as his chin reaches his chest. “Except this summer.”

“Oh, that’s lovely! Have you got plans for this su–,” Anne says, immediately understanding their shared stares. “Oh. I see. That’ll be so fun. You’ll see so many places and get to experience so many things.”

“I’m really excited. I’ve never taken the time to explore America the way I have in Europe.”

“How did your parents meet, Amelie?”

“They met in Paris in the eighties when my mum was in college took a workshopping class and m’dad was working on foreign film. Met in the city one night with their friends and have been together ever since. Moved to California in the late eighties, had my brother, got married, had me, my sister. Luca and Fay are very wild,” Amelie laughs, her heart warm at the thought of her parents young and in love, much like she is.

“They sound absolutely lovely,” Anne smirks, pouring the vegetables in the pan.

“Mum, they’re incredible,” Harry gushes, squeezing his girlfriend’s hand and walking away to gather two glasses of water. He sets the water down, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leaning on her head.

“Have murals coming out soon, don’t you? Harry mentioned one you took him to at a café,” Robin says, walking around his wife and beginning to monitor the sauté.

Amelie tilts her head up slightly, smiling at Harry kisses her forehead sweetly, his height hovering over hers. “Have two up currently, a third almost done. Harry and I met because of the mural I painted in this restaurant in Burbank and I went to the opening night. Our first–”

“Date,” Harry interrupts, knowing that Amelie wouldn’t admit that that was a date. “Our first date.”

“That wasn’t a date, Harry,” Amelie says firmly, refusing to agree with him. Her definition of their first date would be the dinner that they made – Harry made – the night after they slept together for the first time. “Took you to work with me, basically.”

“Can you tell that we debate this quite a bit?” Harry laughs, his smile bright as he nods to his mother and stepfather, his hands squeezing her shoulders teasingly. “Continue.”

“Our first date, we went to a mural at a café near my apartment,” Amelie teases, her hand gently patting his cheek playfully. “Harry was quite a good helper.”

“That’s my boy,” Anne muses, smiling at the young couple sitting at the island sweetly.

“Mum,” Harry whines, his ear perking to the sounding bell at the front door. “Great, it’s Gemma, I’ll go get it.”

“Can I help, Anne? Love helping my mom in the kitchen,” Amelie smiles, walking around the island to where Harry’s mother was stirring the pasta in a pot.

“Can cut these fruits, if you’d like,” Anne nods, one hand perched on her hip, a wooden spoon stirring in the heated water. “Thank you, lovely.”

“That’s my favourite word, actually. Use it for special projects – in my art, mainly – and I love it.”

“Lovely?”

Amelie nods, gently pouring the fruits into a bowl and wrapping the saran over it, tucking it neatly into the refrigerator for dessert. “Mhm. It’s from my favourite novel – a quote in it. Lovely is a lovely word that should be used more often.”

“Oh, I love that,” Anne coos, tapping the excess water on the spoon and testing the pasta, ensuring that everything is completely cooked.

“Harry’s reading the book, right now, actually.”

“That makes sense,” Robin hums, standing from the chair and walking towards his wife, kissing her cheek, reaching around and taking his glass of wine.

“What makes sense, Robin?” Amelie questions nervously, wiping her sweaty palms against her skirt, making the anxiety by pretending to adjust the hem of the dress.

“Harry told me the other day that the book he was reading was getting really intense and couldn’t speak,” Robin laughs, shaking his head and waving his hand playfully. “Forgot to call me back, but it makes sense as to why he was so invested, now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Amelie sighs, tucking her hands in her pockets and leaning against the counter, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

“Don’t be sorry,” Robin assures, smiling widely, his eyes bright as he stares at her. “Means that he was enjoying it and that’s all that matters.”

Robin kisses Anne’s temple, mentioning that he would be in the garden, going to water the plants that have been planted in pots along with the siding. Amelie is quiet, taking the plates that have been set out for dinner and lining the settings for the evening, the number beginning to overwhelm her. Her mind is silenced as Anne clears her throat, her head peeking around the corner and smiling as her children speak in the foyer, oblivious to the kitchen.

“Amelie,” Anne says quietly, nodding towards where she was and waiting patiently for Amelie to walk nearer, not wanting to raise her voice and have her son hear their conversation.

“Hm.”

“I,” Anne sighs, gently wrapping her in a hug and soaking in the moment, smiling as Amelie squeezes her. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Amelie asks, her lips pursed together, all her thoughts jumbled and unable to understand.

Why would Anne be thanking you? Over the last three weeks, you have done nothing but have anxiety attacks and worry her son. You should be thanking her for raising such a respectful man, a caring man.

“Harry called Robin and me when everything happened. He told us how you were getting on a flight to go and see him, the next day,” Anne begins, her hands holding her arms gently and staring into her eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” Amelie wouldn’t have thought anyone would thank her, that wasn’t the intention. Harry needed her, and she would do anything to make him happy. “He needed me. That’s what you do.”

“No, it’s not,” Anne says, smiling at the innocence. Harry was right when telling her that Amelie accepting compliments is a rarity. “Not many people would do that for someone they met a month earlier. Doing that takes care and trust and friendship. Knowing that you and Harry have that, as his mother, that’s something that we all want for our children – having someone that genuinely cares.”

Harry’s lips spread into a grin as they walk into the kitchen, Gemma alongside him, Chloe following closely behind. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, love,” Anne says, taking the pot and moving it over on the cooker. “You’re fine.”

“Okay,” Harry hums suspiciously, walking around the counter and taking Amelie’s hand, smiling as she squeezes him. “Gemma, this is Amelie. Amelie, this is Gemma.”

“Hi,” Gemma grins, embracing Amelie tightly and smiling as they sway. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Amelie smiles, her voice quiet and intimidated. Gemma is someone so important to Harry, giving a good impression is necessary. Heart pounding in her ears, Amelie’s voice shakes slightly as she speaks. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Chloe, and Ella is coming in for you to meet.”

“Great. Hello,” Amelie says, hugging Chloe and taking a step away, graciously accepting Harry’s hug and his kiss on the temple.

“Doing great, angel,” Harry whispers into her hair, hugging her tightly. Harry could see the anxiety beginning to build in her chest, sitting heavily over her lungs, and he wanted to avoid her panicking and feeling guilty.

“Girls, you can go into the living room and I’ll be right there,” Anne says sweetly, nodding towards the open space with tea and wine set on the table.

Harry squeezes her hip encouragingly, smiling as Gemma takes her hand and leads her into the lounge, Chloe and Ella following closely behind, all three taking a glass of wine while Amelie takes tea, her ankles crossed as she makes settles in the lounger closest to the kitchen, Harry standing in her peripheral vision.

“Amelie,” Chloe smiles, taking a light sip and patting her knee sweetly, “tell us everything.”

Amelie begins talking about her mother and father, their quirkiness making her smile. Brandon and Phoebe are introduced, their dynamic making Gemma laugh and talk about how much Harry used to annoy her when they were younger. Chloe talks about how much Harry talks about her, the way he gushes over her artwork and the talent. Amelie’s chest begins to tighten, all the compliments paired with questions beginning to overwhelm her. Harry’s family is so kind and courteous, and her mind sputters with hateful thoughts about how she wished she could be normal, and not feel suffocated in the simplest of situations. Amelie forces a smile and memorised answers, the façade coming to tell a story.

Harry watches her body language closely, worried about her anxiety. He is oblivious to Robin walking inside, Anne leaving the room, Gemma, Ella, and Chloe continuing to talk to Amelie about everything.

Robin taps Harry’s shoulder, smiling at him as Harry spreads into a grin, his fingertips circling the rim of his glass and taking a breath. “Amelie is a really lovely girl, Harry.”

“Isn’t she? Amelie is,” Harry gushes, his cheeks blushing as his heart begins to race thinking about her, “is something else.” Harry looks at Robin, the smile on his lips showing how much he adores her. “Makes me so happy, she does.”

“Mum and I can see that,” Robin says, nodding towards the smiling girl in the next room. “Looks like you make her happy, too. Have you seen her face every time you walk into the room?”

“Hope I make her happy,” Harry confesses quietly, running his fingers through his hair and taking a breath. “That’s genuinely all I care about.”

“How has her anxiety been? Know that your mother was telling me that she was having anxiety about coming.”

“Um, it’s been alright,” Harry says, his chest deflating as he notices Amelie’s palms rubbing against her dress, her fingertips tapping against her knees. “Asked Gemma for some advice. Know what triggers her anxiety, now, so I’m able to be more careful. Try to be there for her, when it’s unexpected. Have her talk through it with me, now.” Harry is trying to sound hopeful, to show that he was grateful that Amelie talks to him, yet the guilt sits at the forefront of his mind. “It’s difficult knowing that I can’t do anything to take it away.”

“Good that you’re there for her, though,” Robins assures him, patting his shoulder supportively. Opening his mouth to say something, he quiets, seeing Harry stand from his chair and a concerned expression etched in his features.

“Don’t mean to cut you there, ‘m sorry,” Harry rushes, his eyes flashing with nervousness. “Give me a minute. Think she needs me, right now.”

“Go on,” Robin smiles sadly, nodding towards the adjoining room where everyone was conversing and smiling.

Gemma smiles as Harry walks into the living room, gently touching Amelie’s shoulder to avoid scaring her. He smiles at her, her eyes brightening with his presence around her. “Have someplace I wanted to show you. Come on a walk with me.”

“Okay,” Amelie smiles, a sigh relieving the tightness in her lungs. Harry makes always makes the anxiety calm, the thoughts slow, the racing heart begins to beat normally. His presence was soothing, his touch delicate on her skin.

“Gon’a take her to the meadow before the sunset,” Harry says to Anne and Robin. “Be back soon.”

Anne nods with a smile, Gemma waving and continuing their conversation as they leave. Harry takes her hand, interlocking their fingers and opening the door, the sweet air outside immediately washing over them. He points towards the meadow near the end of the street, smiling brightly as the wind messes with her fringe.

“Hands are all sweaty,” Amelie murmurs, narrowing her eyes as Harry refuses to release her hand.

“Don’t care,” Harry hums, shaking his head as he tucks his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer as they walk towards the field of flowers. “Get all sweaty through a show and you hug me and kiss me.”

“Harry, that’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues, kissing her temple and rubbing his thumb along her skin. “Don’t argue with me about holding your hand, angel. I’m going to do it either way.”

“Could tell I was having an anxiety attack in there, couldn’t you?” Amelie says quietly, a feeling of guilt sitting on her chest.

Harry nods silently, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “Feelin’ any better, now that you’re outside?”

“Little bit,” she says, her eyelashes against her cheeks as she takes a deep breath. “Fresh air is nice.”

“Doing so great in there, you know,” he whispers against her, kissing her hairline and squeezing her into his chest. “Mum is obsessed with you. Robin thinks you’re lovely. Gemma won’t leave you alone. Told you they were going to love you.”

“They do? Don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.”

“Not lying, I swear,” Harry reassures her, his heart breaking as a tear slips down her cheeks. “Oh, mon ange.”

Amelie tucks her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly, soaking in his scent and listening to his heartbeat to soothe the nerves. “Thought I was going to throw up all over the fruit.”

“Look at you!” His arms squeeze around her shoulders, smiling as she moves away slightly to meet his gaze, his lips spread into a smile. “Not throwing up on anything and making it through!”

Her lips quirk into a smirk, her heart melting as Harry takes her cheeks in his and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. He could always find a way to make her think everything would be okay. Amelie was even beginning to believe him. “Can you tell me where we’re going? Gon’a get dark out, soon.”

“Has Phoebe told you the story of m’first kiss? Have a feeling she has,” Harry asks, interlocking their hands and continuing their walk to the field.

“Don’t quite remember it, but ’m assuming you were as charming as ever,” Amelie teases, squeezing his hand as he squeezes hers, the childish game making her heart swell in her chest.

God, I really do love you.

“Couldn’t bring you there because loads of fans go, now, but,” Harry smiles, gesturing towards the open field of flowers and a large tree with carved letters centred in the middle.

“Don’t make me walk through all the grass,” she pouts, her attention travelling to the light-wash denim clinging to her thighs. One step into the high grass and there would be grass stains all over her. “Gon’a make my skirt all messed up with stains.”

“Get on, then,” he says, tilting his head and squatting to reach her height.

“Harry.”

“Amelie,” Harry mimics, turning around and grabbing her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. “Held you before and I didn’t drop you. You’ll be fine. I’ve got you, remember? Always.”

“Baby,” Amelie whines, blinking innocently and jutting her bottom lip. Her hope would be that Harry would give in, that he would tell his story and there would be a different way into the meadow.

“Ames, the puppy eyes won’t work.” Harry’s voice is stern, his eyes narrowing at he stares at her, wondering how long it’ll take to break. “You have two seconds or I’m picking you up.”

“Fine, fine.” Amelie raises her hands in concession, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders as he turns on his heel, a squeak leaving her lips as his hands reach for her thighs and tighten them around his waist. Her chin rests on his shoulder, her voice quiet as the flowers brush against his calves. “Tell me why you want to bring me here.”

“Want to kiss you against that tree,” Harry smirks, pecking her cheek and gently setting her on the ground as they reach the tree, the sunset piercing through the branches and leaves. His hands lean against the trunk, his lips hovering over hers, the smile on her lips making his heart thump against his ribs. “That’s why.”

“Harry.”

Harry ghosts his lips across hers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as her hands grab his cheeks. Amelie brings him closer, their chests together, his arm circling around her waist and squeezing her hips, his body melting into hers. Kissing her intoxicating, the only moments that Harry wants to end is to gather more air to continue having his mouth rhythmically align with hers. He gently pulls away, his lips peppering kisses across her face, her laughter making the butterflies in his belly swirl and his chest tight.

“Thought we could put our initials in the tree. Other couples were doing it on my last visit,” Harry suggests, pulling out his keys from his pocket. “Our thing, y’a know.”

“As in, you and me,” Amelie smiles softly, her heart warm at the sentiment.

He raises his eyebrows curiously, staring around at the emptiness around and the dimming sunset. “Considering we are the only people here, that would be the ‘we’ I’m referring to.”

“Don’t be an asshole when you’re trying to be sweet. Defeats the purpose.” Harry smiles at the light tap to his chest, the sarcasm in every syllable making him laugh. “Thumb wrestle to find out who carves it.”

“Thumb wrestle. Are you serious, love?”

“I am so serious,” Amelie sterns, quieting her voice as she presses light kisses along his jaw, one kiss near his ear to whisper, “Let me win.”

“Not letting you win,” Harry retorts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t play anything to let you win.”

“Guess I can’t agree, then.”

Harry grabs her waist, holding her to him, shaking his head as he wraps his fingers around hers. Amelie’s eyes light up as they play the childish game, her laugher making his heart want to burst out of his chest. His thumb tucks her almost immediately, chuckling at the pout on her lips.

He noticed the barest point on the trunk, taking his keys and carefully carving their initials into a circle – as per her request – and wiping the excess away. His smile is aching his cheeks as they take a picture with the carving, her hands holding his cheeks as she kisses him, the sentiment making him so happy.

Amelie makes him happy.

Harry desperately tries to coax her into sneaking away to have sex in his childhood bedroom, on their way back to Anne and Robin’s. He claims that he was only teasing, but Amelie knows the truth. He stares at her adoringly as the sun sets, the golden hues radiating on her perfect skin. He refuses to stop staring, insisting that it’s his duty to admire the beauty of the world around him.

Harry kisses Amelie sweetly, on the front steps, the young love feeling radiating between their lips, taking in the final moment alone before walking inside and being overwhelmed with the questions and conversations once more.

“Amelie! Brought out all the old pictures of Harry for you to look at,” Anne smiles as soon as they walk through the door, her hands holding at least four photo albums filled to the brim with candids and images of Harry as a child.

“How great,” Amelie grins, patting his chest and walking into the living room. “Only fair since you saw m’photos.”

“Hardly fair, love! Our differences at sixteen are going to cause this relationship to go up in flames,” Harry complains, walking in behind her and waiting for her to settle onto the couch before situating himself behind her, staring over her shoulder.

“Oh, who’s being dramatic, now.”

“Still you.”

Anne and Robin laugh at their banter. When Harry and Amelie speak to each other, it’s as though everyone around them disappears, and they are the only two to exist. Anne knows that Harry is in love.

“Beg to differ,” Amelie giggles, opening the photo album and smiling at the pictures of her boyfriend in his earliest years. “Harry, look at you!”

“Harry used to stand at the top of the stairs every morning and sing Elvis and Fleetwood Mac and wake us all up,” Gemma grumbles teasingly, rolling her eyes as Harry stares at her warningly.

“He still does that,” Amelie giggles, patting Harry’s cheek, smirking as he lays a wet kiss to her jaw. “Having a morning person and a night owl staying together is often a mess.”

“Drive her crazy in the mornings.”

“Ooh, I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Chloe says excitedly, pointing towards the inked flowers and constellations on her thighs, peeking through the hem of her dress.

“For right now, I have two. I have one on each thigh,” Amelie explains, setting the album down and clapping her hands against each thigh. “I want, like, three more though.”

“Three more!” Ella says astonishingly. Gemma laughs at her comment, shaking her head quietly.

“My sister, Phoebe, and I have matching ones planned,” Amelie explains, listing the tattoos by memory. “I want a moon, too. Not sure what I want as my third, but I have a spot for it.”

“Harry, before you know it, your girlfriend will have as many tattoos as you,” Chloe says playfully, smirking as Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Amelie oblivious to his actions.

“Oh no,” Amelie says, shaking her head and firmly disagreeing. “I don’t have the courage or patience to sit through that many tattoos. My thigh tattoos took three hours each – at separate times – and I was too bored.”

“I love the constellation one,” Ella mentions, pointing to the aligned planets on her thigh. “Does it have a meaning?”

“It’s from my favourite book,” Amelie grins, her heart swelling in her chest as Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, his nose tucked in her hair. “There’s a story that’s told about a British philosopher and an April Fool’s joke that he played on live television. The theory behind it is that Jupiter and Pluto would align with Earth and defy gravity. Naturally, because it was television, everyone decided to believe him, and people were saying they were floating.”

“They weren’t,” Chloe says, her mind trying to understand the concept. Gemma stares in confusion, her head quirked to the side.

“Not at all,” Amelie says, shaking her head and squeezing Harry’s hands. “But I love the idea of feeling that weightless. Having it reminds me of those moments that you feel that happy. The Jovian-Plutonian Effect.” Harry smirks against her hair, silently thinking about Valentine’s Day and the way they talked about the effect applying to them. “One of the quotes says, ‘We do not remember days, we remember moments.’ and I try to stick by that.”

“I love that so much,” Gemma gushes, typing the name and laying her phone on the coffee table in front of her. “I’ll have to research that whole thing. It sounds so cool.”

“Harry already has,” Amelie laughs, teasingly poking his cheeks. “He has like, a dozen papers about it on the table at home.”

Anne smiles at Robin, the way Amelie says home making her heart swell in her chest. All that they could want for Harry would be to find someone that makes him feel happy, that makes him feel at home.

With Amelie, Harry finally has.

~

Amelie struts through the aisles teasingly, occasionally ghosting her bum across his crotch as she moves through the shop, smirking when Harry grabs her hip and kisses her shoulder, knowing exactly what she’s doing. Harry hadn’t gone shopping in nearly a week, a reason being the time spent at his mother’s house and the days he took Amelie out to his favourite restaurants and quiet bars, meeting with old friends and having private dates to introduce her to the London scene. Her first time in London with him, and he was determined to incorporate her into every aspect of his life, have her know everything. He suggested that they make dinner, something together, although he knows that he’ll wind up cooking with her sitting on the nearest barstool or with her arms tucked around his waist. He never minded that.

Her indecisive nature presumed her, Harry calculating that they’ve been in the tiny shop near his house for nearly an hour collecting different ingredients. Amelie stared at the options, leaning her bum against his groin, smirking when she feels his hand squeeze her hip.

“Tryin’ to tease me, are you?” Harry mutters in her ear, kissing the nape of her neck and smiling at goosebumps that prickle her skin. Her feigned innocence threatens to make him hard, her lips pecking his cheek as she turns her head.

“Qu'allez-tu faire?”

He scoffs, knowing for certain what Amelie is trying to do – and doing so successfully. “What am I going to do about it? Gon’a find yourself in trouble if y’a keep tha’ up.”

“Trouble, hm? Might just continue doing it if that’s the case,” Amelie giggles, kissing the vein jutting out in his neck and folding her arms in front of her chest, walking into another aisle and rolling her eyes as Harry follows her with the trolley, a smug smirk on his lips as he budges the edge into her backside. “Can you quit it?”

Harry grumbles at the stranger eyeing Amelie, the eyes travelling too far down her body for Harry’s liking. For fuck’s sake, she isn’t naked. “Miss, is he bothering you?”

Amelie giggles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as Harry mumbles something under his breath. “Unfortunately, but it’s okay, he’s mine.” He nods his head towards the stranger, implying that everything was taken care of, that she was taken care of. His lips spread into a grin as she walks towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning onto her toes to whisper in his ear, “Can you tell me why he was looking at me like that? Makes me feel so weird.”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Harry whispers, his arms tucked around her waist, his fingertips brushing hair away from her face. Her fringe parted slightly in the middle, barely enough for him to see the glimmer in her eyes, “and look like this without even trying. Anyone that sees you wants to look.”

“Only want you looking at me like that.”

“Have that skimpy lingerie at home, yeah? Have me staring at you with googly eyes all night if y’a wear that.”

“Fine,” Amelie sighs, the way Harry is staring at her so intently making her cheeks flush. Her lips touch his jaw lightly, conceding to the suggestion and not bothering to engage in the banter that would ensue.

“Only argued with me once today,” he gasps, feigning his shock by pressing his palm to her forehead, pretending to feel her temperature. Her eyes roll as she takes his hand off her skin. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Feeling fine, you pest,” she says, shaking her head as she moves around the trolley and eyes the selection of kinds of pasta and sauces, although he would much rather make his own. “Make spaghetti, tonight? Wine sounds so good,” she mentions, licking her lips at the thought. “Can have wine, spaghetti, ice cream–”

“Great sex,” Harry interrupts teasingly, his forearms leaning on over the handle and meeting her stare, her lips pressed tightly together to avoid smiling. He loves seeing her flustered, especially over words that he certainly could have kept private.

“Can you control yourself? This is a public place, you know.” Her hands grip the edge of the trolley, her jaw tensing as her eyes narrow at him, her chest heaving with her breaths. Harry’s smug smile and the indent of his dimple ruins her façade. He ruins every ounce of her self-control. Not that Amelie cares all that much.

“Doll, you tell me how to control myself when you look like that, like I already said,” Harry waves his hand and his eyes travel the expanse of her body – the body he adores. “Add on the fact that you have a habit of rubbing yourself on me every time you walk by.”

“Must be the worst day of your life,” Amelie pouts, sarcasm dripping on every word rolling off her tongue. “Hate to do that to you.”

“Quit being annoying and get the ingredients, you minx.”

“I am not a chef,” she says, releasing the metal cart and returning to the centre of the aisle, turning on her heel and staring at either side to try and make a decision. “You have to tell me what to get.”

Harry searches for a recipe online, beginning to read out the ingredients one by one and watching as the items fall into the centre of the buggy. He loves the domesticity of it, of shopping with her, of admiring her as she stares at the different kinds of pasta for nearly five minutes before talking about making their own. Harry teased Amelie for her indecisiveness, however, if he was being honest, he quite enjoyed it, because it reminds him that she never questioned being with him. Her indecisiveness never made her question being his lover.

Amelie paces to the selection of wines and liquors, her bottom lip between her teeth, her arms folded in front of her chest, her jeans loose around her ankles and clinging to her thighs, the slight pudge of her stomach and hips hidden beneath an oversized shirt that was packed in her suitcase. Her eyes roll as Harry continues to stare at her, having not taken his eyes off her for the entirety of their shopping, a grin plastered on his lips, his cheeks flushing pink as her lips threaten to smile. Her finger taps against her chin, eyeing three options, unable to decide.

God, I fucking love you.

Harry’s eyes widen at the thought, the sentence echoing in his brain. Harry loves Amelie. He must’ve known that. He certainly knew that, yet somehow, standing there, watching as Amelie weighs the options of the three bottles that are all the same, Harry can feel his heart pounding so loudly that there is no other sound in his ears, no other thoughts in his mind than how much he loves her.

All that repeats are the three words that are begging to fall from his lips.

“Have another minute to decide, or it’s my choice,” Harry says, choking on his own breath, the words threatening to spill.

Not the right place. Not the right time.

Harry wanted to tell Amelie when he felt it was right. He is very well aware that she may not say it back, she may feel it, though she might not say it. He understood why.

“No way, Harry, I am not drinking tequila,” Amelie says firmly, her head turning to meet his gaze, the way he was admiring her making her stomach swirl with butterflies. “Not tonight, anyway.”

“Thirty seconds, angel.”

“Fine! Getting all three.” Carefully, she sets all three bottles in the buggy, making a mental note and checking the ingredients off a list.

Harry laughs, grabbing her hand and tugging her into his chest. He tucks his nose into her hair, kissing her temple as she squeezes him. He couldn’t say the words, now. He would say them when the timing was right, when it was impossible for him to continue another day without her knowing how much he adores her, how he loves her.

Knew I was in love with you at the damn grocery store.

“Quoi?”

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles into her hair, his eyes squeezed shut as her scent waves over him, their moment cut by an older woman coughing uncomfortably to get their attention to sneak behind them to take a bottle. “Have a crush on you, that’s all.”

“Have a crush on you, too,” Amelie smiles softly, kissing his cheek and hugging him tighter, seemingly surprised by the way the words were said so openly, so public. “C’mon,” she says, squeezing his hip and moving to begin walking towards the tills, “we have pasta to make, wine to drink and you are going to see me in that thing you like.”

Harry teasingly rushes through purchasing the groceries, unloading the packages and setting them in the car as Amelie shuffles through their music, the speakers vibrating with the vibrato that echoed through the song. His hand is held tightly in hers as he sings along to Fleetwood Mac and Otis Redding. His thumb brushes over her skin as their connected hands lay in his lap, his eyes occasionally peering over to her, smirking as her gaze meets his. He knew that it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, they were simply driving home, but the idea that her hand was in his, and it felt like that was home, made his heart swell in his chest.

Harry would do anything to live in this feeling forever.

“Let me in. Wine is heavy,” Amelie groans as Harry stands in the doorway of the kitchen. He nearly ran into the house, setting the bags on the counter and crossing his arms in front of his chest and spreading his legs to guard her.

“Have to have the password,” Harry smirks, his arms circling around her shoulders as her arms sneak around his waist.

“Did you know that you’re a child?” Amelie ghosts her lips across his, grinning as his mouth connects with hers, impatient and yearning. “Know that that was the password. Let me in.”

Moving aside, Amelie sets the bags on the island and taking out the wine, taking two glasses from the cabinet and pouring the alcohol. Handing him his, their glasses clink lightly, a smile pursed on his features as her tongue pokes between her lips and soaks in the taste. He reaches around her, turning on their playlist and the volume higher, the love songs piercing through the silent air.

Cooking together always seemed like a great idea until there was splattered sauce and messy faces, stolen kisses between each step, teasing each other with brushed touches and gentle smacks. Amelie loved this about Harry, the way he wasn’t the stereotype, the way he enjoyed the little things with her – the way she couldn’t cook to save her life, but she would try because it was with him, the way she admires the way he can multitask and talk to her about their day whilst continuing to cut vegetables and cook and clean as he mulls about.

Amelie could be with him all the time.

Dinner was filled with laughter and spilt wine and dancing around the kitchen island. Harry insisted on serenading ‘Right Down the Line’ to her and playfully slow dancing to Shuggie Otis. He twirled Amelie beneath him, pulling her tightly into his chest and kissing her cheek. Her eyes met the bright green eyes staring at her, the song continuing to sound around them, yet the only thing that replayed in her head was a quote by Emily Brontë.

I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and altogether.

“Ames,” Harry says, his thumb dragging along her cheekbone and taking her attention, “hi.”

Amelie kisses him, taking his mouth against hers and her eyes squeezing together, simply trying to convey the love she feels without saying the words that are petrifying to say. Harry whimpers into her mouth, taking in the way her tongue glides across his and her fingertips twirl in his hair. His arms reach under her thighs, silently asking to lift her and take her away. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and sucking in a breath as his hands grab her thighs and her legs tuck around his waist.

Harry is the only person to ever carry Amelie.

His bedroom feels warm with their naked bodies pressed against each other, their mouths tied together, tasting each other, absorbing the way they are simply together. Music continues to play through the walls, even with the door closed, their rhythm aligned with the thrumming bass and drum.

Harry groans with lust as Amelie slowly strips from her clothing, his eyes raking along her skin and the freckles that mapped her. He nearly melts at the sight – the lace adorning her making his skin burn with longing. His fingers reach behind her, her body arching to give him access to the clasp. His hands throw her clothing onto the carpet, his fingers ghosting across her, adoring everything.

“No one has ever made me feel like you do,” Amelie whispers against his lips, her eyes glossing over at the thought. Harry is so special to her.

“Make you feel like this for as long as you let me.”

Kissing her once more, his mouth sponges kisses along her skin, moaning into her navel as her fingertips tug on his hair. He marks her hips, sucking a bruise into the skin and gently prying her thigh away from his head. Harry’s thoughts were encompassed by Amelie – her lips, her breasts, the curves of her hips, her thighs, her perfect thighs, her perfume, her kiss – and everything that makes her.

Hiccup.

Gently dragging his lips along her inner thigh, his thumb pinches her hips to focus her attention on his touch. Holding his breath lightly, he wills the interruption to disappear before his movements are forced to break.

Hiccup. Hiccup.

Amelie giggles, her knee gently knocking against his shoulder as his body leans on his heels, his hands on his bare thighs, his briefs sticking to his hips. He attempts to hold his breath, again, only to be interrupted. Harry manoeuvres off the mattress, reaching for the glass of water situated on his bedside table, chugging the liquid to rid himself of the distraction.

Hiccup. Hiccup.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, taking the glass and shaking his head, frustrated at the incessant interruption. Amelie is laying on his bed – naked – waiting for him. “Don’t move.”

And Harry has the fucking hiccups.

“Can’t hold your breath that long,” she giggles, turning onto her side and staring at the flustered man she adores.

“Not with m’face between your thighs,” he says nonchalantly, smirking at the reaction she gives him, her cheeks flushing and her thighs clamping together. He kisses her forehead, taking a breath before pacing towards the bedroom door. “Be right back.”

Amelie waits for Harry to leave, taking the silk robe behind the door and wrapping it around, padding into the kitchen to see his distraught figure leaning over the sink and trying to hold his breath. Walking behind him silently, her arms snake around his waist, a smile on her lips as he jumps slightly at the shock.

“Christ Almighty, you scared me.”

“Good,” she smirks, kissing his shoulder and squeezing her arms around his chest. “Hiccups are gone, now.”

“Would say thank you but I think you did this more for yourself.”

“Maybe I did,” Amelie giggles, interlocking their fingers and nodding towards his bedroom, her hand untying her robe as they walk. “Guess you’ll have to find out, huh?”

“Minx,” Harry smirks, his hands yanking the silk away from her skin and laying it on the ground with his briefs, the playlist beginning to repeat as they make their way to the bed, the duvet drawn over their naked bodies.

“Could call me that.” Her fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear, the way her fingertips ghost delicately across his skin making his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “You’re cute.”

“Going for ruggedly handsome.”

Her head lifts from the pillow and moulds her mouth to his, their kiss taking her breath away and having his chest bare against hers, his hands travelling her skin as his knee leans between her thighs.

“Absolutely.”

Harry pulled away, taking Amelie in, the way her chest heaved and her eyes slightly glossed over, the way her curves fit perfectly in his hands and her lips moulded onto his, the way their hearts beat in the same rhythm and he seemingly was made for her. His thumbs gently stroke her cheek, his eyes nearly welling with tears with emotion.

“Amelie.”

“Hm,” she hums, gently scratching his shoulders and holding him to her, his forearms near her ears and holding his weight above her.

“Do you know how easy it is to fall in love with you? God, it’s so fucking easy.”

“Easy,” she says, barely believing the words lingering over her. “You fell in love with me so easily.”

“Know that you don’t think so, but, fuck, you are so beautiful,” Harry breathes, his lips peppering kisses along her cheeks and jaw, drawing a smile on her lips. “All of you – your smile, your eyes, your art, your words, the way you say my name. All of it, all of you. You make it so easy.”

Amelie isn’t able to say anything, her voice caught in her throat and tears welling in her eyes.

Did Harry say that he loves you? Harry just said it’s easy to fall in love with you. Harry is falling in love with you. Harry may have already fallen in love with you.

All the emotions in Amelie’s mind stall and there is a hitch in her breath. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Harry nudges his nose against her, a gloss hazing over the olive irises that Amelie adores – loves – and a tear threatening to spill. Harry loves her. Amelie loves him. Neither one has uttered a word. Amelie grabs his face and melds her lips to his passionately, silently saying the words repeating in her mind.

He smiles into their kiss, unable to hide his grin. Her giggles echo around the bedroom, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and squeezing him impossibly closer. Harry was well aware that what they were doing was messy, the laughter and the kisses and the way his hips rolled into hers, but there was something so special, so delicate about it. Harry’s heart ached to think about it, to really understand what was happening.

And so, they made love for the very first time, passionate and delicate and overwhelming with emotion in the very best way. Amelie didn’t even know it.

~

Harry’s voice is rough in the mornings – slightly rasped and gravelly, sounding as though they screamed at the top of their lungs on the rooftop in the middle of the night, sounding beautiful. Amelie hears the thick voice from his bedroom, the door creaked open, a sweatshirt strewn across the edge of the bed for her to take. His sweatshirts were two sizes too big for his shoulders and torso, yet he wore the material for days, ensuring that as soon as Amelie put it on, she would be surrounded in him. His sweatshirt was warm, freshly out of the dryer like he knows she loves – because although she insists on keeping the bedroom at frost levels, she is always cold in the morning – and there are a set of boxers hidden beneath the cotton, waiting for her. He knew that her suitcase was packed to the brim with pyjamas and clothing for the two weeks, but there was something about seeing her in his clothes that made his heart flutter.

Amelie in Harry’s clothes reminded him how much he loves her.

Harry can hear Amelie shuffling about upstairs, pulling on the boxers and throwing the sweatshirt over her naked torso, tying her hair into a ponytail and grumbling about how her fringe was growing into her eyes. Amelie asked Harry for help cutting her fringe once and seeing his nervousness with a pair of scissors near her eyes made her second guess the decision and quickly take the tool away.

Amelie saunters into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around his midsection, kissing his naked back and smirking at the music playing in the speakers. “Listening to ‘Strange Love’, huh?”

“Know you love ‘Too Young to Burn’ but I like this one more,” Harry replies, continuing to poor their mugs and squeezing her hand. “How’s it looking? Are we inside all day?”

Amelie shakes her head at his comment, waiting to have him turn around against the counter, his eyes moving to the bruises lining her throat beneath the hood of the sweatshirt. “Could you control your mouth, once in a while?”

Harry smirks, taking a sip and shaking his head, coaxing the hood over her head and hovering his lips over her, his fingertips toying with the strings and instantly pulling them tight, cackling at the annoyance on her features as her eyes squeeze shut in reaction. “Neither of us would like that very much, now, would we?”

“Child,” she mutters, stretching the elastic and messing with the hair on her head, her fringe waving near her eyes, “you’re a child. Hand me my coffee.”

“Dance with me.” Harry takes Amelie’s hand, walking into the open space in the kitchen and turning the music louder on his phone. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, staring into his eyes and soaking in the sunlight piercing through the open windows. “Strange girl, with lipstick smudge, ask me if I've ever loved,” Harry sings to her, only releasing his grip around her waist to brush her hair away from her face. “Tells me where she's coming from, sets me down and gives me strange love.”

“Have you ever loved, Mr Styles?” Amelie smiles, giggling as Harry squeezes her into his chest and kisses her cheeks sweetly. “Not love your parents or your sister or your friends. Loved someone, like, romantically.”

Harry grins, happily nodding and pressing his lips to hers. “Have loved someone, do love someone. All the same.” His eyelids flutter as her fingers card through his curls, smiling at their kiss deepens and the unsaid words pass through their tongues. “And you, Ms Beneventini?”

“Thought so, but I certainly haven’t loved someone, before.” Harry meets her gaze, the embarrassment and fear etched into his features. Her head shakes quickly, knowing that he is questioning whether or not she would feel the same. Amelie does; she very well does feel the same. “Love someone, now, though.”

Harry grins, laying his lips on Amelie’s and kissing her deeply, soaking in the way the unspoken love is itching their skin. Had Harry just said he loved her? Had Amelie just said she loved him? How many times would they run around the question and answer it all at once? Harry didn’t mind, as long as Amelie’s lips were on his and her arms were wrapped tightly around him, hugging her tightly into his warmth.

Harry replayed the song, insisting that because Amelie talked that it had to be played, once again. His hands clasp around her hips, her hands in his hair, his eyes staring into hers as they sway quietly around his kitchen.

Feelin' strong and extra tired, like a train of firey dust. Flames of lust from my touch, I go home and give you strange love.