#and his nervousness at the rehearsal could be him realizing he's in love with Alice and Smiler
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AU Thursday: That Three-Player Childhood Friends Valicer AMA AU I Mentioned Briefly Before
So -- as per the title, I've talked a bit about this idea before, in the tags of the "Childhood Friends" prompt story I did for OT3 Week earlier this year, and as part of explaining why I chose to reblog the "Take Me Home To My Heart" Corpse Bride fan video for Song Saturday recently. But now it is time to give this AU a Proper Explanatory Post! *thumbs up* So here we go --
-->The basic conceit is that this is a Valicer twist on my old "Somebody I Used To Know" idea (where Victor and Alice were childhood friends before Alice got committed, and when Victor learned about what happened to Alice and started visiting her in Rutledge, he got sucked into the events of American McGee's Alice, going through that game with her. And then Victor managed to accidentally trigger the events of Alice: Madness Returns in the middle of Corpse Bride by inviting her to his arranged wedding to Victoria, accidentally marrying Emily, bringing the corpse bride back to meet Alice in the hopes they could somehow find her family down there -- the shock threw Alice back into Wonderland early, and this time she dragged Victoria and Emily in along with Victor, causing them to all have some interesting revelations about themselves and Barkis Bittern along the way, along with figuring out Bumby's damage). In this world, things are kicked off by that party in the "Childhood Friends" prompt, with Alice, Victor, and Smiler all making firm friends hiding out under one of the banquet tables, sharing stories and snacks and building card castles. Nell Van Dort and Dr. Kelman aren't initially happy that their children spent the duration of the party under a table -- but end up changing their tune when they learn Alice is the daughter of the distinguished Dean Liddell and his wife. So the trio are allowed to stay friends, with the Liddells tolerating the Van Dorts' and Kelman's presence in their lives for the sake of their younger daughter.
-->The trio have a lovely time together, becoming thick as thieves, with Alice introducing Victor and Smiler to Wonderland and them coming up with their own ideas for domains (Victor, who loves playing explorer and trying to hunt down new butterflies, naturally comes up with the Butterfly Jungle, while Smiler, who wants to live in a place where everyone is actually happy and not being tormented by their dad for not being "socially compliant," comes up with Smile Street). Alice and Smiler eventually agree that they both want to marry Victor when they grow up, and Alice designs a house for them all to live in when they're older (it looks like a mirror-flipped version of the Liddell house, with space for Victor to have a butterfly garden and Smiler a chemistry lab). She also makes bracelets for them all to wear out of spare yarn and some red, yellow, and blue beads she salvaged off an old worn-out pillow, because she couldn't find any toy rings and she thinks the bracelets are more fun anyway.
-->And then the Van Dorts host the Kelmans and the Liddells for a visit, and Alice, Victor, and Smiler all have a play wedding with their favorite toys where Alice hands out the bracelets and they all vow to love each other forever and always be friends and such. They then happily go down to tea, and when Nell questions the bracelets, Victor cheerfully informs her that they all got married --
Cue Nell Van Dort and Dr. Kelman both loudly objecting to this (Nell because, while being friends with the Liddells is good for their family socially, Victor can't marry the daughter of a mere Dean, never mind that they're all eight and it's all pretend, while Dr. Kelman is more focused on the whole "you cannot marry more than one person at once and boys can't marry boys, Marmaduke, I don't care what you say you are" side), and all three sets of parents getting into a huge fight, which ends with the visit being cut short and the Liddells and Kelmans heading home. Dr. Kelman gives Smiler the business on the way back and tosses their bracelet out the window of the carriage; Nell Van Dort tells Victor he is not going to embarrass her like that ever again and to get that bracelet out of her sight (prompting him to hide it in his dresser drawer instead of throwing it away in a small rebellious act of technical compliance); and the Liddells comfort Alice as best they can (while also gently explaining that you can only marry one person at once, which Alice thinks is stupid), with Arthur finally going, "Well, at least we won't miss Bonfire Night back home."
-->Yeah, cue the Liddell Fire, and poor Alice being chucked into Rutledge without Victor or Smiler knowing. And, of course, losing her bracelet in the process, because she wasn't wearing it in bed. :(
-->Fast forward to roughly ten years later -- Victor, feeling very anxious about the fact that his parents are shopping around for a wife for him, finds the bracelet in his dresser again and feels inspired to try and reconnect with his childhood friends. He decides to start by writing Alice and asks Mayhew if he could help him secretly deliver a letter --
Cue Mayhew spilling the beans on where Alice has been the last ten years, and Victor, horrified and furious this was kept from him, decides he's going to see her, come hell or high water. He thus sets out from Burtonsville to Rutledge before his parents can stop him, and arrives at the same time a doctor and his child do, with the doctor explaining he's here to help treat a patient. Victor ends up sitting in the waiting area with the kid while the doctor talks to the nurses...
-->And, when the kid gives him a tentative smile, abruptly recognizes them as an older Smiler. The two delightedly reconnect (with Victor being startled by how deep Smiler's voice has gotten, while Smiler is similarly startled by how tall Victor's gotten), and Victor asks if Smiler and Dr. Kelman are here to see Alice too.
Revealing Smiler ALSO had no idea what had happened to Alice and causing them to become similarly furious that no one told them. They inform Kelman that they're seeing Alice along with him -- Kelman is annoyed, but the nurse at the front desk says that if Smiler is a childhood friend, it might help, so he reluctantly allows it. Victor and Smiler thus go in to visit Alice together, and while they're initially shocked by her conditions, they do their best to reach out to her. At first, it doesn't look like it's working...
But at the end of the visit, when they go to leave, Alice does turn to look at them. Dr. Wilson, who has been observing all this, is pleased to see any reaction out of her and encourages the two to keep coming back to see if they can get her any further out of her catatonic state.
-->Cue Victor and Smiler staying near Rutledge and visiting Alice on the regular, hoping to break through to her (the Van Dorts arrive at one point to try and drag Victor back home, but Victor, with Smiler's help, successfully convinces them that he's making them look good by being so kind to this poor mad orphan that has lost her family and gets them to let him stay for a little longer). The pair recount old stories, read books to her, and generally do what they can to hopefully get a reaction -- and in the process, start reconnecting themselves, talking about their lives and where they've ended up (Victor telling Smiler about how his parents are looking for a socially-advantageous match and how he'd really rather be allowed to go to art school or something, while Smiler talks about Dr. Kelman trying to turn them into his successor and how they wish they could strike out on their own as a traveling alchemist or something). For a while, nothing much seems to be happening with Alice --
-->And then the incident with the orderlies spooning porridge all over Alice's beloved bunny happens. Victor and Smiler arrive for their visit in the middle of the whole mess, and while trying to stop the orderlies from retaliating against Alice's attack, see Alice go at her wrists with the spoon. Horrified, Victor screams at her to stop while Smiler tries to get the spoon from her --
Cue Alice looking up and apparently really seeing them for the first time, and collapsing crying in their arms. Dr. Wilson comes and tends to everyone's injuries, then -- once Alice is quiet again -- asks if Victor and Smiler wouldn't mind feeding her from now on, as he thinks they would get better results. Victor and Smiler are agreeable, and indeed Alice almost eagerly eats her gruel when they're the ones holding the spoon. They slowly become more and more involved with her actual care, with Smiler double-checking Wilson's various concoctions so he doesn't accidentally kill Alice while Victor helps keep the superintendent from making a fuss using his family's cash --
-->And then, one stormy day, they're both just hanging out with Alice when Nurse D returns Mr. Bunny after a cleaning. And shortly after she leaves, they all see the rabbit doll turn to Alice and beg her to "save us."
-->Cue all three of them dropping into Wonderland without warning (Victor and Smiler ending up unconscious in the real world, with the frightened staff unable to wake them). Alice is naturally rather startled to have her childhood best friends with her in Wonderland, while Victor and Smiler are naturally rather startled to be in Wonderland. They have a confused reunion before Cheshire urges them to chase Rabbit, and the trio find that Wonderland is in a very bad way thanks to the Queen of Hearts, and it's up to them to set things right...
-->And so the gang travel through Wonderland, going through all the events of American McGee's Alice in a three-player format! With the most notable changes and additions so far being --
a) Alice, rather than wearing her standard blood-spattered blue dress, is in the Ash Dress from the original take on Alice: Asylum (because while I was never a big fan of the various A:A concepts, I loved that dress); Victor is in a dark blue suit that doesn't look that different to his real-life clothes; and Smiler is in a plain pale yellow suit -- though they do also get their glowing yellow eyes and purple-tipped hair to go with it (Victor and Alice are like "???" while Smiler is like " :D ")
b) While I'm not 100% on everybody's weapons for this game, particularly Smiler's, I know we definitely get the trio of the Vorpal Blade, Fork, and Spoon, and Smiler's attacks are still more about stunning people than about actually hurting them
c) While traveling through the various domains, the trio come across a dead and dried jungle that none of them recognize...until Victor finds a weakly-glowing butterfly under the remains of the foliage and realizes to his shock that this is the Butterfly Jungle -- it basically died along with his dreams of being an explorer when he grew up :(
d) Similarly, they also encounter a cobble street with a bunch of unfinished houses and a dried-up fountain at the end -- Smiler clocks it after seeing the spiral clouds in the sky as their old Smile Street, guessing that it never got properly completed after they lost their friends :(
e) While going through the Land of Fire and Brimstone, the trio eventually clock that the Liddell house on the top of the volcano doesn't look quite right -- in fact, it seems to be a mirror image of the real house. Cue one of them (currently I generally have Victor as the one to make the connection) finally realizing that it's not the Liddell house -- it's their house, the one Alice made for them when they were small. Cue them redoubling their efforts to reach it, and finally going inside and getting to enjoy a space that is all theirs --
For about five seconds, before the Jabberwock arrives to burn it all down. >( And then hit them all with their guilt about being the only survivor of the fire (Alice), and not even trying to find out what had happened to Alice earlier (Victor and Smiler). Because the Jabberwock is an asshole.
f) Which makes it even more satisfying when, during the second boss fight against him, the trio all grab the Jabberwock's Eye Staff and just ultra-blast him with its awesome laser >D
g) At some point, the bracelets come up again (probably after Jabberwock Part I), with Alice and Smiler mourning the loss of theirs -- and then Victor revealing he still has his, offering them comfort that at least ONE of the damn things survived
h) Undecided currently if Alice insists on facing the Queen of Hearts alone, or if Victor and Smiler come with -- I mean, the Queen is a very personal enemy for Alice, but at the same time, it feels weird to have Victor and Smiler sit out such an important fight... Hmmm. Maybe split the difference -- have Alice insist on doing the first part of the fight alone after Cheshire gets beheaded to try and spare her friends, only for Victor and Smiler to come help her back on her feet after the Queen's speech and join her for the second phase? Yeah, I rather like that, let's go with that. :)
-->Once the Queen is defeated, everyone wakes up, and Victor, Alice, and Smiler all share a big real-world embrace while the doctors and nurses (along with the Van Dorts and Kelman) try to figure out WTF just happened. XD Alice is eventually pronounced well enough to leave, and the trio finally go their separate ways (the Van Dorts insisting that Victor has to come home now; Dr. Kelman wanting to get back to his own Sanctuary with Smiler; and of course Dr. Bumby arriving to take Alice to Houndsditch), though they vow to stay in contact this time, no matter WHAT life throws at them.
-->...and this is where I run into a bit of a roadblock, because I'm not actually sure what to do with the A:MR/CB portion of the AU. I mean, it's gotta be done, Bumby cannot be allowed to get away with his bullshit, and not only do we have to expose Barkis's murders, we also have to expose Kelman's horrific brain surgeries on innocent people (I in fact already have an idea where Alice's Rutledge hallucination from the second game ends up overlapping with Smiler having a bad time in a hallucinatory Sanctuary, revealing Kelman as a monster in the process)...but I'm not entirely sure a post-AMA Victor would actually go along with being forced into an arranged marriage. Dude would have had to have gained some confidence after fighting all those monsters, right? Though I have had the thought that maybe he would make a deal with his parents to marry whoever they picked without a fight in order to keep seeing Alice (a deal he starts regretting after he starts realizing he's in love with Alice and Smiler post all the nonsense), which would put him in a position to do the Corpse Bride stuff...and would allow me to get Victoria and Emily in on the fun like in the original "Somebody I Used To Know" idea. Go big or go home, right? :p I'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure.
Whew -- that was longer than anticipated! But I hope you enjoyed it. And can maybe offer up some ideas for the A:MR/CB parts of the AU. :p
#three player AMA au#valicer#somebody I used to know#(tagging it that as this is a variant and concepts from that are likely to end up in this)#yeah the parts that are clearest in my mind right now are the little kid versions of Victor Alice and Smiler being cute together#including their little wedding :)#(which yes is the reason I'm posting this after the Valicer Anniversary on Sunday :p)#some of the initial Rutledge stuff like Victor and Smiler meeting again#and the initial drop into Wonderland with everyone being like ?!#so it's not exactly the MOST fleshed out AU#but I think this would be a good one for further prompt fics#still got PolyShip Week coming up in November#and yeah I wouldn't mind this going full Four Victorians Riding A Rollercoaster#I just gotta figure out the best way to get Victoria and Emily involved in the A:MR portion of the plot#Victor making a deal to marry his parents' choice no matter what feels like a good starting point#and his nervousness at the rehearsal could be him realizing he's in love with Alice and Smiler#and so he goes off to try and get his head straight and accidentally wakes up Emily#and we'll figure things out from there#queued
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AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️
word count: 20.3k
warnings: language
//
Sweet tea in the summer
Cross your heart, won't tell no other
And though I can't recall your face
I still got love for you
- Seven, Taylor Swift
//
“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.
He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage.
As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.
On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare.
It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.
Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.
Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.
Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.
“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”
“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”
He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.”
“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.
“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.
“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands.
While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.
As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.
“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.
He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her.
As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice.
He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.
It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.
Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters.
So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”
“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower, “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”
“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.
“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.
Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”
“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door. “Just got something today.”
Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”
“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”
“That’s nice.” Alice nods.
“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”
The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.
The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual.
Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.
Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!
He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.
So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.
Can’t tonighttt got something...
Juls: what’s something
I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.
Juls: no :(
With a chuckle, he pockets his phone, noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.
It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.
It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.
Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.
He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building.
Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers.
It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.
Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.
“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”
“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”
“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”
Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”
“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”
For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips.
He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.”
“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”
“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.
“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”
“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”
You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”
The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.” He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”
“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”
“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”
A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”
Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”
“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side. “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”
This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.
Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room.
You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.
What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him.
Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.
“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it.
You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”
“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”
“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”
“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information.
Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again.
There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask, “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”
He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”
You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”
“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”
Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”
“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee. “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”
“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?”
“Course.”
Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”
Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”
“Us?”
“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them, “I wouldn’t want any headlines.”
This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”
“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.”
“So you want me to lie to her?”
“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”
“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”
You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”
A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.
There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.
Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one.
This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.
“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”
His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip. “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”
"It took a while for it to happen, actually.” He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”
Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”
“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”
“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.
He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”
“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”
“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.”
Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all.
Looking back at it now, it makes sense.
“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.”
“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.
“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”
“Were you scared?”
“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”
“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”
“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.
You smile, and he smiles, too.
//
“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”
The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.
Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately.
The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.
The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire.
And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.
In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.
But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.
“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”
“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.
“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”
You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”
“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”
Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.”
The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you.
And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.
So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.
Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.
With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen).
However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”
Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”
You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”
“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.
“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”
That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”
“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”
You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”
Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”
“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”
There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them, “Okay.”
Her face lights up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”
She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”
“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”
“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”
“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”
Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”
The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her.
You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.
Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message.
A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.
The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.
H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy
H: Looks familiar? ;)
//
“That’s definitely too much.”
You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.
“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.
“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”
“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”
“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”
“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”
He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”
“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.
And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”
You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”
“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”
This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”
Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).
It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire.
When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.
Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.
So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.
The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected.
“Told you it would work out.”
“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”
“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”
“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”
You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”
“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”
“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”
He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”
“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”
“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.
Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.
“What do you want, Ly?”
Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”
“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.
“I did promise that.”
“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.
“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,
“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.
“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.
You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds.
It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one.
This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.
Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings.
On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.
That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.
It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it.
“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.
Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”
“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”
“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”
“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”
You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.
Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”
Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.
“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”
“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.
“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house.
Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand.
This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.
Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”
“Hello.” You shoot her a look.
Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”
“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.
Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.
He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”
Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…”
“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.
“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”
“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”
"That's okay.” You tell her.
“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”
With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”
“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”
“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”
He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”
You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”
“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.
You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.”
Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”
“Gotcha.”
Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen.
You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”
You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”
“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”
“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”
“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”
You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”
“That was a pause.”
“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”
“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”
Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”
“You’ve told me about him before.”
“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”
She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”
“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”
“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”
“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”
“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”
You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”
“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity.
“Almost four years.”
“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”
“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”
“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”
You chuckle. “Same.”
“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”
“Yup.”
“Was it because of distance and stuff?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”
"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”
Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”
“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”
You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”
“Fate.”
“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.
“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”
“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”
“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”
You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”
“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”
Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”
//
The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.
Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves).
Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.
“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”
“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”
He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”
Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.
The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”
Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”
He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in.
Because they were, after all, a bit tacky.
Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.
That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them.
But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.
“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”
“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”
“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”
Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.
Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.
"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.
Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.
“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”
“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”
“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.
Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach.
For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house.
It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion.
Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.
The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”
He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”
He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”
Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”
Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”
Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”
“So?”
“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground. “There’s… Someone, and-”
A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”
“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.
“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”
“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”
Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”
“Jul-”
She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”
“Julia, please.”
“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”
“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”
Blake gasps. “Harry!”
“I can’t believe you!”
He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.”
“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”
“Please, don’t.”
“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”
Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”
“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.
Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”
Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”
He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead, “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.
“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.
Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”
“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”
Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”
“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.
Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”
Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”
The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert.
Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.
//
Harry loves Sundays.
This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.
He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.
So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.
Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to.
The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.
Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one.
And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it.
But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.
Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.” You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”
“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”
Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”
Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.
“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”
“They look lovely.”
“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”
“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”
“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”
Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”
“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”
Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.
You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.
“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.
“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”
“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”
“Still embarrassing.”
“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”
He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.
There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.
Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him.
So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.
The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.
Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.
It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”
Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”
“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”
“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”
“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”
“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”
“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.”
Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.
“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.
“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”
“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”
“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”
“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”
The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.
“That was sweet.”
You sigh, “That was unexpected.”
“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”
“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”
You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.
He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”
He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”
“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.
“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”
“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.”
Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.”
The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.
Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.
“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.”
It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile. “Stop it.”
“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”
Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”
“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”
“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”
“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”
Him? “Me?”
“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”
It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.
All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.
There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.
Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”
“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”
“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”
“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”
“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?”
“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.
“Love-”
You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.
“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.
“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.
You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”
You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”
“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from.
The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.
“Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.
“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”
Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.”
You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”
//
“You should probably get that.”
Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.
You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.
So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.
Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.
“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.
When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.
NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!
//
AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!!
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles writing#harry styles fluff#harry styles x reader
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A Little Opera Goes a Long Way
Colette Brunel has finally moved on from her pop-idol group to more freely sing what she wants, while famous YouTube star, Lloyd Irving went from playing covers on video to going on the big stage. It was only a matter of time before they teamed up and made a hit single.
But what happens when stage fright becomes a problem?
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Presea Combatir Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Slightly obsessed with idol colloyd helped by this art by @frayed-symphony! Would love to write more on this universe when I have the time.
-
The crowd outside was getting louder.
They had been growing within the past few hours, and if she peeked out just enough, she could see the multitude of rave sticks and cell phones that lighted each wave from the fans. Colette was used to it – she had heard it so many times! Except, it was different now. Everything was different.
Colette didn’t typically perform in Palmacosta. The port city was a long way from her usual tour gig with her group, mostly going around Tethe’alla, starting out from Meltokio before going back. But the Governor had been more than pleased to let the concert go underway, a stage already being built before it had even been requested! More truth to the very idea that the new single had been such a hit.
When she had arrived, she had heard the ocean rushing across the shore, the beaches filled with with so many people. How nice would it have been to walk across the sand, but there was already so much to prepare for. Would she even have the energy to want to go in the evening?
Colette stood within a small corner, being as small as she could while other professionals scattered all around to get everything ready. Sound check, mic check, light check, special effects check, making sure there were no sudden dips on the floor for when they would perform, that no stray excitable fan had snuck their way backstage to meet the band. (This always happened with Alice though, so Colette didn’t think it would be much of an issue now?)
Everyone was working their hardest to get things ready and perfect – and all they asked was that she would do the same.
As Colette messed with her green ruffled sleeves, her heartbeat took over the noise. Soon it was all she could hear, all she could even think about! What if she tripped on stage? (Again!) What if she reached a wrong note in her part of the song?
What if she only ruined things for…
“Colette?”
The backstage was dark, most of the technicians still further off into the sides, busy fiddling with the lights, the special effects that would take place. She saw the dazzling flash of the red lining of Lloyd’s outfit before seeing Lloyd himself. He must have found her the same way in the corner – her green and white ensemble a unique look, reflective gold bouncing off the eyes.
“Hey, are you okay? Sorry, they kept me stuck in the dressing room just to get all this stuff on.”
“Oh! I’m fine, it’s just… the usual pre-stage jitters, hehe.” Colette instantly smiled, winking at Lloyd with all the practiced flair of her idol persona. Although, she wasn’t supposed to be in that role now… She was being herself this time. Just Colette. With Lloyd. And…
“Ah, yeah? I’m kinda getting those too!” Lloyd laughed, and she heard the shakiness within its tone. It made sense for Lloyd. He had only performed a few times in front of an audience, and they were usually much smaller. His black gloved hands reached to pull back at his hair. “The uh, crowd is really loud, isn’t it?”
“Y-yeah! But that’s a good thing!” She knew it was a good thing! So why the sudden beating of her heart. Could she really be this nervous? She kept pulling at her ruffles, they were all uneven! And so wrinkled! But wait, weren’t they supposed to be?
Then she saw Lloyd reach out to her…head? She felt his fingers briefly touch her hair, feeling warm.. “Your hat’s gonna fall off!”
“Huh?” Colette blinked. “Oh, it’s supposed to be tilted like that! And it’s held to my hair with a pin.” She bowed her head slightly for Lloyd to observe. “See?”
“Ohh.” Lloyd nodded. “Sorry, I was wondering how it was staying on!”
“Yeah! I’ve worn it before with my group…and sometimes we have to do dance routines so they make sure it stays on tight!” Colette pressed down on her skirt, still seeing wrinkles and dust and whatever else. Or maybe it had just been the lights… but wait, wasn’t it dark here?
She felt Lloyd’s eyes on her still, so she turned back to him, because her heartbeat was less distracting when she looked at him. Even if it still beat so much, its rhythm so steady. “I guess I’m not used to it,” Lloyd was saying. “This outfit feels really…uh, bright?” And maybe he was right, for the rose pinned on his front lapel was such a loud red, right over his heart. More than once had Colette wanted to reach out and touch it. Whoever had designed his costume had really put thought into all its details.
“It’s because of me. Remiel says I need to keep my image…” She was already on the search for a new one, as her producer was being even more controlling than usual. It had taken so much just to get this show to happen, her producer trying to block each step of the way. “I’m sorry, I really wanted it to be casual instead.”
“Heh, that’s okay though! I like that we kinda match, you know?” And when he grinned, even within the darkness of backstage, the sounds from outside reverberating the very floor they were on, she thought she felt everything stand still. “And…man, I’d wear anything just to perform with you!”
“Really?” she asked, still stunned. Star-struck. Completely and utterly. His outfit couldn’t match to his smile.
“Yeah! I still can’t believe we wrote something together!” His voice carried well through the noise surrounding them. And soon everyone would hear that voice, along with hers. Was it selfish of her to want to keep it for herself?
When in the studio together, working on their song, it had almost felt like he was singing only for her, his fingers moving over the guitar strings with barely a glance to them. To have such a voice and to play an instrument too… Why was he wasting time with her?
“Yeah, I’m so happy we did,” she said, still feeling her nerves jitter all around. “And… everyone will finally get to hear it too!”
At that moment, there was some feedback sounding off from stage, distracting her slightly. But experience told her it was a few stagehands probably setting up speakers, making sure none of the wires would get in the way of their feet. They would still need to wear their mics later, and hopefully she wasn’t already wearing them and talking into it without realizing it was on, like she would do a few times before…
She shook out her hands a bit, while keeping her feet still. Her ruffles still looked so uneven, so wrinkled and frayed and… “Maybe I’m more nervous than I thought,” she finally admitted.
She waited for the moment for when Lloyd would be disappointed with her. Like the other members of her group would be, like her producer, and-
The same gloved hand, but now on her shoulder, forcing her eyes back up. Some of the lights started to flicker backstage, along with a shouted instruction from one of the technicians. They dazzled off Lloyd’s red cape, off the golden filigree that decorated the trim of his jacket.
“Hey…” he said, smiling still. She saw a little tinge of nervousness too, but not with the frustration she was used to seeing from so many people. “I’m still here.”
She nodded. “Yeah…yeah!” She nodded again, then felt she was doing it too much. “Sorry… I’m supposed to be used to this. I should…” Be the one to help you through this instead. How strange was it that the experienced pop singer would need comfort from someone who was still starting out?
“We…still have like 20 minutes before we go on,” Lloyd said, looking back towards the stage that was still out of sight for them, if not out of sound’s reach. “Wanna hang out in my room till then?”
Something about the way he said it got her breath hitched in her throat. But at least with all of her stage experience, she recovered pretty quickly. “Oh, I guess we could! Did you want to rehearse or…?” Sometimes she’d do so with her band, usually on Alice’s insistence which usually just turned into fights with Marta…
“Yeah, come on!” That same gloved hand moved down to grip her own, guiding her from the backstage to the hall.
Passing a few concerned lookers (Colette hoped no one would think to pull out a camera), Lloyd soon took them to a door. There was a piece of paper on it with his name printed roughly. And also… a drawing?
“Oh! Is that supposed to be you?” Colette asked, recognizing the features, giggling at the exaggerated smile she had long grown to like.
“Agh, why’d he put it here too?” Lloyd blushed furiously as he quickly took it down from the door. “Stupid Zelos… sorry, I know it looks dumb.”
“It’s cute!” Colette announced. “Your friend is a good artist!”
“Is… are you sure about that?” But after crunching up the little poster into a paper ball and tossing it in a nearby garbage can, Lloyd tugged her inside the dressing room. “Anyway, I thought it would be good to get away from all the noise.”
“Thank you, Lloyd,” she said gratefully.
His dressing room was a bit bare, much of it just some bags that he had taken on the trip, still in the luggage. Hanging on the wall, she could see the red jacket she saw him wear to his own shows, more casual than what he was made to wear right now. It looked so loose and comfortable. How nice it would have been to wear something like it too.
“…Also, I guess I wanna sit for a while first,” Lloyd confessed, sitting in his chair just then. Colette made sure to not mention that the same portrait of his face was also drawn on the back of the chair, though she still couldn’t help a giggle or two.
“So, which song should we practice first? ‘Star Shining’ might be an easy one to start with… Or maybe ‘Almateria’? Sorry, I should have thought it through before!”
“Huh?” Lloyd blinked up at her. “Uh, no I didn’t mean we should rehearse actually!”
“Oh…then what are we doing here?” Colette felt so genuinely curious.
“To relax, dork!” Lloyd said with a smile. Then that same smile turned a bit softer, his eyes flicking to the right side of him. She hadn’t caught sight of the instrument at first. “Well… I mean if you wanted something like that, it doesn’t have to be both of us, you know?”
She was only getting more confused by the minute! Was this Lloyd’s way of saying he didn’t want to perform with her on stage? “But both of our names are on the listing…” She brought her hands up, fingers pressing together nervously. “I mean… if you really wanted though, I can step out…”
“What? I…don’t know what you mean, I just meant I wanted to sing for you!” Lloyd reached over to grab the guitar that had been laying carefully by his seat. His fingers were already brushing across the strings, eliciting a few sounds that echoed around her.
She took that phrase to heart, hands now clasped together, the ruffles along her skirt, her arms, her shoulders, less on the forefront of her mind. “Sing for me?”
Lloyd nodded, adjusting the small pegs on the end. “Whenever I get nervous about stuff, sometimes I just play whatever. Um, guess I got it from my dad. He’d sing to me when I was little. Oh yeah, and he plays a pretty mean harmonica!” He was grinning again, planting both feet on the ground as he better fit the guitar on his lap.
Colette had never met Lloyd’s father, but the image of a younger Lloyd already tickled her. But she made sure not to mention it, because that would certainly be strange, wouldn’t it? “That’s…but you shouldn’t have to do this for me. I’m used to this…”
“Colette,” Lloyd called out to her, and she faced him again.
His white jacket and the red rose hanging from it, black gloves already moving over the strings so deftly, just as it did in the studio that one day they had taken a chance, leaving all other obligations just to finally sing their song together after so many email exchanges and video calls. “Let me sing for you.”
She stood still. She had heard his voice dozens, hundreds of times. She had heard him through those videos before he’d get famous, hair disheveled, and his unbuttoned jacket hanging off his shoulders. His own album sat on her shelf back at home, the cover art for it so different from anything else she had seen. (So many stars and rainbows! With a nice drawing of a boy and his dog there too…) In all of those times, she liked to imagine he was singing for her.
“Okay,” she finally said, leaning against a counter, her skirt just making a tiny rustling sound as she shifted. “Um, what are you going to sing for me then?”
“Something my dad would sing to me,” Lloyd said. She thought his cheeks had gotten even redder. “So uh, don’t laugh too much. I can’t pronounce all the words right yet.”
“I won’t. I promise.” And she really did promise that. She didn’t want to ruin that smile.
The strum of the guitar, followed by his sound, by Lloyd, had always felt truer to her than anything else.
-
Only a few minutes later, a knock on the door echoed in the room. Luckily, the notes from Lloyd’s guitar had been on their very last. “Uh, come in?” he called out, his voice still within that range from before.
Opening the door, a small lady appeared. Her sharply pink hair was in contrast to the dark-hued clothes that most of the backstage hands wore. She wore a headset, and apparently one of the giant headlights in one hand – the kind that usually weighed a ton. “Five minutes until curtain time.”
“Presea!” Colette called out to her old friend, waving at her. “I didn’t know you were working here too.”
“I heard you would be performing, so I requested to join.” Presea shifted the headlight to better fit her grip. “Do you have your mics ready?”
“Yeah!” Lloyd went to retrieve his from his pocket while Colette did the same, but Presea had gone up to them, reaching to adjust it before silently requesting for both to bend down so she could have a better hold.
“I can stall if you need. But the crowd wants you.” Presea turned away after making sure the mics were pinned correctly to their clothes. Still, Colette caught a small smile from her. “I’m looking forward to hearing you both sing together.”
Presea already left, and soon it was just Lloyd and Colette in the room, their smiles wide and excited. From the concert, from the music still bouncing around in their heads.
“Still jittery?” he asked, taking the strap of the guitar to finally pull across his back.
“Yeah! But it’s the good kind now!” Colette was standing on her toes, swaying with the beat she still remembered. “You always sing so good.”
“Ah, it was just…like a lullaby, basically.” That flush again, and she wanted to believe it was because of her. So maybe, for at least tonight, she could. “But if you liked it, then I’m happy then.”
“I am! But…I’m also happy we can sing our song live now.” She turned to him, Presea already disappearing into the swell of the backstage darkness. Colette stepped out the door, but not too far off without her partner by her side.
“Heh, yeah… I’m still really surprised Goodness and Love was such a hit though!” With that, he followed Colette out of the dressing room, both heading towards the sounds of the crowd.
“Hm, I knew it would be,” she confessed, her heart racing. Jitters. But the good kind of jitters.
“Oh? How’d you know?” And somehow, in the way he asked her, she wondered if he suspected what she was about to say… So maybe it was okay.
“Because it’s you.” That was all she would say, teasingly sticking out her tongue before taking his free hand and rushing out with him on stage. But always making sure she didn’t trip them both.
Lloyd was grinning so wide once they came out under the lights, the glare setting the red dancing on his outfit, the green on hers. The crowd was loud, but there was only one voice she would listen for.
-
.
.
.
Everything was so loud, so fast and so much. This wasn’t just like singing out in front of the yard, or to any of his friends that happened to swing by home for a visit.
Lloyd was completely out of his element.
Backstage, as he tried not to get in the way of other professionals, Lloyd gripped the handle of his guitar case, wondering if maybe he had just made a huge mistake. He was by himself, his so-called producer chatting with some other people in the field, (or just woman he spotted honestly), and he couldn’t bring Noishe along, even if the dog was on the album…He’d only get frightened by all the noise, and for once, Lloyd couldn’t blame him.
“Ugh, shouldn’t have let Zelos convince me…” he muttered to himself. The guy had clear dollar signs in his eyes when he told him about where he would perform. ‘You’re a big hit now! Don’t waste it!!’
Lloyd knew he’d do better by just crawling into a hole. Any confidence he had hours ago seemed to have evaporated once reality set in.
It was just when he heard the rest of the lineup and …. He had been stupid to think that would matter. Wouldn’t he just embarrass himself on stage? Then she would see…
“Hi, are you Lloyd?”
He turned at the sound of her voice. Was it pathetic of him to have already recognized it then? He had heard her voice a hundred times, picking it out from the chorus of other voices, of other people…
Colette Brunel stood before him, wearing a green skirt, with frilly ribbons in her hair. She had a microphone in her hand, which seemed to echo with feedback suddenly when she held it a certain way. Once Lloyd flinched from it, she hurriedly turned it off.
“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean-“
“You’re Colette…” he said, already kicking himself for interrupting her. But his brain was going into overdrive, catching up with every admirable thought he had of her. “From the Angels group!”
“Oh! Yeah, hi! We’re performing too. The other girls are still getting ready to go on, so, I wanted a chance to talk with you!” She sounded quieter as she spoke, eyes cast downward. “I probably should have brought them with me, I’m sorry.”
“N-No, it’s okay…but…you know me?” He still couldn’t quite believe it.
“Yes, of course! I’ve watched your videos! I think they’re so good!” And with the way she spoke to him, he could almost believe it. That she liked his songs. She liked them. “I… I just wanted to let you know that your music is… it’s something I’ve needed to hear.” A pause. “Would you ever want to-“
“Colette! We’re on! Hurry up!”
“Ah! Okay, sorry, Alice!” Colette turned around briefly to wave away someone else. Lloyd recognized them too… but he’d never been a fan of that girl in the group. “Sorry, I need to go. But… I hope you keep writing your music! I, I really like it.”
If Lloyd died at that moment right then and there, even before he ever got a chance to perform, he’d be satisfied. For Colette to come up to him and tell him all this… “I… T-Thanks! I don’t…know what to say…”
Colette smiled, gripping her microphone, her ribbons bouncing with her motion. “Just, I hope to keep hearing you sing.” Another shout from way back, making Colette shudder. “Sorry, but good luck!”
And gone like that, disappearing into the crowd, into the bright lights and sound that made up this terrifying world Lloyd found himself in.
Yet the nerves passed through him, and his cheeks ached from smiling. I’ll sing…but for you then. But before he would go over his song, he’d sneak a glance at Colette’s routine, eyes for her, voice for her, and the crowd encompassing it all.
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