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ijustmissyouraccenths · 10 days ago

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Venom & Honey: IV

✨ summary: Final part. No more secrets. No more pretending. Serial killer Harry ends here. 📝 word count: ~14k total ⚠️ content warning: murder, morally gray protagonists, smut, psychological manipulation, themes of secrecy and survival, brief depictions of violence, alcohol use, small-town paranoia, and emotionally intense scenes 💌 support my work: reblogs keep the story alive. tips are optional but deeply appreciated

⭐️ Part one, two, three

The television flickered against the far wall, its light casting long, broken shadows across the living room.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other foot planted on the threadbare rug. A mug of tea rested in her hands, forgotten and cold. The blanket draped around her shoulders might as well have been paper—it didn’t touch the kind of chill that had settled in.

Harry sat opposite her, still as stone. Remote in hand, but he hadn’t moved in minutes. Maybe longer.

They weren’t watching the screen. Not really. Just letting it talk to them. The anchor’s voice was sterile. Trimmed of emotion. Too calm.

“…federal investigators are reopening a series of unsolved homicides believed to be connected by method and location. While no suspects have been publicly named, law enforcement is encouraging anyone who lived in or traveled through the affected regions to come forward.”

The screen shifted. Maps. Red pins. Towns with names that never made the news. Places you’d only pass through if you didn’t know better. But they knew better.

Y/N set her mug down without a sound. She didn’t look at Harry. She didn’t need to.

He stood slowly, the remote slipping from his fingers onto the cushion. His hand dragged through his hair, jaw tightening like he was biting down on something sharp.

“We leave tonight,” he said.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Harry turned toward her. His eyes were darker now—flat and unreadable. “We pack what matters. We’re gone before sunrise.”

She sat up straighter, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.

“You think they’re onto us?”

“I don’t think,” he said, sharp. “I know.”

She didn’t flinch. Just looked at him.

“If we run now, we look guilty.”

His jaw twitched. “We are guilty.”

Her voice dropped. “So are a lot of people who never get caught.”

That stopped him. He paced once—tight, measured—then froze like the air had shifted around him. When he turned back, there was something new in his stare. Something almost… unfamiliar.

“You want to stay?” he asked.

“I want to stop running.”

Harry scoffed, the sound low and mean. “And what—plant flowers? Get a fucking dog?”

“No,” she said, steady. “We get married. We settle. We become everything they’d never think to look for.”

He didn’t smile, but something pulled at the corner of his mouth. Not amusement. Not disbelief. Just recognition.

“You want to play house.”

“ I want to disappear,” she said, “the only way that still works.”

Harry’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t a smile. “You think that’ll save us?”

“I think it’s the only thing left that might.”

He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Like maybe he had too. The silence stretched between them, thick and alive.

Then, cold and low, “You’re willing to lie to everyone.”

She stepped closer. “We already are.”

The TV kept playing behind them. Blurred images. Faces without names. Ghosts given shape by bad resolution and worse memories. Harry didn’t turn to look. He just stared through her like he was trying to figure out where the edges were.

“Then show me,” he said. “Show me how far you’re willing to go.”

Y/N didn’t blink. She reached past him and switched off the television. The room went quiet. Not peaceful—just emptied out.

“We don’t go far,” she said. “Just far enough. A town nobody’s watching. Close enough to make the backstory believable.”

He didn’t respond. She kept going.

“We don’t change everything. Just enough. New last name. Something no one will remember. Married. No records from the last few years. We leave the gaps blank so they can fill them in themselves.”

Harry shifted his weight. His voice was clipped. “And when they ask where we came from?”

“We say we left the city. We wanted quiet. We wanted a fresh start.”

He nodded once. Not agreement—just motion.

Y/N stepped in. “We find a house that needs work. Something cheap but honest. We go to the hardware store. We buy paint. We wave at the neighbors. Nothing flashy. Just enough to look tired and harmless.”

He gave her a look. “You expect me to make small talk.”

“You don’t have to mean it,” she said. “You just have to smile.”

Harry let out a dry sound, not quite a laugh. “You’ve really thought this through.”

She didn’t look away. “I’ve been thinking about it since the first time we stopped running.”

Harry watched her like he didn’t know whether to be impressed or afraid. “We get married,” she said.

He raised his chin. “That part’s not a joke?”

“No.”

“You think that’s what makes it believable?”

“I think that’s what makes it permanent.”

He took a step toward her. Close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off him.

“You think that ring on your finger turns us into someone else?”

“I think it makes it harder for them to tear it apart.” His jaw tightened.

“We don’t ask about the past,” she continued. “We don’t offer more than we have to. We make it clean. Simple.”

Harry’s voice dropped, quieter now. “And if they still come knocking?”

“Then we’ve done it too well. They won’t see criminals. They’ll see a couple with bills and a mortgage and just enough sadness in their eyes to be believable.”

He looked at her for a long time. No shift in his face. No tell. “What last name?”

“Callahan.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You had that ready.”

“I told you,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about this longer than you think.” Silence pulsed between them.

Finally, he nodded. “You think we can sell it?”

“We don’t sell it,” she said. “We live it.”

Harry stepped close enough to steal her breath. His voice was low and firm. “Then pack light. We start tomorrow.”

They didn’t talk much the next morning.

Harry moved like he was back on autopilot. Silent. Mechanical. He folded clothes without looking at them, checked drawers like he was clearing a scene. Everything about him was practiced—precise. Cold in a way that said he’d done this before. Probably more than once. Y/N packed slower. Just the essentials. A few shirts, a toothbrush, a worn photo she never looked at but couldn’t throw away. She didn’t ask if he wanted help. She knew better. By the time the sun was up, the car was loaded. The trunk shut with a solid, final sound that echoed too loudly in the quiet morning.

Harry slid behind the wheel without a word. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him in place. Y/N stared out the window. Not running. Not settled either. They took back roads. Avoided the highways. Wove through forgotten towns with rusted gas stations and empty lots. No one looked at them twice.

The silence between them stretched long and taut. Not uncomfortable. Just sharp. Like either one of them could cut it if they had to. They passed three towns without stopping.

At the fourth, Y/N leaned forward. “Slow down.”

Harry’s eyes stayed on the road. “What?”

She pointed ahead. “There.”

The house was set back behind a wall of overgrown hedges, its porch sagging under the weight of time. The paint was peeling. The windows were dull. But it wasn’t dead. Not yet. It had the kind of tired bones that looked like they’d survive anything. A FOR SALE sign leaned crooked in the yard, half-buried in weeds.

Harry pulled to the curb, engine idling.

“You’re joking.”

Y/N opened the door and stepped out.

He didn’t follow at first. When he finally did, his hands stayed buried in his pockets. His jaw was locked tight. They walked the perimeter. Looked through the dirty windows. The backyard was fenced in and half-wild. Ivy crawled up the brick like it was trying to hide the house from being seen.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

Harry let out a bitter breath. “It’s a goddamn grave.”

“Exactly,” she said. “We’ll tell them we’re fixing it up. Starting over.” He turned toward her. His face was hard.

“You really think this is going to work.”

“No,” she said. “I think it has to.”

He stared at her, the silence twisting into something more dangerous.

Finally, he looked back at the house. “We call the agent tomorrow.”

The motel was beige and blank. The kind of place people passed through without looking too hard. Vinyl siding, buzzing sign, carpet that smelled like it remembered better decades. The clerk didn’t ask questions. Didn’t even look up, just slid a key across the counter after Harry tossed down a stack of cash. Room 7.

They walked the row in silence, the sun bleeding behind the trees. The air smelled like pavement and motel soap. Inside, the room was stale. Thin bedspread. Dim lamps. The hum of something old and electric behind the walls. Harry dropped the bags and stood in the center of the room, staring like he was trying to burn a hole in the floor. Then he let out a sharp breath and ran both hands through his hair.

“This is fucking stupid.”

Y/N leaned against the door, watching him.

“Pretending we’re people,” he said. “Like we can just buy a house and fake smiles and make polite conversation. Like any of this will stick.”

She didn’t respond.

He turned to her, voice rising. “You really think a fucking ring and a white picket fence is gonna clean the blood off me?”

“No,” she said quietly. “But I think it might be the only thing that ever covers it up.”

He stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed. Something like anger flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t loud. It was the kind that sank deep. The kind that ate through your ribs when you weren’t looking.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head low.

“I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”

She walked over, slow, and sat beside him. Not touching. Just close enough.

“That’s how it starts,” she said. “You fake it long enough, and one day you wake up and it’s real.”

Harry looked at her then. Really looked.

“I hope he’s a better man than me.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “We’ll build him from scratch.”

He didn’t laugh. But he didn’t argue.

They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder. The air between them full of everything they hadn’t said and might never say.

“All right,” Harry muttered. “Let’s hear it. The story.”

Y/N nodded.

“We met in the city with mutual friends. We work. Me in a bookstore. You at a garage.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A garage.” “

You look like you work with your hands.”

That pulled the faintest flicker of something across his face. Not a smile. Not yet. “Fine. I fix cars.”

“We dated for two years. Moved in last fall. Decided the city was too much. Bought the house to slow down. Courthouse wedding. Quiet. Just us.”

Harry watched her. She met his stare. “It’s believable. And boring.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then: “You ready to lie to everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Even when they bring casseroles? Ask about kids?”

“Yes.”

“Even when they trust you?”

“Especially then.”

Harry leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “You’re more convincing than I thought.”

“You’ll need to be too,” she said. “We can’t afford cracks.”

He looked at her again. Slower this time. “What about when it’s just us?” he asked. “No one watching. You still gonna pretend then?”

“No,” she said. “Then I’m just your wife.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was loaded. Real.

Harry didn’t speak again until she’d come back from the bathroom, toothbrush clinking into the cup by the sink. She climbed into bed without a word. He lay there, eyes on the ceiling. His voice came low. Measured.

“What do you want this to look like? In five years?” Y/N turned her head. “If we don’t get caught?”

He didn’t answer. Just waited.

“I want a yard,” she said. “Mornings that don’t feel like we’re one knock away from running. Neighbors who wave. A kitchen that smells like something I made.”

Harry glanced over. “You don’t cook.”

“I’ll learn.”

A pause. “What else?”

She hesitated. “I want a baby.”

The room shifted. Not colder. Just heavier. He stared at the ceiling again. “You sure about that?”

“No,” she said. “But I want something that doesn’t vanish when it gets scared.”

Harry didn’t speak right away. Then, quietly: “I think about it too. You. Holding something that’s ours. A kid who doesn’t know what we’ve done.”

Y/N rolled toward him. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That they’ll find out?”

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “I’m afraid they’ll turn out like me.”

She moved closer, her fingers brushing his. “Then we raise them better.” He nodded once.

“You’d be a good dad, Harry.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’ve got a warped idea of good.”

“No,” she said. “Just an honest one.”

When he kissed her, it wasn’t rushed. It was careful. Like he was afraid he’d break something if he moved too fast. When he pulled back, his voice barely scraped above a whisper. “If we do this, we do it all the way.”

“We will.” He looked at her like he didn’t trust the hope flickering in his own chest.

“No lies. Not between us.” “None,” she said. “Not here.”

They left early. No fanfare, no talking. Just the kind of silence that understood what the day meant. They found the shop on the edge of the next town. Faded awning. Rusted bell above the door. Inside, it smelled like old books and dust-covered perfume. Y/N drifted to the display case, glass fogged slightly at the edges. She studied the tray of rings. Most were gaudy or green with age, but one caught her eye. Thin gold. Barely there. Worn smooth where a name used to be.

“This one.”

Harry didn’t ask why. Just took it from her and slid it onto her finger. It fit. He looked at it for a beat too long, then turned to the tray and picked something without ceremony. A plain silver band. Scratched. Faded.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going with?”

He shrugged. “It’s not about the shine.”

She didn’t argue. Just nodded.

At the register, the clerk didn’t ask questions. Just rang them up and slid the rings across the counter. The receipt read: H. and Y/N Callahan.

In the car, Harry tucked his into his pocket. Y/N kept hers on. He glanced sideways as he started the engine. “Looks right on you.”

She turned to him. “You mean that?”

His hand stayed on the wheel. “I don’t like people looking at you.”

Y/N smiled, faint. “Then I guess we’re doing the right thing.”

The courthouse sat squat and gray at the edge of town. No steps. No archways. Just a door that said you didn’t have to be special to be let in. Harry parked without speaking. He didn’t move.

Y/N looked over. “We can still back out.” He didn’t look at her. “You want to?”

“No.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because I’m not pretending this isn’t real.” Harry finally turned. His stare was sharp enough to cut.

“You want this.”

She didn’t blink.

“I do.”

He let out a low breath that almost passed for a laugh. “Get used to saying that.” Inside, the clerk handed them a form and barely looked up. Just asked for names.

“Harry Callahan.”

“Y/N Callahan.”

The clerk raised her brows. “Already matching?”

Y/N smiled. “Just making it official.”

The ceremony took place in a room the size of a supply closet. The officiant had a voice like an answering machine. She asked if they were sure.

“Yes,” Harry said. Y/N echoed it. They didn’t wait for the rest. Harry kissed her hard. Nothing gentle. Just possession in the shape of a promise. His hand at the back of her neck. Her fingers curled in his shirt.

The officiant cleared her throat. “Congratulations.”

Harry didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. Outside, the sun was too bright. The sidewalk too quiet. They stood there for a moment, not looking at each other.

“Well,” he said. “There it is.”

“There it is,” she echoed, threading her fingers through his.

He didn’t let go. “You’re mine now,” he muttered. “And I’m yours.”

Y/N looked up. “I’ve always been yours.”

He kissed her again. Slower. Like sealing something. The ring on her hand caught the light as they walked to the car. Simple. Plain. A fact. When she suggested they celebrate, Harry didn’t even pretend to entertain the idea.

“No.”

She blinked.

“No?”

“We’re not doing champagne and candlelight like this is a fucking storybook.”

“It doesn’t have to be a storybook. Just… a breath.”

He stepped in, too close. “We breathe when it’s over. Not now.” Then he turned and opened her door.

“Get in.”

Y/N didn’t argue. She slid into the passenger seat and said nothing as the car pulled away. The ring was heavier now. Not because she regretted it. But because now it meant something. A name she could never take off.

The motel room felt tighter than it had that morning. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the name she’d signed, still drying on a stack of legal papers. Maybe it was the man standing in the center of the room, hands braced on his hips like he was ready to tear the walls down.

Harry hadn’t said a word since they left the house. Not during the drive. Not while the realtor gushed about “fresh starts” and “turning points.” Not even when Y/N signed Y/N Callahan and slid the pen across to him.

She kicked off her shoes by the door, watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at the TV. It wasn’t on.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but sharp. “You think this is gonna work?”

Y/N leaned against the dresser. “It has to.”

He turned. Eyes cold. “That’s not an answer.”

She shrugged. “You want me to say I’m sure? I’m not. But we said the vows. We signed the papers. We picked the house. So unless you want to start over again in another zip code, this is it.”

Harry stared at her for a long time. His jaw clenched. Then unclenched. “You just snapped your fingers and decided we were a married couple.”

“No,” she said. “I decided if we were going to lie, we’d do it like people who want to survive.”

He stepped closer. “You know who doesn’t survive? People who get comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable,” she snapped. “I’m exhausted.” His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not anger. Just something tight, trapped behind his teeth.

“You regret it?” he asked.

“The house?”

“The name.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the cheap floral bedspread.

“I don’t regret anything that keeps us alive.”

Harry watched her like he was waiting for the ground to open beneath them. Like he didn’t believe it wouldn’t.

“Say it again,” he said. She looked up. “What?”

“What you said. Back at the courthouse.”

Y/N knew what he meant. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I do.”

Something in him pulled taut. She could see it. The part that didn’t know whether to believe her or break something. He sat beside her. Not close. Just enough to feel the distance between them.

“I don’t know how to be this,” he said. “A husband. A neighbor. A man with a goddamn lawn to mow.”

She turned toward him. “Then don’t try to be all of it at once. Just be here.”

He stared down at his hands. Fingers calloused. Knuckles scarred. “I’ll fuck it up,” he said.

“Probably,” she said. “But you won’t walk away.”

Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t promise. But when he lay back on the bed, he didn’t turn away from her either. The motel room was still. Too still. The kind of quiet that only came when the weight of everything sat on your chest like a second skin.

Y/N lay on her side, staring into the dark. The sheets were thin and scratchy, but that wasn’t what kept her awake. It was the ring on her finger. The name she’d taken. The man next to her, who hadn’t said another word since he laid down.

Harry was flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded. But Y/N could tell he wasn’t sleeping. Not really. His breathing never evened out. His shoulders never dropped. He was still watching for something, even with his eyes closed.

She rolled onto her back. Counted the cracks in the ceiling. She didn’t know what she expected marriage to feel like. But this—this haunted stillness, this silence after the storm—felt closer to the truth than any vows ever could.

A few minutes passed. Then Harry shifted. A twitch in his hand. A furrow in his brow. Then, barely audible:

“…don’t leave.” The words came out broken. Fragile. Nothing like the way he usually spoke. No bite. No control.

Y/N stayed still. His breath hitched, jaw clenched. A small, choked sound slipped out of him—closer to a whimper than anything else.

She turned slowly to face him. He was still asleep. But not at peace.She reached for his hand, hesitated, then stopped herself. Let it fall back to the mattress. Whatever haunted him, it wasn’t hers to fix. Not yet.

Still, her chest ached in a way she hadn’t prepared for. A kind of loyalty that made no sense and felt impossible to shake. Eventually, his breathing slowed again. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

Then he opened his eyes. Blinking once at the ceiling before turning toward her. “You’re not stupid.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

His voice was rough, still thick with sleep. “I was an asshole. Earlier.”

She didn’t say anything. “I know why you said what you said. About getting married. About staying.”

She watched him carefully. “Do you?”

Harry turned his head, looking at her in the dark. “You’re trying to keep us alive.”

Her mouth was a thin line, but she nodded. He added, quieter now, “And maybe I didn’t hate hearing you say it.”

The silence between them shifted. Not as sharp now. Just heavy. Real. Y/N turned her face into the pillow. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

Harry didn’t respond. But he reached across the bed, found her hand under the sheet, and didn’t let go. Not soft. But steady.

They had a plan.

Harry made the call from the curb, his voice effortlessly cool as he paced, phone pressed to his ear. Y/N watched the tension in his jaw, the careful steps he took, each one measured like they were walking a fine line. Ten minutes later, a silver car slid to a stop behind theirs. A woman stepped out—mid-fifties, hair pulled back into a tight bun, clipboard in hand, smile already rehearsed.

“You must be Harry and Y/N Callahan?” she asked, her tone smooth but with an edge of business.

Y/N nodded, a practiced smile on her lips. “That’s right.”

“Great. Let’s take a look.”

They walked the house slowly, step by step. Two bedrooms, worn hardwood floors, a kitchen with cabinets that looked like they’d been forgotten long ago, painted a faded, chipped yellow. It smelled like dust and stale air, like no one had cared in years. But the light streaming through the back room was perfect. The bones of the house were strong. Y/N could already picture a future here, something solid. Harry didn’t speak much, but he didn’t scowl either.

Back in the living room, the realtor flipped through her paperwork, eyes flicking between the pages, not quite looking at them.

“So,” she asked casually, glancing up from her notes, “are you two married or…?”

Harry turned just enough to catch Y/N’s eye. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was smooth, practiced, like everything had already been decided.

“Married,” he said, no pause between the words. “Just got back from the courthouse.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. She didn’t know why it felt so easy.

“Oh!” the woman said, smiling warmly. “Congratulations! When was the big day?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide, her heart skipping a beat. Harry’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer like it was all part of the plan. His lips brushed her ear, voice low.

“This weekend, actually,” he said, the words falling out like they’d been rehearsed. “Just us. Quiet. No one else.”

The realtor’s smile widened, a knowing nod as she scribbled something down. “New house, new name, new life. You two are jumping in headfirst.”

Paperwork followed. The forms were handed over. They signed them slowly, carefully, like this was all real. Y/N wrote “Y/N Callahan” with a steady hand. Harry’s signature pressed right next to hers.

When they stepped out onto the porch, the sky had already turned fully blue, the fading heat of the day slipping away. A few cars rolled past, a neighbor walked a dog across the street. The weight of what they’d just done—what they were still doing—hung in the air, thick and unspoken.

They were still at the front porch with the realtor when someone called from across the lawn. “Hey there!”

A man in his late forties, plaid shirt, work boots, a faded baseball cap in hand. He waved as he crossed the patch of dead grass that separated the properties.

“I’m Todd. Live just down the way.” He pointed toward the house barely visible through the trees. “Saw the car, thought I’d say hi.”

Y/N stepped forward with a smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. This is Harry.” Harry gave a nod, reserved but polite.

“You folks moving in?” “

Just signed the papers,” Y/N said, glancing at Harry. “We’re… newly married.”

Todd smiled wide. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood.”

He turned slightly toward Harry. “You a carpenter or somethin’? Lot of fixer-upper work to be done on this place.”

Harry shrugged. “Handy enough.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, me and my wife are just around the bend. Real quiet around here. Folks mostly keep to themselves.”

“Perfect,” Harry said. Todd gave a little wave and turned to leave. “See you around, Callahans.”

Y/N watched him go, the name sounding strange and real all at once. Harry leaned in close, murmured low in her ear, “There’s our first believer.”

She smiled, small. “Now we just need the rest.” Moving day came without ceremony.

They loaded their few bags—two duffels, one cracked suitcase, a box of odds and ends—into the car and drove the fifteen minutes to the house that was now legally theirs. The front porch still leaned slightly to one side, the paint still peeled in long, tired strips, but it was theirs. A new name on a deed. A false beginning.

Y/N held the house key in her hand for a moment before unlocking the front door. The sound of it opening echoed strangely loud in the empty space.

Harry carried the heavier bags without a word. He dropped them just inside the threshold, then stepped back onto the porch, scanning the street like he always did—casual, but alert.

Inside, it was colder than she remembered. The kind of chill that came from a place sitting too long untouched.

They left their things in the front room and climbed back into the car to visit the secondhand shops across town. Y/N made a list on the drive: couch, table, two chairs, something for the bedroom. Nothing too clean. They were supposed to have a past.

By mid-afternoon, they had pieced together the bones of a home—furniture with worn corners, old but sturdy. Harry tied everything down in the back of a borrowed truck from a shop owner who didn’t ask for a name or license. Just cash.

The sun was low when they pulled back up to the house and began unloading. Harry carried the couch in mostly on his own while Y/N followed with a box of mismatched dishes.

It was nearly dark when the knock came. Sharp. Too loud for the quiet street.

Harry froze mid-step. Y/N blinked from where she sat on the edge of the bed, head snapping toward the door. Her pulse kicked hard.

Harry moved before she could. Silent. Controlled. His hand brushed the small of her back once as he passed, more instinct than comfort.

“Stay here.”

“Harry—”

He looked at her, and she stopped. He cracked the door open.

Marlene stood on the porch, holding a casserole dish wrapped in foil and a smile too wide for the hour.

“Hey there,” she chirped. “Sorry to drop in late, but I made too much and figured—new neighbors, new marriage, you probably haven’t had time to cook. Oh. I’m Marlene by the way.”

Harry didn’t speak. Just stared. Y/N stepped in behind him, smile already fixed in place. “That’s really kind. Thank you.”

Marlene beamed and handed over the dish. “Strawberry-basil chicken. It’s better than it sounds.” She peeked around them, eyes darting inside. “You two settling in?”

“Slowly,” Y/N said. “But it’s starting to feel like home.” Harry still hadn’t said anything.

“Well,” Marlene said, backing away, “just wanted to drop this off. If you ever need anything, we’re right across the street. Nice meeting you Callahan’s.”

“Appreciate it,” Harry said. Flat. Measured. Marlene waved once and disappeared into the dark.

Y/N closed the door slowly and turned. Harry hadn’t moved. His eyes were still locked on the door like it might open again.

“She’s just being friendly,” Y/N said.

He turned to her. “She knocked like she was coming to arrest us.”

“She brought a casserole.”

“So did the woman who tipped off the cops two cities ago.”

Y/N set the dish on the counter and turned. “You think it’s poisoned?”

Harry didn’t answer. He stepped to the window and peeled the curtain back just enough to watch Marlene cross the street.

Y/N moved behind him, hands on her hips. “We’re married. We’re in a house with our name on it. This is what we wanted, remember?”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’re going to get a lot of them. Welcome to domestic life.”

He looked at her, sharp. “She knew our name.”

“She’s our neighbor. She probably heard it from the realtor.”

“She said it like she’d been practicing it.” Y/N stepped closer. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“I think anyone’s dangerous if they get curious enough.” His voice was quiet now. Focused. She could see the calculation running under his skin.

“You’re not going to be able to live like this forever.” Harry’s eyes didn’t leave the window.

“I don’t need forever. I just need long enough.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Just stood beside him, watching the street settle into silence again.

They settled into the house the way you settle into a lie—carefully, one detail at a time. Y/N took morning walks with a canvas bag over her shoulder, stopped by the market, the hardware store, the post office. She smiled at clerks. Remembered names. Asked about kids that didn’t exist.

Harry worked on the porch. Repaired the cracked step. Repainted the trim. He kept a tool in his back pocket even when he wasn’t using it. Just in case. They moved like people who planned to stay.

A week passed. Then another. And on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, Marlene waved Y/N down from her porch.

“Girls are getting together Friday night. Wine, snacks, gossip you didn’t ask for. You should come.”

Y/N nodded, smile in place. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Friday came with a breeze and the smell of someone grilling three streets over. Y/N stood in front of the mirror adjusting her blouse—something softer than she’d usually wear. Floral. Clean. Belonging to the kind of woman who made banana bread and waved at mailmen.

She kissed Harry on the cheek before leaving. “Don’t stay out too late,” he muttered.

His eyes followed her out the door.

Marlene’s house was warm and cluttered. Smelled like cinnamon and something expensive burning in a candle jar. There were six women there already. One from the post office. One who worked at the school. One whose name Y/N didn’t catch but who poured the wine like it was her job.

They asked polite questions at first. Where are you from?

Do you like it here? What color are you painting the kitchen?

Then came the real ones. “So,” said Dana, the redhead from the post office, “Harry doesn’t talk much, does he?”

Y/N smiled. “He’s quiet. But steady.”

“Steady’s good,” Marlene said. “Steady’s safe.”

A beat passed. Then Claire, the one with the wine, leaned in. “Is he good to you?”

The room didn’t flinch. No one laughed. It wasn’t a joke. Y/N didn’t blink. “Yes. In all the ways that matter.”

The others nodded slowly, as if weighing that. No one asked what that meant. By the time she left, her throat ached from smiling.

Back home, Harry was where she knew he’d be—on the back steps, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The porch light buzzed above him. The air smelled like dust and pine.

He didn’t look up when she stepped out. Just said, “Well?”

“They bought it.”

Still no eye contact. But he nodded once. Y/N sat down beside him. Close, but not touching.

“Marlene. Dana. Claire. All of them. They asked about you.”

“What’d you say?”

“That you’re good with your hands. Quiet. Married.” “Did they believe it?”

She shrugged. “They liked the ring.” He flicked the cigarette once, still not lighting it. “You say anything stupid?”

Y/N smirked. “Just enough to pass for normal.” He finally looked at her. Sharp.

“They ask about your past?”

“They asked about kids.” His stare didn’t waver. “What’d you tell them?”

“That we’re hoping to.” Harry studied her like he was deciding if that was part of the plan or something else entirely.

“You really want that?” he asked.

“I said what I needed to say.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. “You’re better at this than I thought.”

“I’ve been learning from the best.”

That almost got a smile out of him. Almost. They sat in silence. Crickets droned in the dark. The wind moved low through the trees.

“You know,” Y/N said finally, “you don’t always have to be the one watching the edges.”

His voice was quiet. “Someone has to.”

“Maybe not tonight.”

He glanced over. She saw it in his eyes—that split-second hesitation, like he didn’t know whether to let her in or shut her out.

She reached up and brushed her fingers along his jaw. Then, without asking, she kissed him.

It was slow. Deliberate. No performance. No mask. Just heat, need, and everything that hadn’t been said.

Harry didn’t pull away. When he kissed her back, it was with the kind of hunger that came from staying too still too long. His hand curled around the back of her neck, grounding her. Their bodies pressed close. Her knees bumped his. She didn’t care.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads stayed touching. “This is dangerous,” he said, breathless.

“So is everything else.”

Harry leaned in and kissed her again, sharper this time. His fingers gripped her tighter, like something in him had snapped. Like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

Y/N gasped into his mouth, and that was all it took.

Harry stood, pulling her with him. They stumbled through the back door in silence. The air inside was thick with heat and cheap wood polish. She barely had time to turn before he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth on hers again—rougher this time. Possessive.

Her hands slipped under his shirt. His skin was hot, muscles tight like wire under her palms. He groaned into her mouth when she scratched lightly at his ribs, and it was the sound of a man barely holding it together.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “Tell me this is okay,” he said, voice low and raw.

She nodded, breathless. “It’s okay.”

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed into hers again. Her back hit the wall with a quiet thud, and she felt the shift in him—controlled, but just barely. Like he was toeing the line between restraint and wreckage.

Harry’s hands found her hips, then slid lower, tugging at her waistband. She helped him. Shorts down. Shirt off. Her skin prickled under the sudden exposure. His gaze raked over her, hungry, but with something darker behind it—like he needed this to make the world stop spinning.

He turned her around. Pressed her chest to the wall, one hand on her back to keep her there, the other at his belt.

“Is this how you want it?” he growled into her ear. “Fast and filthy?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I don’t care—just do it.”

He yanked her hips back. She felt the hard line of him against her and then— One deep, brutal thrust.

She cried out, her hands flat against the wall. He filled her completely, no hesitation, no tenderness. Just raw need.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grinding into her. “You feel that? So fucking tight for me.”

His hand slid up her spine, curled into her hair. He yanked her head back enough to bite at the side of her throat.

“You like being taken like this?” he muttered. “You like when I don’t pretend to be a good man?” She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

“Yes—Harry—fuck—”

He slammed into her again, and again, the sound of skin on skin loud in the quiet room. The rhythm was merciless. Her legs shook. Her moans turned desperate. Then his fingers slipped between her thighs, found her clit, rubbed rough and fast.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice gravel and fire. “Now.”

She shattered—gasping, trembling, clawing at the wall as the orgasm tore through her. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

“Gonna come inside you,” he panted against her neck. “Mark you. Fill you up so deep they’ll smell me on you for days.”

She whimpered at the words, her body already begging for more.

He groaned, low and brutal, and buried himself one last time—deep and final. His release hit hard, hips stuttering as he spilled into her with a strangled noise.

They stayed there for a beat. Pressed together. Breathing hard. Her face against the wall. His chest heaving against her back.

He leaned in and bit her shoulder, not hard. Just enough to claim. “Told you I’d ruin you,” he whispered.

She laughed—weak, wrecked. “Then do it again.” And he did.

Later, when their skin was still damp and their breathing had just started to even out, the knock came.

Sharp. Heavy. Three times. They both froze.

Y/N’s hand tightened on the bedsheet. Harry’s entire body went still, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the door like he could burn through it.

Another knock. Louder.

He moved fast. No panic—just precision. Controlled like a weapon. “Stay here,” he said, already pulling on his jeans.

Y/N sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Harry—”

He turned. His voice was a growl. “I said stay.”

She didn’t argue.

He grabbed a shirt off the floor but didn’t bother with buttons. Stepped toward the door, slow and lethal.

He checked the peephole. Then cracked the door open an inch.

Marlene stood on the other side. Hair down, makeup smudged like she’d had a glass too many, holding a foil-wrapped dish in her hands.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Sorry, I know it’s late—just thought I’d bring something over. Todd, my husband, is out cold, and I had leftovers.”

Harry didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Y/N appeared behind him, this time dressed, hair pulled back, face calm.

“That’s really sweet,” she said. “Thank you.”

Marlene smiled and handed over the dish. “Tuna bake. Not poisoned again, I promise.”

Harry took it. Barely. “You two settling in okay?” she asked.

“We are,” Y/N said quickly. “The place is starting to feel like home.”

Marlene nodded, satisfied. “Good. Well, I won’t keep you. Night night Callahans.”

She gave a wave and turned into the dark. Harry shut the door. Locked it once. Then again.

He stood there for a second too long, chest rising and falling like something in him hadn’t settled.

Y/N set the dish on the counter. “She’s just being nice.”

“She knocks like she’s got a badge.”

“She knocked like a woman holding a hot pan.” Harry didn’t laugh.

She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like how often our name comes out of her mouth.”

“She’s nosy. Not a threat.”

He turned to her finally. “You don’t know that.”

“No,” she said. “But if we start treating every knock like a raid, we’ll burn out. Fast.”

His hands gripped her hips like he was still trying to ground himself. “I’m not used to people showing up like that. Not unless someone’s bleeding.”

She looked up at him. “Then let’s make this the first place where that’s not true.”

Harry stared at her for a long beat. Then bent his head and kissed her forehead, quick and rough. The only way he knew how.

The house had gone still. The old walls creaked every now and then. Pipes groaned somewhere deep under the floor. Outside, crickets screamed into the dark. Inside, there was only the sound of the clock ticking and the occasional shift of the sheets.

Y/N stirred. Reached for Harry.

Her hand met muscle, tense and unmoving. He was awake. Lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it was watching him too.

“You okay?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer right away.

When he did, his voice was flat. Quiet. “Can’t stop thinking.”

Y/N rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on her arm. “About what?”

“Everything,” he muttered. “The name. The house. The casserole.” She watched the shape of him in the dark. His jaw was clenched. His hands fisted in the sheets.

“You think someone’s onto us?”

“No,” he said. “I think I’m not made for this shit.”

She moved closer, her knee brushing his.

“It’s supposed to feel strange, Harry. We’re building a life out of smoke. Of course it’s gonna shift when you step on it.”

He finally turned his head. Looked at her. “You ever think we’re just playing house until someone calls our bluff?”

“Every day.” He didn’t blink. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

“It does,” she said. “But not enough to make me run.” His hand found hers under the sheet. Still rough. Still coiled tight. But there.

After a stretch of silence, he spoke again. “I keep thinking I’ll ruin it.”

She swallowed. “Ruin what?” “You. This. Everything we built. One wrong word. One fucking instinct I don’t bury fast enough.”

Y/N didn’t pull away. “You won’t,” she said.

“You don’t know that.” “I do.”

He stared at her like he wanted to believe it. She reached out and touched his chest, right over where his heart was hammering.

“I didn’t marry a version of you I made up,” she said. “I married the man who got me this far.” His throat worked.

“I don’t want to lose it,” he said.

“Then don’t.”

Harry exhaled slowly, like the fight was bleeding out of him just a little. After a while, his arm came around her waist. Pulled her close. And this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t open them again.

The days began folding in on themselves.

It started small. Y/N walked to the corner store most mornings. Bought coffee. Milk. A loaf of bread even when they didn’t need it. She remembered names. Asked about people’s dogs. Laughed too loud at things that weren’t funny. It wasn’t hard to make them like her.

Harry stayed back. Worked on the house. He replaced the broken slats on the porch. Scrubbed years off the window glass. Sanded the kitchen table until it looked new. His hands stayed busy. His mind didn’t. He watched the street. Learned the neighbors’ routines. What time their porch lights came on. Which car belonged to who. Which windows stayed open too long after dark. They ate dinner at the table. Didn’t talk much. Sometimes they walked around the block. Held hands when they passed someone. Smiled when people waved. Said things like have a good one and we’re loving it here.

The lie was becoming muscle memory. Then came Marlene’s second invitation.

Y/N had been coming back from the post office. Mail tucked under one arm. A grocery bag swinging from the other.

Marlene waved from her yard. “Girls are getting together Friday night. Again.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll be there.”

That night, she told Harry while he was fixing the hinge on the back door. “They’ll ask more questions,” she said. “They always do.”

He didn’t look up. “Let them.” “They asked if you were good to me last time.”

Harry paused. “Did you lie?”

“No.” That made him look at her.

She didn’t flinch. “I said you were good in all the ways that mattered.” His gaze held hers a little too long. Then he went back to the hinge.

“I’ll give them something worth talking about,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to be harmless.”

“I am.”

“No, Harry,” she said softly. “You’re just hidden.”

Friday came. Y/N wore something soft again. Something that made her look safe. Normal.

She kissed Harry before she left. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once and watched her walk out the door like he expected the world to end before she got back. Marlene’s house was warmer this time. The lights dimmer. The wine poured faster.

Same women. Same circle. Same smiles that didn’t quite meet their eyes. They asked about home renovations. About Harry.

“He’s intense, huh?” Dana said, chewing on a cheese cube.

Y/N smiled. “He’s quiet.”

Claire leaned forward, wine glass in hand. “He ever scare you?” Y/N’s face didn’t move.

“No.”

The room went still for half a breath.

Then Marlene laughed. “Girl, if that man ever looked at me like he looks at you, I’d hide the knives.”

More laughter. Brittle. Y/N just sipped her water and smiled.

When she got home, Harry was on the back steps again. Cigarette in his fingers. Unlit. Always unlit. He didn’t look up as she sat beside him.

“Well?” he asked.

“They’re suspicious.”

He flicked the cigarette. “They ask about me?”

“Always.”

He turned to her now. Eyes sharp. “What’d you say?”

“I said you’re quiet. Handy. Protective.”

He gave a low grunt. “You lie well.”

“I didn’t lie.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Then nodded once. “Good.”

They kept building the lie, one nail, one conversation, one half-truth at a time.

Harry finished patching the bedroom wall. Replaced the back door lock with something heavier. Reinforced the window frames, then pretended he was doing it for the draft.

Y/N bought curtains.

She planted lavender in the front yard and told anyone who passed that she read it kept bugs away. That it made a place feel lived in. That it was good for sleep.

No one questioned her.

They painted the kitchen a soft yellow that Y/N said looked like light even when the sun wasn’t out.

Harry hated it. But he didn’t argue.

Sometimes they stood in the half-finished fake nursery and didn’t say anything. Just looked. At the walls. At the little space they were pretending to prepare. Like if they stared hard enough, it might become real.

Y/N started writing things down. A notebook. Spiral-bound. Cheap. She listed names, neighbor house numbers, birthdays they were told in passing.

Todd—next door. Early riser. Drives a gray truck. Marlene—never lets things go. Always watching. Claire—Sunday school. Unmarried. Keeps wine in a travel mug. Dana—Post office. Likes to stir the pot.

“What’s that one?” Harry asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Y/N didn’t look up. “It’s our story. The one we’re living.”

“We’re not writing a novel.”

“No,” she said. “We’re creating a record. So we don’t forget what we said.”

Harry grunted. “Smart.”

“You didn’t tell Todd your name, right?”

“No.” “Because he used it before you introduced yourself.”

Harry froze. His eyes narrowed, calculation kicking in. “The realtor told him.”

“She never used our name in front of him.”

Harry stood and moved to the window. Peeled the curtain back just enough to see through. Nothing out there but grass and sky. But his jaw stayed tight.

“You think he knew?” he asked. “I think we don’t get the luxury of assuming he didn’t.”

She turned the notebook toward him. Neat, precise handwriting. Lies written like facts. Harry looked at it a moment too long.

“Keep going,” he said. “If someone knocks, I want you to have the answers before they even ask the questions.”

Y/N nodded. “Already do.” The knock came a week later.

Midday. Bright sun. No shadows to hide in. Harry answered it.

A man stood on the porch. Mid-forties. Clean-cut. Clipboard in hand. Badge clipped to his belt. The kind that was real but quiet. Not loud enough to scare the neighbors. Just official enough to make your pulse shift.

“Sorry to bother you,” the man said. “Are you Mr. Callahan?”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“Mind if I ask a few questions?” Y/N stepped into the hall. Calm. Casual. Dish towel in her hand.

“What’s this about?” she asked, smiling like it was nothing.

“Cold case work,” the man replied. “We’re following up on some regional threads. No suspects. Just trying to close some loops.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t falter. “You’ll have better luck at the bar down the street. People there talk more than they drink.”

The man smiled politely. Looked back at Harry. “You been in town long?”

“Few months,” Harry said. “Bought the Becker house.”

“From where?” Y/N didn’t give Harry a chance to answer.

“Upstate,” she said. “Small town. Not worth naming. We wanted quiet.”

“No family nearby?”

“Just us.” The man nodded and wrote something down.

“Well,” he said, handing over a card, “if anything strange pops up—or if you remember something from your last town that felt off—give me a call.”

Harry took the card. Didn’t look at it. The man tipped his head and walked off the porch.

The second the door closed, Harry turned. “We need to talk.”

He paced the kitchen like it was a cage.

The detective’s card lay on the counter, untouched. Like it might burn if either of them picked it up again.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, restless. Unmoored. “He knew something,” he muttered.

Y/N leaned against the sink, arms crossed. “He was fishing.” Harry shook his head. “He had a name. A face. He’s not knocking on every door in town.”

“Which is why we didn’t slip. We gave him the same story we’ve given everyone else.”

He stopped and turned on her. “You don’t understand. These guys don’t knock unless they already have a thread.”

“And pulling it leads where?” she asked. “To a house we don’t own anymore? A town we left clean? A name we buried?”

Harry’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice dropped. “It leads to us.” Y/N didn’t move.

“No, it leads to people who used to exist. Not us.”

“He was looking at me like he knew,” Harry said. “Like he’d seen my file. Knew what I’m capable of.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s done things worth forgetting?” That stopped him.

“You think I dragged you into this?” she went on, stepping forward. “You think I tied my life to yours out of convenience? I’m not just covering your tracks, Harry. I’m burning mine too.”

He stared at her, chest rising fast.

“I know what we’ve done,” she said. “I know what we are. But we didn’t get this far just to run again because some asshole with a clipboard knocked too loud.”

Silence settled like smoke. Harry stepped closer, slow. “You’re not scared?”

“Of him? No.”

“Of me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “I was. Once.” He looked like that hit somewhere he didn’t want to admit existed.

“And now?” Y/N met his eyes. “Now I think you’re the only person I trust to watch the door.”

His jaw flexed. Something behind his eyes cracked—but didn’t fall apart. He reached up, brushed his fingers along her jaw.

“If I told you to pack a bag right now—”

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

Harry’s mouth twitched—half a scoff, half something softer. “You’re stubborn.”

“No. I’m tired of running.”

He exhaled hard, like her words knocked the air out of him. His hand dropped to her waist, grounding himself.

“What if he comes back?” “Then we smile wider. Say less.”

“And if he asks the wrong question?” “Then we lie better.”

Harry nodded once. Sharp. Decided. But his hand didn’t leave her waist.

By morning, Harry had a name.

Detective Colin Graves. County-level. Floated between jurisdictions. Specialized in “unsolved patterns”—whatever the hell that meant. He wasn’t local. He wasn’t friendly. And he sure as hell wasn’t just making rounds.

Y/N stood behind him at the laptop, reading over his shoulder.

“No kids. Divorced. Drives a black Charger. Government plates,” Harry said. “He’s staying at the motel near the highway.”

She glanced at him. “You want to confront him?”

“No,” Harry said. “I want to watch him.”

That afternoon, they drove to the edge of town. Not together.

Y/N took the car. Parked three spots down from the detective’s room and walked to the gas station next door. Pretended to look at scratch-offs. Bought a coffee she didn’t want.

Harry followed on foot twenty minutes later. Baseball cap. Sunglasses. Moved like he belonged there.

They didn’t speak. But they both saw the same thing.

Room 6. Curtains drawn. No sign of movement. Car parked outside, engine still warm. “He’s in there,” Y/N said later, once they were back home, doors locked, curtains closed.

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. “I need to know how close he is.”

“We’re not following him.”

“I won’t get out of the car.” “Harry—”

“I’ll drive behind him. Watch where he goes. That’s it.” She stared at him for a long time.

Then nodded. “One hour. If you’re not back, I burn everything.”

He smiled faintly. “Deal.”

The next morning, Graves left the motel just before 8 a.m.

Harry tailed him three miles to a diner on the outskirts of town. Watched him sit in a booth, order black coffee and eggs, and scroll through a stack of folders.

He didn’t take notes. He didn’t pull out a laptop. He just stared at the papers like they were old friends.

Then—he pulled out a photo. Held it low, like instinct told him someone might be watching.

Harry couldn’t see the face. Just the edge of a shoulder. A blur of motion. Like the picture had been taken fast.

Still, his gut tightened. He knew that posture. That turn of the neck.

It was him. The image wasn’t good. But it was him.

Harry backed out of the parking lot and didn’t look back. At home, he found Y/N in the living room, rearranging books they didn’t read.

“He’s got a photo.” She looked up. “Of you?”

“Blurry. But yeah.” She sat down slowly. “Then it’s real.”

“Yeah.” “Do we run?”

Harry stared at her. “No.” Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“We’ve got a better shot if we act like we’re not worried.” “You think we can outwait him?”

“I think we can outlast him.” Y/N stood. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of him.

“If you stay,” she said, “you have to stop pacing. Stop checking the window every five minutes. Start acting like you belong here.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “I’ve never belonged anywhere.”

“You do now.”

They stood in silence.

Then she added, “Also, we’re going to dinner at Marlene’s next Friday. She cornered me and said it’s time.”

He groaned. “Do I have to speak?”

“You just have to eat and look like you wouldn’t bury someone over a parking space.”

“No promises.” Friday night came too fast.

Y/N wore a pale blue dress with sleeves that made her look softer than she felt. Harry shaved. Tucked his shirt in. The kind of effort that made people say things like what a nice couple instead of what are they hiding?

Marlene’s house smelled like pot roast and fresh rolls. The table was set with mismatched plates and too many candles. There were five other guests—all couples, all local.

Harry offered a bottle of red wine they’d picked up from the corner store. Marlene beamed. “A man with manners.”

He smiled, thin and practiced. “Trying my best.” They took their seats. Y/N next to Marlene. Harry at her side.

The small talk started immediately.

Claire asked about their house. Todd asked about the porch repairs. Dana—always Dana—asked if Harry was finding work “or just enjoying the break.”

He answered smoothly. “I fix things. Doesn’t matter whose house it is.”

“Bet you’re handy,” someone muttered.

The room laughed.

Y/N watched the way Harry smiled, how he leaned in when people spoke. Not too close, not too far. He laughed when appropriate. Ate what was served. Let himself be seen, just enough.

She couldn’t decide if it scared her or made her proud. “Y/N tells me you two met back in school,” Marlene said over dessert.

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “High school sweethearts.” “Where was that again?” Claire asked.

Y/N smiled. “Upstate New York. Tiny town. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”

“You ever get homesick?”

Harry’s jaw ticked. Y/N stepped in. “Sometimes. But mostly we’re glad to be out. Too many ghosts back there.”

Marlene refilled glasses. “Well, you two are a good fit. Real magnetic. You’ve got one of those… energies.”

Y/N tilted her head. “What kind?”

“Like you’ve been through some shit together,” Marlene said, voice light but eyes sharp.

Harry held Y/N’s gaze for a beat too long. “Guess we have,” he said.

The table went quiet for half a second. Just long enough. Then someone made a joke about marriage being its own battlefield, and the room moved on.

Later, after the goodbyes and thank-yous, Y/N and Harry walked back home in the dark.

The night was thick with crickets. Windows glowed behind drawn curtains. The world had quieted, but inside, both of them were wide awake.

“She’s onto us,” Y/N said. Harry didn’t ask who.

“She’s watching everything.”

“She’s smart,” he muttered. “Sharp, but bored. She’ll dig until she either finds something or finds a better distraction.”

“She thinks we’re haunted.” He glanced at her. “She’s not wrong.”

They reached the porch. The steps creaked under their weight. “You were good tonight,” she said.

Harry’s mouth twitched. “Felt like playing dead.”

She looked at him, serious. “Don’t get too good at it.”

He pulled her in. Kissed her hard. Quick. Like he was claiming something he was afraid might get taken.

“I’m only doing this because you asked.”

“I know.”

“Next time she invites us,” he said, opening the door, “we’re suddenly out of town.” It came on a Tuesday.

The mailbox creaked open like always. Nothing unusual. Just coupons. A bill. A card from the hardware store.

And an envelope. No name. No stamp. Just their address, typed neatly.

Y/N stared at it for a second too long before sliding it into the crook of her arm and heading back inside.

Harry was at the sink, fixing the faucet.

She dropped the rest of the mail on the counter and held the envelope up between two fingers. “This was in the box.”

He turned. Wiped his hands on a rag. Took it. Slit it open with the tip of a screwdriver.

One sheet of paper. Plain.

Printed in bold, black font: “You can paint the walls and change the name. I still know what you did.”

That was it. No signature. No threat. No clue.

Just that. Harry stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous.

Y/N didn’t speak. Just waited. He folded the paper once. Twice. Then again.

Slid it into his back pocket. “We burn it,” she said.

“No,” Harry replied. “We keep it.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s a message,” he said. “And you don’t destroy evidence until you know who sent it.” Her voice was steady. “You think it was Graves?”

“No. Too loud for him. He’d ask you face-to-face.”

“Then who?”

Harry didn’t answer. She watched the way his jaw set. The muscle ticking like a clock running out of time.

Then, quietly, she said, “You think it’s Marlene.” He didn’t move.

Which told her everything. “She’s not stupid,” Y/N said. “But if she knew anything real, she’d go to someone. Not play games.”

“She’s not playing,” Harry said.

“She’s warning.” Y/N exhaled slowly.

“So what do we do?”

“We act like we never saw it.”

“And when the next one comes?”

Harry looked at her—calm, cold. “Then we write one back.”

By Friday, the tension had teeth.

Y/N caught Marlene watching from across the street. Not pretending. Just standing at her front window, arms crossed, face blank.

She didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. She just watched.

Harry didn’t mention it. But that night, he cleaned his gun.

They didn’t have any reason to believe Graves was still in town. His car hadn’t been spotted. His room at the motel was empty. But that didn’t settle anything. The absence felt worse than the presence. Like a shadow that had learned how to hide.

Y/N found herself checking the mailbox more than once a day. Looking for another envelope. Another signal. Nothing came. But that didn’t make her breathe easier. Harry grew quieter.

Not tense. Just internal. Like he was pulling the thread inward, wrapping it around himself. Thinking. Planning. She let him have the silence. Let him pace and stare and scribble notes in the margin of her notebook.

But on Sunday morning, he said it out loud.

“If she’s the one watching us,” he said, standing in the doorway with his coffee, “then we have to make her stop.”

Y/N looked up from the table. “You’re talking about Marlene.”

He didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

“And what does ‘make her stop’ mean?”

Harry’s eyes were unreadable. “It means we show her we’re not the kind of people you send letters to.”

Y/N stood slowly. “No.” He watched her. Still, but sharp.

“We don’t touch her,” she said. “We don’t corner her. We don’t make a fucking scene.”

“She’s not going to stop.”

“She will,” Y/N said. “Because she’s scared. She just doesn’t know what exactly to be afraid of.”

Harry set the mug down harder than he meant to. “She’s poking at something she doesn’t understand.”

“She understands enough. That’s why she’s trying to remind us she’s there.”

His jaw flexed. “She’s going to push it too far.”

“And if we push first, we lose.” They stared at each other across the room. Both stubborn. Both right in their own way.

Then, quietly, she added, “Let me talk to her.” “No.”

“She likes me.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t.”

“I can calm her down, Harry.”

He crossed the room in three strides. Took her face in both hands—not gentle, not rough. Just urgent.

“If she lays a trap and you walk into it—”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not losing you.” “Then trust me,” she said. “Just this once.”

His hands dropped. He didn’t nod. But he didn’t stop her. Y/N baked something.

Banana bread. The easy kind. Warm, dense, and just messy enough to look homemade.

She walked across the street slow and steady. Held the foil-wrapped loaf like an offering. Knocked twice.

Marlene answered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“Figured it was time I returned the favor,” Y/N said.

“Can I come in?” Marlene hesitated.

Then stepped aside. “Of course.”

The house was as tidy as ever. Candles lit. A fresh vase of flowers on the kitchen table. It smelled like lemons and something just slightly artificial.

Y/N set the bread down. “Still the nicest house on the block.”

Marlene laughed once. “Means I’ve got too much time on my hands.”

They sat. The silence between them pulsed. Y/N folded her hands neatly on the table. “I’ve been meaning to ask… have we done something wrong?”

Marlene blinked. “Wrong?”

“You’ve been… quiet. Watching.”

Marlene took a sip of her tea. “I’m nosy. Everyone knows that.” “But lately it’s felt personal.”

Marlene didn’t deny it. Just looked at her. Really looked.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I used to be good at reading people. Before the wine, before the kids. Before my husband couldn’t sleep. Before he got restless. Before all of it.”

“I’d say you’re still good at it.” Marlene tilted her head. “You ever lie to your husband?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. “What?”

“Little ones. Big ones. Doesn’t matter.”

“I try not to.”

“Try,” Marlene repeated. “That’s a funny word.”

Y/N didn’t blink. “Have you been asking around about us?”

Marlene smiled faintly. “What would I ask?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “But if you’re going to accuse us of something, I’d rather you do it with your whole chest.”

The silence cracked like ice. Marlene leaned back in her chair. “Do you know what a dead giveaway is?”

Y/N waited.

“It’s when people smile too much,” Marlene said. “When they never ask questions. When they learn everyone’s name in under a week.”

Y/N nodded. “You think I’m too friendly.”

“I think you’re scared.”

She let that sit. Then leaned forward, voice low. “Do you want to know what I’m scared of?”

Marlene didn’t answer.

Y/N said, “I’m scared that this town will spit us out like a rotten tooth. That we’ll be chased again. That the only place we ever felt even a little safe will close its doors and bolt the lock.”

“And what would it take,” Marlene asked, “for me to believe you’re here for real?”

Y/N looked her in the eye. “It would take you deciding I’m worth protecting.”

Marlene didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But something shifted in her. A beat passed.

Then she stood. Cut two slices of banana bread. Handed Y/N one.

“Next time,” she said, “add a little nutmeg.”

Y/N smiled. “Noted.”

Harry was waiting on the porch when she got back.

Arms crossed. One foot bouncing. The cigarette in his hand wasn’t lit—hadn’t been for days—but he held it like it anchored him.

Y/N stepped into the light. Quiet. Composed. “Well?” he asked.

She walked past him and into the house. Set her keys down. Peeled the foil off the rest of the banana bread and slid it into a container.

He followed her. “Did she say anything?”

“Yes.” He waited.

“She’s watching us,” Y/N said. “But not because she wants to blow this up.”

Harry leaned against the counter. “Then why?”

“Because she doesn’t know what we are. And that scares her.”

“Good.”

“No,” Y/N said, turning to him. “Not good. People who are scared get reckless. They talk to the wrong people. They make noise.”

“She threaten you?” “No.”

“Did you threaten her?” She arched an eyebrow. “I brought banana bread.”

Harry gave her a long, unreadable look. Then: “So what now?”

“I don’t think she’s the one we need to worry about.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Y/N leaned on the sink, arms crossed. “She never asked the right questions. Not once. All her jabs were wide—guesswork. Like someone tipped her off but never gave her anything real.”

Harry was already putting it together. “Todd.”

“She mentioned him in passing. Twice. Same way people test water temperature before they get in. Said he talks in his sleep. That he’s restless lately. That he never used to care about gossip until now.”

Harry was quiet. Y/N went on, voice lower now. “And you remember how you said he used your name before you gave it?”

“Yeah.” “I think he’s the one who left the note.”

Harry pushed off the counter. Started pacing.

“Graves talks to someone,” Y/N said. “Todd hears enough to get curious. Starts watching. Starts whispering to his wife. She doesn’t know if he’s right, but she knows the tension’s real.”

Harry stopped pacing. Looked at her. “So what do we do?”

“We keep Marlene close,” Y/N said. “Let her feel like she’s in the loop. Let her think she has the upper hand.”

“And Todd?” Harry said it like a man already writing the ending.

Y/N stepped toward him. “We don’t touch him. Not yet.”

He studied her face. “But eventually?”

She nodded once. “If he keeps pulling at the thread, we pull back harder.” Harry smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Now you sound like me.”

She stepped closer, pressed her hands to his chest. “No,” she said softly. “I sound like your wife.”

Harry didn’t tell Y/N what day he planned to watch him.

Just said he had errands. Needed parts for the leaky pipe. Wanted to hit the hardware store before the rush.

She didn’t press.

By noon, he was parked down the block from Todd’s worksite—a half-finished duplex on the edge of town. Contractors moved like ants across the gravel. But Harry only watched one of them.

Todd stood near a stack of lumber, talking to a man with a clipboard. Laughing. Smiling. Easy. He looked like the kind of guy who kept beer in the fridge and played softball on Sundays. Average. Forgettable.

Harry hated that most of all. He watched for over an hour.

Watched Todd take two calls. Watched him eat a sandwich on the back of his truck bed. Watched him pause once—just once—and stare out at nothing, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something that never came.

Harry leaned back in his seat. He knew that posture. Knew that stare. He’d worn it himself more times than he could count.

Paranoia didn’t always come from guilt. Sometimes it came from fear.

At 2:17, Todd walked around the side of the lot, toward the porta-john. Harry followed on foot, slow, hands in his jacket.

He didn’t plan to say anything. Didn’t plan to be seen.

But as Todd stepped out, they locked eyes. Both froze.

Todd’s jaw tightened. “Harry.” Harry gave a small nod. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your break.”

“You following me?” “Should I be?”

Todd looked away. Wiped his hands on his jeans. “You don’t like me.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

“You think I’m watching you.” Silence.

Then Todd laughed, but it was hollow. “You ever feel like something’s rotting under the surface? Like the whole place is too perfect, too quiet?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Todd looked him in the eye again. “I get these feelings. Like something bad already happened and I’m just waiting to find out when.”

Harry tilted his head. “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a guy you barely know.”

Todd swallowed. “Maybe I’m saying it to the only person who gets it.”

For a split second, Harry didn’t see a threat. He saw himself. Before. Tired. Haunted. Not evil—just broken in the wrong place.

Then Todd added, “Marlene thinks I’m being dramatic. That I’m bored. But something’s off, man. I feel it.”

Harry nodded once. “If you figure out what it is… let me know.”

Then he turned and walked away, slow and careful, every step loaded with the realization that the enemy might not be the man with the clipboard… or the woman with the smile.

Sometimes it was the weight they all carried. Y/N was on the porch when he came home.

She didn’t look up when he parked. Just sat there, watching the sky darken in slow folds. The quiet stretched between them like thread waiting to snap.

Harry climbed the steps and sat beside her. Didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did she.

Finally, she asked, “Did you talk to him?” Harry nodded once. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s unraveling.”

Y/N looked over at him. “Unraveling how?”

“He talks like someone who’s waiting for a disaster. Says he doesn’t know why. Says he just feels it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That sound familiar?” Harry didn’t answer. Just ran a hand down his face and muttered, “It’s him.”

“You’re sure?” Harry turned to her. Voice low. Certain.

“Yeah. He’s the one who wrote the letter.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “He said that?”

“No. But it’s all over him. He’s scared of something. Or someone. Doesn’t know what—but he’s sniffing around. And he’s looking at us like we’re the reason.”

“Maybe he’s just paranoid.”

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s pointed. He thinks we’re hiding something, and he’s not going to let it go. He’s not curious—he’s convinced.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Then: “You feel bad for him?”

“No,” Harry said, too fast. Too firm. “I see myself in him, and I hate it.”

Y/N didn’t look away.

“You still think he left the note?”

“I think he wanted us to feel it. Wanted us to know someone was watching. But not enough to come at us straight. That’s the part that matters.”

She let out a slow breath. “So what do we do?” Harry stared out at the street. Todd’s porch light flicked on across the way.

“We don’t touch him,” he said. “Yet. But we don’t give him anything, either. No waves. No small talk. We become exactly what he already thinks we are.”

“Which is?”

“A secret.”

They waited three weeks.

Let the letter settle. Let the rhythm of the neighborhood lull back into something harmless. Then Y/N extended the invitation.

Marlene accepted too quickly. Todd didn’t say anything.

The night arrived cool and cloudless. Y/N lit candles and cooked chicken with lemon and thyme. Roasted vegetables. A tart for dessert. It was the kind of meal you only made when you wanted everything to look deliberate.

Harry set the table. Checked the locks. Didn’t say much. They came at six.

Marlene brought flowers. Todd brought silence.

The first glass of wine disappeared fast. The second even faster. Conversation stayed polite: work talk, garden talk, little jokes about the neighborhood busybodies.

Y/N smiled through all of it. Harry watched Todd.

By the time dessert hit the table, the shift came.

It started with a breath—too long, too heavy—and then Todd said, “You ever read those old case files out of Albany?”

The room went still. Marlene didn’t even glance up. “Todd.”

He kept going. “One of them’s still open. No leads. Just a name and a timeline and a photo from a gas station camera.”

Harry didn’t blink. Y/N’s hand tightened around her wine glass.

Todd looked at Harry, then at Y/N. “You ever think about how easy it’d be to disappear if you planned it right? Burn the records. Change a few details. Act normal.”

“Todd,” Marlene snapped, louder this time. “Not now.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, shrugging. “Sometimes people move into town and they’re so normal it circles back around to suspicious.”

Harry set his fork down slowly. “You accusing someone?” Todd’s eyes were too bright. “I’m asking a question.”

“No,” Harry said. “You’re not.” Y/N reached over and touched Harry’s hand. A warning. A plea.

Marlene stood abruptly. “I said not now.” But Todd wasn’t listening anymore. His hands were shaking.

“I’ve seen the footage,” he said. “It’s grainy, but the walk—the posture—it’s you.”

Harry’s voice dropped low. “You sure you want to keep talking?”

Todd looked at him—and something shifted. Like he realized, for the first time, just how close he was standing to something that could bite.

Marlene grabbed his arm. “That’s enough. I’m sorry. He’s been… he’s not sleeping. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But Todd yanked away. “I know exactly what I’m saying.” Y/N stood. “Then say it clearly.”

The room was sharp with silence. Todd opened his mouth. Closed it.

Finally: “I think you two aren’t who you say you are.”

Marlene’s face collapsed. “Jesus, Todd.”

“I think you’re dangerous,” he added. “I think people should be more careful around you.” No one moved.

Then Harry smiled. Slow. Crooked. “Then it’s good,” he said quietly, “that people don’t know us very well.”

Todd pushed back from the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “I knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I fucking knew it.”

Marlene grabbed at his arm. “Todd—”

But he was already moving, storming through the kitchen, flinging the front door open like he couldn’t breathe in the house anymore.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

Y/N stood at the head of the table, hand still on her wine glass. Harry hadn’t moved. His smile was gone. What sat in its place was quieter. Sharper.

Marlene stayed rooted where she was, jaw tight, eyes shining. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

Y/N sat back down. “You don’t have to apologize for him.”

“I do.”

Harry’s voice was low. “Has he been talking to Graves?”

Marlene looked up sharply.

“No. Not that I know of. Graves hasn’t been around for weeks.”

Harry didn’t blink. “Then where’s he getting his information?”

Marlene sighed. Rubbed at her temple. “He’s been on Reddit. Old forums. True crime groups. He’s always been into that stuff, but lately it’s gotten worse. Like… compulsive.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Compulsive how?”

“He stays up all night scrolling through case files. Downloads PDFs. Makes lists. Cross-references timelines. It’s like he’s trying to solve something that hasn’t even happened here.”

She paused, her voice catching.

“He’s not sleeping. Barely eating. He prints out blurry security footage and circles things like he’s in a movie. And I—I’ve tried to tell him to stop, to let it go, but he thinks he’s onto something big. That he’s the only one paying attention.”

Harry crossed his arms. “And he thinks we’re the missing piece.”

Marlene nodded. “He saw that footage out of Albany. Said the guy’s walk looked like yours. That it gave him a feeling.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “So this isn’t about us. Not really. It’s about what’s unraveling in his head.”

Marlene looked at her. “It is about you. Or it became about you. Because once he gets that idea in his head, it doesn’t let go.”

They all sat with that. Then Marlene’s voice went low. Tight.

“I’m not going to the sheriff. Not to Graves. I don’t care what you’ve done—or what you haven’t. I’ve lived long enough to know people come here for all kinds of reasons. But you need to know that he’s not letting this go. And the more you push back, the more he’ll dig.”

Harry tilted his head. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying if you want him to stop,” Marlene said, eyes locked on his, “you’ll have to make him feel like there’s nothing left to find.”

Y/N stood again. “Would he hurt someone?” Marlene looked down at the table, at the crumpled napkin in her hand.

“I don’t know anymore.”

The first few days after the dinner felt like bruises forming—nothing visible, but sore just the same.

They didn’t rush. They watched.

Todd went quiet, but not in the way they hoped. He didn’t stop. He just got quieter about not stopping.

Marlene came by once, said he was working longer hours, barely speaking at home. That he’d cleared out the garage and set up a table, printed out maps, case files, old photos from towns they’d never mentioned to anyone.

“He’s spiraling,” she said. “And he’s smart enough to do damage.” Harry just nodded.

They waited another three days. And then they started. The shift was subtle. They didn’t drop the act—they deepened it.

Y/N stopped walking with her usual confidence. She ducked her head at the grocery store. Looked over her shoulder. She stood too long at the edge of the street when Todd’s truck passed, like she thought about stepping into its path.

Harry became colder in public. More clipped. His eyes harder, his voice lower, more protective. He looked like someone trying to keep something from slipping out of his grasp.

They left their trash can lid open, let papers spill out—receipts with strange numbers, a torn photo with just the edge of Harry’s face visible. A fake classified ad circled in red. Nothing provable. Just enough to catch a hunter’s eye.

And finally, the envelope.

They slipped it into Todd’s mailbox in the dead of night—inside, a photo printed on cheap paper. Grainy. Cropped to look like surveillance. Todd at the hardware store. A timestamp. His own name written in a shaky, anonymous scrawl.

No message. No return address. Just a mirror held up to his worst fear.

The next few days, he didn’t wave from the porch. Didn’t walk the dog. But Y/N noticed the curtains twitch whenever she stepped outside.

Then they left the front door unlocked.

They didn’t sit close together that night. They didn’t light candles or play music or do anything that might’ve read as ordinary.

Harry sat in the chair by the window, back straight, arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be called to war.

Y/N stayed curled on the couch, sweater draped around her shoulders, knees drawn up like she couldn’t get warm.

They kept the lights low. The silence between them was intentional.

At 11:13, they heard the gate creak. Harry didn’t move.

Y/N reached behind the cushion, her hand closing around the pistol, but she didn’t lift it. Not yet. The door opened slowly. No knock. No hesitation. Just Todd, stepping into their house like he’d done it before.

He held a hammer. Not raised—just in his hand, like he didn’t know how to put it down. His face was pale. Sweating. There was something wild in his eyes, but also something hollow.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” he said. Harry didn’t rise.

“Why are you here, Todd?”

“I know what you did,” Todd said. His voice cracked. “I can’t stop seeing it. All of it. You killed all those fucking people.”

Y/N stood. Not close to Harry. Not close to Todd. Diagonal. Calculated. “You’ve been watching us,” she said softly. “Why?”

“I had to,” Todd said. “I had to know. Something’s wrong with this place. With you.” He took a step forward.

Harry rose.

“I’ve seen your file,” Todd went on. “Or most of it. Redacted as hell, but I pieced it together. And her?” He looked at Y/N. “She’s not just collateral. She’s part of it.”

Harry stepped between them. Todd gripped the hammer tighter.

“She killed him, didn’t she?” he said, voice ragged. “The guy in Albany. I always thought it was you. But now I think it was her.”

“No,” Harry said. “She just made it look like she did.” That stopped Todd. Just for a second. Then he screamed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even verbal. It was just a sound—deep, cracked, animal. He lunged. The hammer swung. Harry caught his arm. They struggled. Not wild, not fast—methodical. It had the weight of something practiced.

Y/N moved behind Todd as he twisted, snarling, trying to break Harry’s grip. She didn’t shout. She didn’t panic.

She raised the gun and said one thing: “Let him go.”

Harry did. Todd stumbled backward, just enough to see Y/N clearly.

She pulled the trigger. One shot. The sound was thunder in the quiet house. Todd hit the floor. He didn’t move again. Y/N stood still, the gun lowered, her hands shaking for real now. Harry turned slowly. Walked to her.

“You okay?” She nodded.

“I missed the timing,” he said. “He came too fast.”

“You did what you were supposed to.”

Sirens would come soon. They knew that. Neighbors would say they heard shouting. A break-in. That Y/N sounded terrified.

They’d believe it. She was a good actress, and the bruises on Harry’s arms would back the story.It was self-defense. It had to be.

The sirens started before the blood even cooled.

Red and blue bounced across the living room walls like a twisted light show. The neighbors poured out onto their lawns in robes and slippers. Marlene’s scream broke through it all—raw, high, and guttural.

Y/N stood in the doorway, pale, arms wrapped tight around herself. She hadn’t let go of the gun until the squad car pulled up. Harry had taken it from her. Wiped it clean. Set it on the table like it had always lived there.

The sheriff came in first. He was younger than they expected. Late thirties. Sturdy build. No-nonsense eyes. His badge read Miller. He scanned the room, expression unreadable. Didn’t touch anything.

Just said, “We’ll need you both to come down for an interview.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

Y/N didn’t speak.

Two EMTs rolled Todd’s body out under a white sheet. Marlene’s cries followed them to the curb. Someone—maybe a deputy, maybe a neighbor—was holding her back. She wasn’t screaming at Y/N. But she wasn’t not screaming at her either. The house filled with people. Flashlights. Cameras. Footsteps. Their life, unpacked. Everything bagged, tagged, and rearranged into evidence.

It wasn’t until they were in the back of the cruiser—no cuffs, no formal arrest—that Harry leaned in slightly toward Y/N.

“He bought it,” he murmured.

Y/N kept her eyes straight ahead. “He had to.”

But something in her chest stayed tight.

The station smelled like paper and stale coffee. They were separated immediately—two interview rooms, two detectives. But Sheriff Miller was the one who sat across from Harry. No pen. No pad. Just folded hands and a steady gaze.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Harry recited it clean. The hammer. The break-in. The yelling. The fear.

“He came in armed. He wasn’t in his right mind. We tried to talk him down—”

“And your wife shot him.”

“Yes.”

Miller nodded. “We’re still collecting evidence. Your story mostly lines up. But there’s something you should know.”

Harry didn’t move. “Go on. ”

“We’ve been watching Todd. Quietly. For months.”

That did it. Just a flicker—Harry’s eyes narrowing a fraction. “Why?”

“Tips. Online activity. He was posting under three different aliases. Uploading altered crime scene photos. Names of people who disappeared ten, fifteen years ago.”

Harry said nothing. Miller went on. “He was obsessed. But more than that—he was interfering. Digging into places he shouldn’t have. We were building a case. Then tonight happened.”

Harry met his eyes. “You’re telling me this why?”

“Because if this had gone down three days later, we’d have nailed him ourselves. Your name would’ve stayed clean.”

Harry leaned back in the chair. “And now?”

“Now,” Miller said, “you’re part of the file.”

Y/N’s interview went slower.

They asked if she’d ever seen Todd act aggressively before. If she’d felt unsafe. If she had ever sought out protection—a restraining order, anything like that.

“No,” she said. “But I was scared. And when I saw the hammer—”

“You fired?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

The detective across from her nodded slowly. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

Y/N blinked. “Then why do I feel like I’m on trial?”

“Because you survived,” he said. “And people don’t like when survivors don’t act broken.”

They were released just after 3 a.m. No charges. Not yet. The sheriff’s final words before they left were simple: “Stay in town. We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

Outside, the town was dead quiet. Harry lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Y/ N didn’t look at him.

“What now?” she asked.

Harry exhaled smoke, slow. “We wait.”

They waited. Didn’t go anywhere. Didn’t talk to anyone. Just kept the porch light off and the blinds drawn and listened for footsteps that never came.

Three days passed. The house still smelled faintly of blood, no matter how many times Y/N scrubbed the floor.

Then the call came. They were needed back at the station. No urgency. Just procedure.

The same grey walls. The same old coffee smell. But this time, the interview rooms stayed closed. Sheriff Miller met them in his office, sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but calm.

He gestured for them to sit. Didn’t offer water. Didn’t fake a smile. “It’s done,” he said.

Y/N glanced at Harry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s closed. You’re cleared. Everything checks out. We reviewed the footage from the neighbor’s porch camera, compared it to the forensics, the timeline, your statements.”

He leaned forward slightly. “It was self-defense.” Harry’s shoulders relaxed just slightly. Y/N didn’t move.

“No charges,” Miller added. “You’re free to go.” That was it. They stood.

Walked out into the quiet morning, the air sharp and clean. No one followed them. No one stopped them. The sun was just starting to rise.

Back home, the house felt too still. Like it had been waiting for them.

Y/N set her keys down on the counter. Harry hung his coat. Neither spoke. They sat on the couch, not touching, not looking at each other. Just breathing. Then—three soft knocks at the door. Y/ N stiffened.

Harry stood first, slow and careful, and opened it just a crack.

It was Marlene. Her face was red. Her eyes swollen. She held nothing in her hands. Just stood there shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Y/N moved behind Harry.

Marlene’s voice broke. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve said something sooner. I—I thought he was just obsessing. Just… playing detective. I didn’t know how deep he was in. I didn’t know he’d… do that.”

Y/N stepped forward slowly. “You don’t have to—”

“I do.” Marlene choked on the words. “He changed. He wasn’t always like that. He was kind once. Gentle. Before the… the cases. The paranoia. I lost him before you ever met him.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him. I just—I didn’t want you to think I was like him. That I hated you. That I still do.”

Harry studied her, quiet. Measured. Then opened the door wider. “You want to come in?” he asked.

Marlene shook her head. “No. I just needed to say it.” Her voice cracked again.

“Be careful, okay? This town… it’s not what it looks like. It never is.” Then she turned and walked back across the street.

The door clicked shut behind her. Harry looked at Y/N.

“You believe her?”

Y/N stared at the closed door. “I don’t think it matters.”

They stood there in the stillness. The case was closed. The blood had dried. The story would fade. But the house would always remember. And so would they.

They sold the house in early spring.

Didn’t make a fuss about it. No open houses. No goodbyes. Just a discreet agent, a cash buyer, and keys slid across a counter without ceremony.

It had never felt like home anyway. Not really. Too many nights spent listening for footsteps. Too many shadows that didn’t belong to either of them.

The packing was quick. Efficient. They didn’t own much. Never stayed long enough to collect clutter. Y/N taped the last box shut and stretched her aching back, one hand instinctively resting over the gentle curve of her belly. The bump had come quiet and soft, just like everything else that had found its way into their lives when they weren’t looking.

Harry loaded the final box into the trunk. Slammed it shut. Wiped his hands on his jeans. She turned and faced the house one last time.

It looked the same as it always had—small, square, harmless. Like nothing bad had ever happened inside. Her palm stayed on her stomach. Harry came up behind her. Slipped an arm around her waist and leaned close, his breath warm against her ear.

“In England,” he murmured, “no one will know who we are. The house is tucked in the countryside. No neighbors for miles.”

Y/N smiled faintly, eyes still on the front porch. “Don’t kill anyone,” she said.

Harry chuckled, but it was low, dry, and just sharp enough to leave a mark. “No promises.”

She turned to him then—really turned. Looked up at him with something between amusement and disbelief. He kissed her forehead.

They got in the car. The engine turned over like it knew the way. And just like that, the house and all their haunting history was behind them. Gone.

As they pulled onto the road, the house disappeared in the rearview—like the lives they left behind had never existed, and the ones they’d stolen were finally theirs to keep.

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tpwk-kate · 5 days ago

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new bot! i was watching friends and i was at the part where monica and chandler are secretly dating and their friends think she’s dating a guy from work and that is what inspired this lol

but also i made it 2015 because i realized this morning that ive never made a lhh bot before . so yay first one!

(by the way this is supposed to be before zayn left the band)

harry styles - you’re secretly dating

taglist: @harryvogue @grmsshaile @patriwxlls @hontpwk @dykwyachrissy @littlebvnnyhs @nanaisinmars @harrieskissesx @angelinplaid @proudravenclawbird

like this post to be added to my taglist!!

#harry styles #one direction #c.ai bot #character ai #c.ai requests #long hair harry #character.ai

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vilrry · 1 year ago

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For me it's surreal.

#harry styles #harry #him #his infernal majesty #hs #ville valo #vv #harry edward styles #ville hermanni valo #ville #harry styles long hair

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cherriesnkisses · 1 month ago

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LHH UNSEENS TEN YEARS LATER OH GOD

#harry styles #one direction #lhh #long hair harry #lhh until i die

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nevermind991 · 4 months ago

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miss long hair harry so so much <3

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somuchw1ne · 4 months ago

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harry on film 🍒

#harry styles #frat boy harry styles #long hair harry styles #love on tour #harry styles x reader #duplicity harry #duplicity harry styles

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fallingwillow · 7 days ago

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went a little over the character limit again so here’s a short blurb for this one💓

You are trouble.

The worst part is you know you’re trouble. You know that you can get to me and you abuse that power to no end with your glances and your touches, then smiling innocently like you weren’t making me question everything.

Harry Styles - Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne🩷

Taglist: @sincerely-yours-marsbar @nanaisinmars @thewineranout @flickertiffany @pawmpkinnn @dapimpisere13 @zclhs @merylittlefreak @pops234 @hontpwk @proudravenclawbird @twpk-1d @patriwxlls @alwayslouuu @daydreaming-xo @kateluvshaz @28keira @serraphicst @nikkihs @mbmmj @alex-voiddome @evas1ncenewyork @hailiex @fratboyrryy @vinaftdt @bookworm336699 @moonshine1d @myonlyangel13 @stylessupremqcy @harrysredshortshorts @averilovesnarry @harrystyleshotwife

like this post to be added to my taglist!!

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pinkboaclub · 3 months ago

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Coachella

Summary: You and your friend group go to Coachella, when your very flirtatious friend, Harry, gets a little too touchy, and you get a little too horny, you decide to stop by your tent to blow off some steam.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, exhibition, casual sex, Harry is kind of a sleaze, not proofread

You and your friend group trudged through the sweltering desert heat, the Coachella crowd was vibrant with life, a sea of colorful clothes dancing to the rhythm of the musicians that had just started to play. The air had an intense scent of sunscreen and weed.

You had chosen an outfit carefully, a very short pink skirt that barely covered your ass with every step. Above it, you wore a crop top that hugged your body tightly, with a glitter scattered across your chest and hair.

Your friend, Harry, couldn't help but stare at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your body as it swayed in the crowd. You had noticed his flirty behavior before, the way a smirk would immediately land on his face when you walked into a room, and lingering glances that followed your every move.

But, he had done that with everyone. You had seen that smirk on his face when other women walked by, the way he would look other girls up and down like he would you. So you never gave him the time of day. You brushed off all of his advances as just another cheeky remark.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry's flirty comments grew more frequent, his eyes locked on the bare skin of your legs that your skirt exposed. He leaned in closer, shouting over the music, "You look amazing in that skirt, you know that, right?" His breath was warm against your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him. "It's just a skirt, Harry," you yelled back, though you couldn't deny the thrill that shot through you when his eyes lingered on your thighs. "There's plenty of other girls wearing them here, why don't you go compliment them?"

But Harry wasn't easily deterred. He stepped closer, his hand grazing your bare skin as he leaned in to be heard over the pounding bass. "Just thought I’d let you know." he said, his voice low and filled with a hunger you hadn't noticed before.

You turned to face him, your arms folded across your chest as the crowd surged around you. "How many girls have you said that to tonight?" you shot back, your voice tinged with skepticism. Harry chuckled, you couldn't tell whether that was a conformation or a denial.

Truth was, it had been a while since you'd slept with anyone. You had been busy with work, and the last guy you had been with was...less than satisfactory. Though you normally wouldn't give it a second thought, tonight, the thought of Harry's hands on you, his mouth, sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked back at him as you swayed to the music performance you were watching. He looked down at you and gave you a slight smile and an eyebrow raise. You kept shifting, almost uncomfortable in your skin as the thought overtook your brain. His hands going up your skirt, then up your shirt, fucking you relentlessly. Maybe just one night with him wouldn't hurt.

Turning around, you leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, "You're not so bad yourself, you know." It was cheeky and flirty, a playful smile playing on your lips. You felt his body stiffen in surprise before his hand found your lower back, pulling you closer, your hips now swaying in sync with his. The tension between you grew palpable, the music seeming to pulse with every beat of your racing heart.

Your mind wandered to your hotel room…though you wouldn’t be seeing it for another three days. Your friend group had splurged on Coachella camping passes, instead of long drives back to a hotel you’d be camping out in the desert. But...you can still have sex in a tent...and surely there wouldn't be that many at the campsite while there were performances...

Turning back to Harry, you leaned in and whispered in his ear again, "I'm not really into the next few performers. Are you willing to miss some?...Go back to the tents for a bit?" You knew exactly what you were implying, and from the way Harry's eyes darkened, he knew too. He nodded eagerly and took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm going to my tent for a bit, to drink some water and cool off." You whispered in one of your girlfriends ears before walking through the crowd of people with Harry, still hand in hand.

The journey through the festival grounds to the camping area felt like forever, people would look at you two, you wondered if they knew what you were doing. Harry walked closely behind you, one hand in yours, his other hand on your lower back as you led him through the maze of tents. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine.

As the music faded, you felt your excitement grow, as did Harry's, his touches and kisses to your neck. You decided to get him a little more excited...lifting the hem of your skirt just enough to show a hint of your lacy underwear, and let it drop before he could get a good look. Harry's eyes went wide, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You turned around and looked at him with a mischievous smile, "What?" you asked, playing coy. Harry laughed and shook his head, his walking pace now becoming quicker.

Once you reached the tent, you didn't bother with the zipper, you practically ripped it open and pulled Harry inside. Harry's hands were everywhere, on your thighs, your waist, your breasts, as you kissed him deeply, your sloppily tongues dancing together.

The tent was hot, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside. Harry's jeans were tight, his erection pressing against you. You could feel him growing harder with each passing second as you were grinding yourself against him.

Your kisses grew more desperate, your hands reaching down to stroke him through his pants. He groaned into your mouth, his hands cupping your ass, pushing you closer. "What made you change your mind? Couldn't resist me any longer?" Harry asked as he pulled away from your lips.

You chuckled at the clear display of his massive ego. "Oh yeah...definitely" you replied sarcastically, your breath hot against his cheek. Harry didn't need to hear another word. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for another deep kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

Breaking away from the kiss, you playfully pushed him down to the makeshift bed in the tent. The air was thick with desire as you straddled him, your skirt riding up even further, giving him a clear view of your barely-there underwear. You started to sway your hips to the rhythm of a distant stage, giving him a mini lap dance, your hands moving seductively over your own body, teasing him.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Harry's breath hitched as you began to palm him through his pants, feeling the heat and hardness growing beneath your touch. His eyes were glued to your movements, watching as your hands danced closer to the bulge in his jeans.

The tent was dimly lit by the distant festival lights, casting a soft glow over your bodies as you began to rock your hips against his, teasing him with every grind. Harry's eyes were hooded with lust, his hands reaching up to grip your waist as he watched you move. You could feel his cock pulsing with every beat of the music that echoed through the fabric walls.

With a seductive smirk, you slithered down his body, your hands working at the button of his jeans as you went. You slid the zipper down with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing the prize you'd been eyeing. Harry's cock sprang free, thick and eager, straining towards you. You took him in your hand, feeling the weight and heat of him, and brought your mouth closer, letting out a soft moan that sent a tremor through his body.

Your eyes locked with his as you took him in your mouth, your tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of his skin. He was so hard, and the feel of him filling your mouth was intoxicating. You took him deep, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag just a little. Harry's eyes filled with surprise and pleasure, his hands gripping the sheets as you began to bob your head up and down, taking him in deeper each time.

You felt the warmth spread through your cheeks, the stretch in your jaw, as you deepthroated him, the sound of your gagging mixing with the festival's music.

Harry's grip on your hair tightened, his hips bucking up slightly as you worked him over. His moans grew louder, and you felt a thrill knowing that you were the one giving him this pleasure. You could feel his muscles tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him to the edge.

But you weren't done teasing him yet. You pulled back, letting him slip almost entirely out of your mouth before diving back in, taking him deep again. Each time you hit the back of your throat, you'd pull back just a bit, letting him feel the tightness of your throat before plunging back down. Harry's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making you wetter than ever.

The sound of your gagging grew louder, mingling with the distant music, as you worked his cock with vigor. You felt powerful, like you were the one in control here, despite being the one on your knees. His hips began to thrust upward, meeting your mouth, urging you to take more of him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through his body.

"Fuck, I need you to fuck me," you breathed out, your voice hoarse from the effort. Harry's eyes blazed with desire as he reached into the back pocket of his tight-fitting jeans, pulling out his wallet. "Of course you carry one around," you murmured, a hint of amusement in your voice. He chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. You took the condom from his hand.

With a seductive smile, you held the foil packet between your teeth and ripped it, sending a jolt of excitement through Harry's body. You took the condom from the packet and held it up, watching his eyes follow your every move. He swallowed hard as you reached for his cock, now glistening with your saliva.

Slowly, you rolled the condom down his length, savoring the feel of his skin under your fingertips. Harry's eyes never left yours, the anticipation building.

"Turn around," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. You complied eagerly, turning away from him to present your ass, your skirt hiked up to expose the lacy underwear that matched the bra you had been teasing him with all night. He took a moment to appreciate the view, his hand coming up to trace the curve of your cheek before smacking it lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

With a swift movement, Harry yanked your underwear down, the fabric catching on your thighs before dropping to the floor. "M'not going to let this pretty skirt go to waste." He said, letting you keep the garment on.

He positioned himself behind you, his cock nudging against your wet entrance as you balanced on your hands and knees. The anticipation was unbearable, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest as you waited for him to fill you up.

With one swift movement, Harry entered you, his cock sliding in deep, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. The feeling of his skin against yours was electric, and you couldn't help but push back into him, urging him deeper.

He took the hint, gripping your hips as he began to pound into you, the sound of your bodies slapping together mixed with your breath panting was the only thing you could hear.

Each thrust was deep and hard, his cock filling you up completely. You bit your lip to keep from screaming out his name, the sensation was overwhelming, like nothing you've ever felt before. The tent was bouncing slightly with each slam.

Looking back at Harry with a seductive gaze, you reached back with one hand to palm your own ass, giving him the full view of your body. His eyes widened at the sight, and he groaned, his strokes becoming more erratic. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure.

You felt your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his cock as he hit just the right spot. The friction was unbearable, and you could feel your body shaking with the effort to hold off. "I'm going to cum," you warned him, your voice a breathless whisper.

"Then do it," Harry urged, his own voice strained with pleasure. "Let me hear you scream."

With a fiery determination, you threw your head back and let go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping for breath. "Harry!" you screamed, your voice hoarse from the effort as your body convulsed around his cock. He didn't slow down, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you, pushing you through your climax.

Once the peak had passed, and your energy came back up, you turned back to him again, still on your hands and knees, your skirt now hiked up around your waist. Harry's eyes were dark with lust, his movements more urgent as he just watched you come down from your high. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured, his own orgasm clearly on the horizon.

"I want to feel you cum on me," you whispered, turning around to face him, your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the tent floor. Another smirk pulled at Harry's lips, the biggest one he had ever given you. "I want to be a mess, Harry. I want to wear your cum on my back."

The words sent a shockwave through Harry's body, his grip on your hips tightening. He thrust into you with renewed vigor, his eyes locked onto your face, watching as the pleasure built in your eyes. Each movement grew more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Fuck, yes," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "You're going to be so dirty for me."

With one hand still gripping the bed, you reached back with the other, running your fingers up his abs. The feel of his firm, sweaty skin beneath your fingertips was intoxicating. You traced the lines of his six-pack, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each of his thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" you whispered, your voice filled with a seductive edge. "I want your cum so bad, baby. Want you to paint my back."

He didn't reply, your words leaving him speechless. The only sound was the music outside, the occasional shout of a distant festival-goer, and the slap of your bodies coming together. His eyes were focused on yours, watching the lust and desire build in their depths.

With a final, powerful thrust, Harry pulled out, his cock glistening with your arousal. You felt the loss of his warmth and the sudden coolness of the desert air, making you shiver slightly. "Move your hair," he ordered, his voice thick with need. You complied, arching your back and pushing your hair to one side, exposing your bare skin to him.

You watched as he stroked himself, his hand moving rapidly up and down his length. The sight was mesmerizing, the way his hand moved with such precision, the way his forearm muscles flexed with each stroke. You bit your lip, unable to look away.

Without warning, Harry spurted, ropes of white-hot cum that landed on your bare back. You gasped as the warm liquid painted your skin, a thrill shooting through you that was almost as intense as your orgasm. He continued to cum, both of you watching, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he watched you become a canvas for his pleasure.

You felt a sense of satisfaction as he finished, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching the last droplets land on your skin. "Looks like your hard work of constant flirting paid off." You couldn't help but smirk, feeling a sense of power as you saw the desire still in his eyes.

Without missing a beat, you reached back with one hand, gathering a glob of his cum on your finger. You brought it to your mouth, the tangy taste of him hitting your taste buds. Harry's breath hitching as you licked your finger clean with a deliberate, almost theatrical flick of your tongue. "It's a good thing we're in a tent," you said with a smirk, "Otherwise, everyone would know what a slut I just was." You joked, referring to your loud screams (that everyone in a close radius definitely heard) before giving him a shirt to wipe the rest off your back.

You both lay there for a moment, panting, the sticky mess between your legs the only evidence of what had just occurred.

"Same time tomorrow?" Harry murmured against your neck, his voice low and teasing. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"If my legs can handle it," you replied, your voice thick with sarcasm. Harry chuckled, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed your neck. You both lay there in the tired, sticky mess.

You both knew that you couldn't stay in the tent forever, everyone would wonder where you were, though you definitely could.

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502 @girlslovejahseh

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 5 months ago

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It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends’ eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around.

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder.

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up.

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

"Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck.

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes.

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her.

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him.

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand.

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

"You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit.

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer.

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket.

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

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tpwk-keepdriving · 5 months ago

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Harry with babies/kids is my favourite thing🥹

He’s gonna be a very good dad💞

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles hs1 #harry’s house #harry 1d #one direction #1direction #long hair harry #1d #dadrry

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vilrry · 1 year ago

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#harry styles #him #his infernal majesty #ville valo #vv #harry #hs #ville hermanni valo #harry edward styles #harry styles long hair

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cherriesnkisses · 3 months ago

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if he looked at me like that, i can’t promise my next actions

#harry styles #one direction #lhh #lhh until i die #long hair harry

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narrycherries · 6 months ago

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ivy: how’s one to know..

Harry is just an ass and she’s just a stranger.

masterlist // ivy series

word count: 8.6k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x fem oc, angst

[before you start: i edited this bc i ended up giving her name back to her, it’s no longer (y/n) but of course feel free to read it however you want and change the descriptors to whatever you prefer!]

The holiday season had wrapped up a handful of days ago and things were slowly starting to go back to normal. The sparkling strings of lights decorating neighborhoods and businesses all around the city were being taken down and shoved back in their storage boxes until the last month of the year circled around again. The weather was staying consistent, though. The gloomy overcast skies and chilly wind that whipped through the streets were enough to keep people bundled up and wishing for spring to arrive.

Most people she knew enjoyed the holidays a lot more than she did. Sure, she loved to see the colorful lights lining roofs and windows of boutiques and restaurants along the main strip. There was something so juvenile, so innocent about the giddy feeling that would fill her stomach as she saw a pile of fake presents and a decorated tree in a shop window. Somewhere deep down inside of her heart, she still had that spark that a child would have.

When she was growing up, she sought happiness during the holidays by admiring other people’s outdoor decorations or gazing in awe at the displays put up in her schools. She didn’t have what most people had that she went to school with, but she tried to be grateful, even as a young chlid, and appreciate what surrounded her.

A strong sadness was building in her chest as she slid the ceramic Santa Claus into his box to pack him away with the other Christmas decorations. She thought about the many years she questioned if Santa was real. There were so many nights when she’d squeeze her eyes shut and whisper out loud, her knees on the floor as she put her elbows into the mattress. There was so much hope in her. She believed that if she wished and prayed and dreamed enough, Santa would leave a present or two on the coffee table next to her dad’s stained coffee mug. There wasn’t a tree most of the years of her childhood, but her dad give gift her things (there was no magical Santa though). There were no twinkling lights outside of her window, hanging down from the roof with a clumsy droop. There were no ornaments to place on the branches of a fake tree, lined with a dusty skirt that would be covered with presents. There were no fresh baked cookies and steaming hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. The television never displayed joyful Christmas movies and specials. The radio on the kitchen counter never once sang a tune of a wintery song about snow and ice. No, none of that. It was just her dad, her brother, and herself for a while.

“Did you keep the box for this guy?” Emma’s curious voice snapped her from her trance.

She cleared her throat and looked up from her spot on the living room rug. Her ‘new’ roommate was holding a ceramic snowman who’s decorated style matched the Santa she just put away. She reached into the plastic storage container and grabbed the box, passing it up to Emma.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, Ivy.” She smiled back, noticing that there was a glimmer of disappoint on her face, but she didn’t mention it to her. “You didn’t have to put everything away so fast. I would’ve been fine with it for a few more weeks.”

Emma had just moved in before Christmas. Her things were half way unpacked throughout the small house they now shared.

“I didn’t want it to crowd you. Besides, Christmas is over.” Ivy’s tone was partially rough as she began to pack away the miniature houses placed across the console table that the television hung above.

“I’m so excited to actually be here, like, full time. Niall’s a bit upset.. but I told him he’d survive.” She said with a laugh as she started to collect the small figurines that went with the village.

“I’m excited, too. I’m glad you’re actually up for decorating the space and not just.. letting me do it all. My last roommate was not particularly outgoing.” Ivy snickered at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t be missing that person at all. The girl was nice and all, but she was quite boring.

“Oh, totally! I’ve already got some stuff I want to show you in my room. Maybe we could put it out here or something.”

“I’m fine with anything as long as it’s cute.” She shot her friend a grin.

Emma wasn’t a new friend by any means. They met early on while they were both at university. Emma was actually her first partner for a project in one of their biology classes. They met on the third day of class and became friends very quickly. Their chemistry went far beyond the confines of the science lab. Emma was joyful and adventurous and offered Ivy that motivating spark to actually go out and have fun. Not that Ivy couldn’t match Emma’s energy once her veins were filled with alcohol, she just didn’t go out as much.

“Speaking of Niall, I haven’t seen him a while. How’s he doing?”

A proud smile crept to Emma’s lips. “He’s been good. But he’s been super busy with the store.. almost never get to spend time during the actual day with him.”

“But it’s going well, the store, I mean? Like he’s having success?”

Emma nodded. “It’s been great. I told him it would do good around here, especially with the college students. And besides, people are always looking for music lessons. I’m glad he took my advice and decided to offer those through the business.”

Niall was an excellent musician, or so Ivy has been told. She hadn’t actually seen him play anything in person, only through recordings and videos Emma had shown her. She knew Niall was talented, though. He played the guitar and the bass, both of which seemed entirely too complicated in Ivy’s mind. When they started dating last year, Niall was in the midst of finalizing a business plan and opening his music store. Emma told her all about it, including her fears and anxiety about the situation - but only because she was afraid Niall would get so caught up in the store that he would abandon their relationship. Niall ended up not doing that, obviously, and was able to balance everything in his life. He and Emma would be celebrating their one year anniversary on Valentine’s Day - which Ivy thought was particularly sweet and romantic.

“I’m glad everything’s working out.”

The store opened back in the summer, and Ivy had only gone by once to see the place. It was in a part of town she didn’t frequent very often, so the opportunity to casually stroll in was rare. It wasn’t like it was Emma’s store. While she did know Niall well enough to refer to him as a friend, she wasn’t close with him. She was supportive, of course, but not overly involved.

“He’s coming by later to help me put together the dresser. Well.. he’s going to do it for me, not help me.” She snickered as she joined Ivy on the floor to start gently laying the mini figurines in a small cardboard box they knew as home.

“I can make dinner if you’d like. Niall likes that pasta I make, right?”

“Yeah! He actually asked me about that a few weeks ago. He said I have to get your recipe.” She grinned back, rolling her eyes at the thought of her boyfriend’s obsession with food.

“He’s only had it like twice.. but it’s flattering to know I’m such a good chef.” Ivy laughed under her breath. “I’ll give you the recipe.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent on putting away the last of the decorations and moving them into the hallway closet. The box fit perfectly in the bottom of the closet. Emma disappeared into her room to continue unboxing her belongings. Ivy was mostly occupied with dusting the wood furniture and wiping down the kitchen. She liked a neat, tidy home and she was very glad to know that Emma did as well. She checked the cabinets to make sure she had the ingredients required for the pasta she’ll be making later on.

Every now and then, she’d hear a crash of something hitting the floor come from the hallway, presumably from Emma’s room. She would just giggle to herself as Emma’s dramatic cries of curses and sighs would fill the small home. Despite being friends for a handful of years, they had never lived in the same space before. Even while at university when it was mandatory for them to live on campus, they lived in different dorm buildings. Emma was in a sorority and definitely more comfortable with herself than Ivy was. She kept to her small dorm with her roommate, whom she didn’t have anything in common with but she was kind to her. If she were being honest, she thought Emma would try to move in with Niall once her old lease had expired. But, Niall was comfortable where he was in his apartment and he already had a roommate. As much as Emma wanted to live with him, it was just too soon anyway. They tossed around the idea, but Ivy mentioned to her that perhaps she needed to wait, just in case. Niall wasn’t upset with Emma’s decision to move elsewhere, as long as she was in the city close to him. Ivy was also informed that Niall’s roommate wasn’t too keen on letting someone else share their space. She had never met him before, didn’t even know his name, but she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t want her house to be permanently crowded either. Niall let Emma stay over there a lot, though, but spending the night for the weekend or on a random weekday when it was too late to drive back home was different than staying full time. And of course, Niall was allowed over whenever he wanted and she made that clear to Emma before she signed the lease. As long as he respected their home and didn’t leave a mess behind, he was welcomed.

A gentle sigh slipped past her thick lips as she trailed back to the living room. The open concept of the front of the home meant the living room was attached to the kitchen with no barrier other than the island. She sat down on the end of the couch, the damp kitchen towel she used to wipe down the furniture sat on the side table. She picked it up, along with the framed photo that was next to the pretty gold lamp. The gold of the frame didn’t quite match the lamp, but it was still beautiful to her. The ornate metal that decorated the frame was cold as she carefully rubbed the pads of her fingers over it. She stared at the photograph locked behind the glass, the speed of her heart beating increased only slightly.

The image was of her and her mother when she was around three years old. It was Halloween, she was dressed in a pink dress that was modeled after Princess Aurora, and her hair was curled and a little makeup playfully swept over her features. Her mother was dressed in a Cinderella themed costume, her matching golden blonde hair curled, too, and pinned up. It wasn’t the last holiday they spent together, but it was one of the only ones Ivy remembered. She doubted herself at times about the memory - she was only three and a half, did she actually remember it or was she imagining it? Despite always doubting herself, she knew too well that the memory was burned into her brain. She can remember the smell of the burning iron as her mom curled her hair. She remembers getting tickled by the fluffy makeup brush as a bit was applied to her face just to add to the illusion. She remembers the taste of the mini chocolate bar her mom unwrapped for her in the car in between neighborhoods - the night was full of trick or treating and giggles and squeals. She even remembered the way her mom’s hand carefully adjusted her curls when they got caught in the zip of Ivy’s costume. It was a memory she held dear to her heart, one she prayed she’d never lose. Ivy had always tried her hardest to find things to fill in the void of not having her mother around. But no matter how determined she was, nothing ever seemed to be enough. She found joy in little things, like collecting whatnots and trinkets that reminded her of the ones that littered her house when her mom was alive. She enjoyed searching for squirrels and birds in the park, collecting odd looking rocks during her walks, listening to her favorite songs on repeat, and a plethora of other things. But nothing could really fill the space in her heart.. It was quite a big space, after all.

That evening, after the sun nestled below the horizon and stars littered the dark winter sky, Emma invited Niall over for dinner. It was third day of actually staying here, since she opted to spend two weeks with Niall for Christmas between her parent’s place and his. Ivy was working on preparing the ingridents for the pasta when Niall knocked and was let in with a grinning Emma planting a kiss to his mouth. He laughed and brushed her off, not a big fan of showing affection in front of other people, even though he knew Ivy wasn’t watching.

“Hey, long time no see!” Niall said with a smile as he followed Emma into the kitchen.

Ivy’s eyes glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Niall. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I think you guys haven’t seen each other since the day we moved my crap in.” Emma said with a slight unsure tone.

“Your crap that still isn’t unpacked.” Niall sighed as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossing on his chest.

Ivy chuckled to herself as Emma began to give him excuses for why her things weren’t put away and in their new spots yet. The list included things like being busy with work, having errands to run, and of course ‘spending all my time with you’ that made Niall smack his lips and give her a sarcastic ‘okay, sure’.

They kept up their banter for a bit while (Y/n) rinsed her hands at the sink. She had finished everything she needed to do before actually cooking the food. When she turned towards them, Niall was peering his eyes into the pot of boiling water, frowning as he saw it was empty.

“She’s making the pasta you said you like.” Emma said as she grabbed his forearm to tug him away from the oven.

“Oh, really? That stuff was so good.” Niall’s eyes shot to Ivy’s. “I want a whole pot of it for my birthday, please and thanks.”

She shook her head in disbelief as a laugh rolled out of her mouth. “Isn’t your birthday in September?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just don’t want ya to forget.”

“C’mon, let's start with the dresser, Niall. Let Ivy cook.” Emma said after checking the time on her phone. “We’ll clean up the kitchen after dinner, okay? Don’t worry about it!”

“Alright, that’s fine. I’ll let you know when it's done.”

And just like that, she was alone in the kitchen again. It didn’t bother her to be alone, she had been for most of her life, especially her late teenage and adult years. Finding something to occupy her bored mind was not a new task for her to learn. She opted for sitting at the small dining table after setting the timer on the oven in case she forgot to check the time.

Ivy pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants and started to maneuver through the notifications that had come through since she last checked. One was a message from a random company that was offering a sale this coming weekend, there were two texts from Niall - the first asking if he needed to bring anything, the second saying Emma told him not to and to just ignore the text - the rest were random notifications from different apps.

Her attention went to her photo app as she scrolled to a few days ago, just a day or so after the New Year began. She went for a walk in the park close by one day during lunch when she had nothing else to do. She snapped a few photos of little random things, like a wild flower that had somehow managed to survive the low temperature, a bird that was perched on top of the black metal fence that lined the park, and a snapshot of the sky with the clouds parting in such a way that made it look like heaven. After having lost so much in life, she learned and forced herself to appreciate the little things that were around. Details of daily life, like the fall of a leaf to the ground or the chirp of a bird in a tree, were almost therapeutic for her.

Dinner didn’t take too long to cook, but the dresser was seeming to take much longer than Emma had expected it to. When Ivy knocked on the bedroom door and stuck her head in, she grinned as she saw Niall sitting on the floor with his head thrown back and Emma pacing the room with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her once neatly fixed dark hair was messily tied in a bun on the back of her head. The instruction booklet for the dresser was laid out in between Niall’s legs, along with a torn bag of hardwear.

“Food’s ready.” She said with a singsong voice that made Niall pop his head up.

“Finally.” He quickly rose to his feet and grabbed Emma’s wrist, tugging her behind him as they followed Ivy down the hall and towards the kitchen.

“Eat as much as you want, I made plenty.” She said as she let them make a bowl first.

“Don’t have to tell him twice.” Emma’s mouth shaped to a smile as Niall practically pushed her aside to be first.

“Guests eat first, right?” He joked as he gave them both a quick glance, a smirk on his face as he grabbed the serving utensil.

Once the three of them had fixed what they wanted and claimed a spot at the table, Ivy offered to grab everyone something to drink. Emma and herself chose a glass of ice water while Niall requested a Coke. Emma had just brought home a box this morning after her quick run to the grocery store. The food appeared to be a big hit as Niall scarfed it down, spitting out compliments and satisfied hums that made the girls giggle and roll their eyes jokingly at him.

“Em told me the store is doing great.”

Niall nodded as he sipped his drink. “Yeah, it’s been good, actually. I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you do the lessons. I told her that people are coming in pretty much all day long.” Emma said.

“Yeah, if it’s not someone who’s into music already or just curiously out shopping.. The sign about the lessons really brings people in. And even if they don’t go through with it, they end up looking around and finding something.” Niall told them with a pleased smile, he was relieved his business was staying crowded and people actually enjoyed coming to the store.

“Did you end up finding someone to teach the guitar lessons? I know Emma said something about you were looking for someone else, since you got so busy with your bookings.”

“Yeah, my roommate actually. He’s decent at guitar and he’s just working with the beginners. I’m sticking to the people who sorta know how to play around that just wanna get better.”

Ivy nodded as she took another bite. “That’s good.”

The cooking had made the kitchen a bit warmer than it was before, so she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. The exposure of the small tattoo on the inside of Ivy’s elbow caught Emma’s eye.

“Oh!” She chirped suddenly, making Niall flinch. “I forgot to tell you, Ivy, I’m getting a tattoo in a few weeks. Already got my appointment.”

“Oh, really? Where at this time?” Ivy asked with genuine curiosity.

“On my foot. Just a cute little flower. Niall says it's going to hurt.”

Ivy squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “You don’t have any, do you?”

Niall chuckled. “No, but I’ve been told the foot is terrible.”

“I’m not a baby, Niall. It’s not my first one. Besides, Zayn said it would be fine since I’m used to the feeling.”

“Zayn is lying to you to spare your feelings and get your money. He is my friend, I think I'd know when he lies.” Niall was only teasing her, but it brought a flush to Emma’s cheeks.

“Shut up.” She mumbled through a pout.

Ivy was amused by their interaction, but she chose to move on with the conversation so Emma wouldn’t get too sensitive. She wasn’t over emotional or anything, but sometimes she would get embarrassed if Niall playfully taunted her in front of other people.

“Zayn.. is that the guy I met that time at the bar?” Ivy couldn’t remember the person’s name, but she was sort of sure that it was the same person they’re referring to.

Niall nodded to her. “Yeah. The one with all the tattoos.. I would say the one with the black hair but right now it’s platinum blonde.” The lift of Niall’s brows made her think that maybe he didn’t approve of the look, but he had no choice but to accept it.

“I thought that was the same guy. I’m pretty sure he told me he owned a shop.”

“He’s the best around.” Emma said with a laugh. “Plus.. he gives me a discount.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Niall puckered his lips and leaned her direction, demanding a kiss that he knew he wouldn’t get.

“Hush.” She pushed her fingers to his mouth and gently shoved his head back.

He laughed at her reaction. “Just saying, Em. He’s my friend.. like I said before.”

Emma ignored him and turned her eyes to Ivy. “Anyway, Niall can’t come with me.. so I was going to see if you wanted to go.”

“I can see if I can.. just let me know the date and time.”

“Alright. I will. Niall, don’t be a pig.” She groaned as she saw he had slipped from the table and was at the stove, piling his bowl full again.

“Let him eat it. That way we won’t have to worry about leftovers.”

Emma shook her head. “He’d eat the actual house if you’d let him.”

—•—

Ivy was puckering her lips in the mirror of the car visor as she applied her lip balm. It was chilly outside and the weather wasn’t being kind to her skin at all. She huffed as she saw the patch of dry skin right in the middle of her forehead. She had just applied her moisturizer before they loaded in the car to drive to the tattoo shop. Emma was driving, and every now and then she’d glance Ivy’s way and notice she was still staring in the mirror.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asked as Ivy slid the cover over the mirror and flipped the visor up, her back hitting the seat as she felt defeated.

“My skin is horrible right now.” She rolled her eyes to herself, upset that it was bothering her this much. It was just a bit of dry skin and chapped lips, she shouldn’t be so affected by it.. but she was. “Even my lips are dying.”

Emma smiled. “I’m sure lots of people are struggling right now. I’ve got a dry spot on my cheek. It’s been there for a few days. Just the weather.”

“But it's annoying. Y’know my hormones are whacky sometimes.. feel like as soon as I get it under control, I break out or have something like this happen.”

“When we get home, we can look up some different products. Maybe we can find something better for seasonal dryness. My cream isn’t working either.”

Ivy shrugged and took out her phone to mindlessly look through one of her social media apps. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Even though the shop wasn’t too far from where they lived, Emma didn’t want to walk in the cold and she didn’t want to have to cover the tattoo with thick, tight shoes afterwards. So, Ivy agreed to drive back after they left, and after they grabbed some food. The shop was right around the corner, and it caught Ivy’s attention as they turned onto the street. It was just off the main road of the downtown area. The street was lined with different restaurants, stores, thrifting spots, boutiques, and a few law firm offices and an emergency clinic that stayed open during the weekend. She was familiar with the area, and had actually looked towards the tattoo shop’s sign plenty of times. They pulled into a spot and Emma took in a deep breath before pulling the keys out.

“Are you nervous?” Ivy said with an amused grin plastered over her lips as she opened the car door.

“What if Niall’s right? What if it hurts real bad?”

“You’ll be fine. You got one on your ribs and your spine. You can take it.”

Emma was still nervous as she followed Ivy to the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, allowing Emma to slip into the building first. It was warm in the small lobby of the tattoo shop. She was unfamiliar with the specific shop, but not the reality of one. It looked like the others she had been to and the place she got her tattoos done at. The walls were dark grey and decorated with interesting pieces of artwork and posters. There were rock band posters, most of which she recognized, on the wall behind the dark wood desk that acted as a check in counter. Nobody was at the counter, though. There was a small sleek, black leather couch pressed against the side wall, above it hung a large canvas with what appeared to be an original artwork painted on to it. She saw the signature in the lower left corner and smiled as she read over the name she had heard Niall use a few weeks ago during dinner. So this Zayn character was more than just a tattoo artist? She was intrigued by the brush work on the canvas, the beauty of the image was breathtaking. The muted colors stood out oddly bold against the stark white and midnight black areas. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. Although she didn’t partake in any form of art herself, she was an admirer. She enjoyed frequenting art galleries and museums and contributing to artists as much as she could. She once got a commissioned painting of a bouquet of flowers from an older woman in the area who was a somewhat known artist. The piece lives on the wall near the hall closet.

“Zayn?” Emma called out suddenly as she grew impatient with standing in the middle of the lobby.

Ivy sighed to herself as Emma disappeared through a door. It lead to the main tattoo room, with three different stations placed in it. The back room was Zayn’s private room that his clients were able to be secluded in. Emma knocked on that closed door and waited patiently. A few moments later, Zayn opened the door with a smile, happy to see her.

“Hi, Em.” He said, his accent thick as it rang through the small building.

Ivy heard them chatting, so she decided to peek through the door, a nervous smile on her face. Zayn’s eyes caught hers as he towered over Emma. He offered a friendly wave and gestured for her to join them. She nervously stepped over the threshold and swallowed gently.

“Zayn, do you remember Ivy? You guys met a while back.” Emma said with a gesture of her hand as Ivy approached them.

Immediately, she recognized his features - from his dark eyes to his nearly fully inked arms. His tattooed sleeves wrapped over his shoulders, around his neck, crept over each wrist and wiggled around his fingers. He was covered, to say the least. She could only presume the rest of him looked like that. Colorful tattoos mixed with jet black ones littered his skin. And she noticed, of course, that his hair was blond now like Niall had mentioned.

“I think so, yeah. You’re the chick Niall said could outdrink me, right?” Zayn asked with a laugh.

“I don’t drink that much.. but yeah, that’s me.”

Emma gave her a nudge of her elbow. “She can out drink anyone when she actually lets loose.”

Her eyes rolled as a smile toyed on her lips, still slick from the lip balm. “Yeah yeah.”

“Let me get my chair cleaned off and you ladies can come back here.” Zayn said just as he grabbed the knob to his private room.

They heard something hit the floor and then a shuffle of shoes moving against the tile. Emma furrowed her brows and gave Zayn a curious look.

“Someone in there?”

“Yeah, I just finished a piece.”

He opened the door and went inside, shutting it behind him again. Ivy turned towards Emma and gave her a smile, unsure of what to do next. Emma grabbed her hand and nodded towards the open lobby door.

“We can wait in here.”

They returned to the lobby, where Ivy was easily distracted by the art on the walls again. There was a print of a skull near the door. It had flowers pouring over the crown of it, which then melted to puddles as they hit the imaginary ground. She thought it was interesting and quite cool. From what she could tell about Zayn’s vibe, it fit it well. The music playing from the speakers in the ceiling was loud enough to be heard but not too invasive. She could tell it was a curated playlist going, because the song that just begun seemed to be sung by the same person as the one before.

“Zayn just texted me.. he said we can come back.”

“I thought someone was-“ Ivy stopped speaking the second a body appeared in the doorway. “Oh.”

“Hey, Harry.” Emma said with a friendly tone as she stood up, motioning for Ivy to follow her.

“Hey, Emma.” The stranger replied with a quick lift of one corner of his mouth.

Ivy was slightly confused because it obviously appeared that the two knew each other. She had never heard Emma refer to anyone by the name of Harry, at least not that she could recall. She licked her lips and let her eyes fall down his tall, broad frame.

“What did you get?” Emma asked with her usual curious voice.

Ivy was listening, but she wasn’t paying that much attention. She couldn’t help but be taken aback by the appearance of the person in front of them. He was tall, much taller than Niall but probably close to Zayn’s height. He looked like a sky scraper standing in front of Emma and herself, both of which were shorter than average. His long, dark hair shaped into curls that were messily laying on his shoulders. He suddenly swept his hand through his roots the second she realized he had such long hair. The motion caused the lights above them to ricochet off the rings covering his fingers.

“This.” He said as he extended his right arm to them, well mainly to Emma.

There was a freshly inked snake curling around his forearm, each scale placed perfectly on his tanned skin. There were remenents of blood speckled across his skin, and a deep redness that hazed over the entire tattoo.

“Wow! That’s so good.” Emma beamed at the delicate work.

“Yeah, took two sessions. Zayn got a bit tired last time.” He smirked gently at the girl he knew, completely ignoring the one he didn’t.

“Well, it was cool seeing you! Are you headed home?”

He shook his head. “Gonna sit here for a while. I’ve got to be at the store in an hour to help Niall.”

She checked the time. “Yeah, he said he was the only one closing tonight.”

“Emma?” Zayn called from the back room, his head looking around the doorframe searching for her.

“Coming!” She hollered back, taking one last look at Harry’s freshly inked arm. “It was good seeing you. If you leave before I get out of here, I’ll see you later.”

Ivy didn’t even realize she was tracing her eyes over his body. His arms were like tree trunks, muscles taut under his skin and veins popping out, rolling around as he moved. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of dark jeans, she could tell through the fabric that they were toned as well. It wasn’t until he suddenly walked past her, not even sparing her a glance, that she realized she had been standing frozen.

Emma started towards the back room, Ivy in tow as she felt an embarrassed blush cover her cheeks. She didn’t know this Harry guy, but she hoped she wasn’t staring too hard at him. It definitely wasnt polite to just stare at a stranger, especially when she was blanking out. What if she was making a face at him? Something nasty, or something rude looking? She was unsure, but chose to ignore it. He didn’t seem bothered by anything as he took a spot on the couch.

Zayn’s office was just as she expected it to be. It was a deep shade of green, the walls coated in framed prints and a few smaller canvases of what she figured was his work. There was a small accent chair placed in the corner for guests. She sat down and started darting her eyes around the room. The type of work that Zayn had pinned to a board on the back wall caught her eye. He seemed to be good at everything, but most of it was bold color work or extremely detailed realism, sort of like the snake she saw on Harry’s arm moments ago. She wondered if Zayn had given himself any of his own tattoos or if he went to someone else. Surely, not every place on his body was accessible by his own hands, but maybe some of them were done by him. She felt like an amateur compared to him. She had a few tattoos placed on her body, but nothing quite as big or detailed as what she saw on the board or on Zayn’s skin.

“Ivy is your new house mate, right?” Zayn asked Emma as she got comfortable on the chair.

“Yeah. I moved in before Christmas.”

“But.. you’ve known each other for a while, right? I can’t exactly remember.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, since we were in college together.”

“Zayn.. do you mind if I look through this?” Ivy asked politely as she picked up the small binder off the console table next to the chair. A few figurines of characters she recognized, an hour glass with black sand, and a plant lived on the table as well.

“Of course not, that’s why it’s there.” He gave her a chuckle, but kept his response nice.

She opened the book and started to slowly flick through the pages. She saw his signature on the bottom of the designs. They were all so perfect. Some were executed with such detail and precision that she could've sworn they were fake, others were more loose drawn in a free handed style or just more whimsical in nature. She saw a sketch of a few bees on one of the pages. They were in black and grey, mostly realistic with subtle, soft shading and delicate lines. The drawing was pretty and neat. She glanced to the corner, searching for his signature, but she didn’t find it. Instead, in the corner opposite of where Zayn favored to sign his name was a small H. She hummed to herself, curious to know why Zayn had someone else’s drawing in his book. She quickly shook the thought out and reminded herself that there three other stations in the front. They were not abandoned by any means, she could tell people worked at them based on the different things displayed and the personal trinkets and objects adnoring the areas. Maybe this was one of his college’s work or maybe it was random.

For the most part, the book was filled with things Zayn did. Some of them were his own creations while others were common tattoo designs just drawn by his own hand instead of being pulled from the internet. She liked the way he had a bunch of his own things offered in styles that were more popular. He appeared to be a well versed artist with the talent to create just about anything.

As Zayn prepped Emma’s skin for her tattoo, he was talking to her about Niall’s store. He asked how it was going and if she had heard any horror stories yet of Niall messing up payroll or forgetting to stock an item. She only laughed and said she was surprised he was staying so calm and organized. Everything about the store was going more than according to plan, as at least as much as Ivy could tell from what she’s heard. She was still so happy for Niall. His hobby had turned into a passion and a business and he was able to share it with others, it was like a dream come true she bet.

“Alright, are y’ready?” Zayn said with a deep breath of his own as Emma grew more and more nervous in the chair.

“I think so.”

“You’ll do fine, Em.” Ivy encouraged from the corner, her eyes now focused on her friend.

“Just take some deep breaths. Tell me if it’s too much.” Zayn told her as he pulled the stencil paper off her foot. The flower wasn’t that big, but there were lots of tiny details that Zayn knew would probably hurt her more than anything else she’s gotten. “Just a tattoo.”

“If I cry, you can’t tell Niall. I told him I could handle this.” Emma mumbled out with a frown as she stared at her foot.

Zayn smiled and leaned back, the gun still buzzing in his hand. “Before I start, is it in the spot you want?”

“What do you think? Is it good?” She asked him, twisting her foot to a different pose.

“It’s not my foot, love.”

She groaned and looked over towards Ivy. “Can you check?”

Ivy laughed a little but nodded as she stood up. Just as she was about to step towards them, Emma called for someone else to take a peek at the design.

“Harry? Are you still in there?” Her voice echoed through the room, she hoped that it spilled into the lobby so he could hear her. After a few seconds, she grunted and pulled her phone out to shoot him a text. “I’m so nervous.”

“It looks fine to me.. but it’s your decision.” Zayn told her with a gentle sigh.

Ivy looked down at the placement of the tattoo, her arms behind her back with her hands locked. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

She gave Emma a hopeful smile before turning around. The door opened just as she moved her body, the stranger that wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her, walked in the room, chuckling as he saw Emma fanning her face, the heat swelling her skin with sweat and her eyes with tears - she was nervous.

“You always do this.” Zayn couldn’t resist laughing as Harry walked to them.

Ivy was back in her seat now, her eyes fixed on her phone as she waited for Emma to decide her fate. She could hear snickers coming from Zayn and Harry as they talked about the tattoo and Emma’s apparent hesitation that always came out when she was in Zayn’s chair.

“It’s fine, Emma.” Harry said, giving her a smile before looking to Zayn. “Make sure it hurts.”

“Harry, shut up!” Emma groaned and tried to kick at him. He laughed and took a step back. “You guys are bullies.”

“You’ll be alright, Em. It’s not like it's your first.” Zayn reminded her.

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever. Go ahead, then. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome.” He said lightly before disappearing out of the door again.

Ivy wondered why he didn’t stay in the room with them. Was he not interesting in hearing the painful grunts Emma would sure be letting out soon or watching Zayn draw his design perfected for Emma into her skin? Maybe he was tired of being near the tattoo gun since he spent however long getting his own. She pushed the thought aside entirely the moment she heard Emma groan, curses falling form her lips but not directly towards anyone.

Zayn leaned over her foot, his fingers pulling her skin tight as he worked the needle into it. It didn’t look like it was much fun, and Ivy became grateful that she had no intention of ever inking anything onto her foot.

—•—

There was a freshness in the air as she looked around Niall’s music store. It smelt like freshly picked lemons, probably because he had just sprayed down the counter before she came in following behind Emma. Niall was in one of his usual band tees and a pair of jeans as he sat on a stool with a guitar resting on his thigh. He was talking with a customer, comparing the similarities of two different guitar brands. Emma found herself busy with the items on the checkout counter - dropping loose pens back into their cup and adjusting the pile of papers Niall had pushed to the side.

Ivy stayed curious as she looked around the store. It was very easy to get caught up in the different items, especially since she had little to no idea what some of the accessories were for. Niall provided more than just items for guitars. She didn’t try to decipher every thing on the shelves, just simply moved her eyes across the packages, curiosity settling in her instead of blurting out questions to Niall. The girls came by to bring him some lunch before they did some grocery shopping for the week. Niall was appreciative, but he was unable to entertainment right away.

Emma smiled as the customer approached the counter, the one Niall had been chatting with. She stepped aside and let Niall take over the register. He had another employee here, but he was in the back room looking for a specific thing they needed to restock on one of the shelves. Ivy waited near by as Niall scanned the guitar music book the customer wanted to get and told him that he’d see him when he returned for the guitar - the customer hadn’t made his decision just yet.

When it was just the three of them at the counter, a few customers were lingering around the store just browsing, Niall gave them both a warm smile before wrapping his arms around Emma for a quick hug.

“Thanks for lunch. I’ll eat it when Josh gets off his break.” He said with a sigh, folding his arms and leaning them on the counter.

“The store is so nice, Niall.” Ivy complimented as she glanced around.

“Thanks.”

Emma walked from behind the counter to where Ivy was standing. She was about to ask her something about their plans for the day when her eyes fell on the few pieces of paper taped to the front edge of the counter. One was the refund policy, one was about the instrument lessons, and the other was new since the last time she was here.

“Oh, a flyer? That’s unusual.” Emma suddenly said as she pressed her finger against the pink dyed paper. “For the show?”

“The show?’’ Ivy asked with a drop of her brows as she read over the words printed in bold black letters.

“Yeah, Niall’s band. They play at a bar across town every couple of weeks.” Emma told her.

Ivy remembered as soon as she heard it. Emma had told her before, long ago when she first started dating Niall, that he was in a cover band. It wasn’t anything serious, not trying to search for record deals or gain stardom, it was just him and his friends having a good time. They got decent money for it, including tips from audiences, and it allowed them to play the instruments each member enjoyed. She wasn’t sure who was in the band as Emma never got to that detail before.

“Oh, right.” She nodded as the memory returned to her brain. “That’s cool.”

“Can’t believe Emma’s never brought you to a show.” Niall said with a somewhat surprised expression.

“I invited her a few times but she’s usually busy with work stuff.” Emma defended herself, even though there was no issue with it.

Ivy smiled at her and shrugged. “I remember you asking a couple times.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to attend if you’d like.” Niall offered as he pushed himself off the counter the moment the bell jingled above the entrance door.

He went to greet the customer, someone he actually was used to seeing come in the store, leaving the girls alone again.

“Yeah, it would be fun if you came! You could finally meet Alyssa. She’s usually just home with her and Zayn’s kid.. she doesn’t go out much anymore, but she loves the shows.” Emma exclaimed with a sparkle in her eye.

“I dunno.. when is it?” She asked, glancing at the flyer.

“Next Saturday night. It would be cool, Ivy! We haven’t went out since Halloween.”

The stress building up at work during the holidays definitely set her back from enjoying a lot of things, including several invitations from Emma to join her and Niall at a bar or go out for dinner with just the two of them. It truly felt like forever since she got to have fun with her friend. She thought about it for a moment, but only lifted her shoulder at the idea. The mention of meeting Zayn’s fiancé was intriguing since she had heard so much about her from Emma, but she doubted that would be enough to pull her out for the night.

“Maybe.. depends on how the week goes.”

Emma gave her a partial smile. “Okay. I really hope you can go with me.”

“Yeah, you should definitely come, Ivy.” Niall said as he appeared next to them, the customer gone to look for the item they asked him about.

Once again, she let out a small sigh and faked a smile for them. “I said I’ll see how the week goes, but no promises.”

He gave her a fake, dramatic frown. “C’mon! Live a little!”

“I live a lot.. at work.”

Emma grabbed her elbow and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll convince you before the week ends.”

“M’sure you will, Em.”

After spending a few more minutes talking to Niall, and then waiting in the car as he and Emma disappeared into his office to say a private goodbye, Ivy was ready to get the grocery shopping over with. The store they frequented was near by, so the drive was short and easy. It wasn’t close to their shared house, but the prices were better than anywhere else. Emma offered to take her car, so that left Ivy in the passenger seat with her eyes glued to whatever passed by the window.

“Are you okay, Ivy?” Emma asked as they strolled through the fruit section in search for the items on their list.

She gulped gently, distracting herself by collecting a few apples for the cart. “M’fine, just tired.”

Emma watched as she walked towards the basket of lemons and grabbed two, she’d need them for a receipe she was going to try later in the week. Ivy was normally not this quiet. She enjoyed the task of grabbing their groceries and checking things off their combined list while Emma pushed the cart and double checked everything. Something about doing such a mundane thing made her feel content and comfortable, even if they decided randomly to try a new store they’d never been in. But today was different, Emma was growing concerned with her unusually quiet friend.

“If you’re irritated with me and Niall pushing you about the show.. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go.” Emma said with a soft frown as Ivy returned to the cart with a handful of bananas.

She sat them down and lifted her hesitant gaze to meet her closest friend’s. “I’m fine, Emma. Just tired.”

She shook her head gently. “No, you’re too quiet. What’s wrong?”

“You and Niall didn’t bother me, I swear. The bar thing is.. whatever. I’ll think about it, I promise. It’s just.. one of those days.”

Emma wasn’t believing it all the way. Sure, maybe Ivy was being truthful about the role her and Niall played in her newfound mood, or didn’t play - but something else was up. She licked her lips and decided to stay quiet as Ivy busied herself with grabbing the rest of the fruits before moving onto the fresh vegetables.

Although she didn’t want to press it any further, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened at the music shop or on the way to the grocery store. Her worry was growing quickly and it wasn’t very long before she was asking another question.

“Ivy, please tell me. Are you alright?”

She received a sigh as a response, a couple of tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots joined the cart. “Emma, please.. I’m fine.”

“Something is wrong with you. I don’t want to see you so down.”

Ivy walked towards the next section of the store, knowing that Emma would follow her with the cart no matter if they were talking or not. She held her breath as she thought about what was bothering her. She was too caught up with her racing mind to realize she was actually expressing her emotions on the outside. Emma noticed everything, so clearly she wasn't doing well at hiding it. There was no real issue, really, nothing that anyone caused by saying or doing anything. A lump slid down her throat, Emma was her friend - there was no need to keep anything from her.

Just as they turned down the aisle where the bread was, she stopped in her tracks and turned towards the cart, her hand reaching out to stop it. Emma froze, a lift of her brows offering confidence like a good friend should.

“The guy that walked through the door right before we left.. at Niall’s store..” She started with a strong voice, but it slowly faded to almost a whisper.

Emma nodded, encouraging her to continue. She looked down to the floor as the moment replayed in her memory. It wasn’t an unusual thing for her to experience, in fact it was more common than not. One little thing, one random glance from a passerby, one glimpse of someone with a similar shade of hair as her own, one note from a list of songs she knew were special..

“He reminded me of my brother. I.. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Her response made Emma’s stomach turn to knots. She knew that the conversation was over then, and there wasn’t anything else she could try that would break Ivy. The forbidden topic had been brought up, and quickly dropped back to the vault she kept it locked away in. Emma didn’t mention it again..

[a/n: this is a series! It’s a lot longer per part than my other stuff so I hope you enjoy! This is just the intro so it will be more interesting and exciting as it goes on! reblog, like, do all that lovely stuff!!] ** I did change this from y/n to an actual character but feel free to read her name as whatever you’d like

taglist: (notified for all // if you want to join a taglist for this series, lmk in a comment or message and I’ll start one)

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden

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