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jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

masterlist

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #dont worry darling #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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inamindfarfaraway · 1 year ago

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I can perfectly picture a Batman: Wayne Family Adventures two-partner that properly introduces Harvey Dent, Two-Face, their relationships with Bruce and vice versa. But I can't draw in the slightest. So I'm going to script it and you'll have to use your imagination. It’s a little longer than the average WFA two-parter. But given how many thoughts and feelings I have about Harvey, I’d say it’s impressively concise. For me. If you like how I write Harvey, I recommend my fanfic spotlighting him as a teenager, compared to which I must warn you this script is positively fluffy. Read it on AO3 here! If you want to draw any of this, please tell me in advance and use the updated original post or the AO3 fic, not necessarily your reblog.

A Second Opinion

Part 1

[Panel one. Vertical rectangle, full screen. Nighttime. The exterior of an abandoned building that is notably more decrepit on the right side, Two-Face's current base of operations, from a distance and high angle. The Batmobile is parked outside. Bruce as Batman is seen on the rooftop from behind, striding stiffly toward the skylight. A speech bubble floats in the air above him.]

Barbara: Are you sure you don't want backup?

[Panel two. Barbara as Oracle watches with a frown of wary concern at her desk in the Clocktower.]

I know these confrontations are very personal for you -

[Panel three. Bruce leans over the skylight seen from below it, about to kick it in. His fists and jaw are clenched, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed sharply; even for Batman on a mission, he's in a bad mood.]

Bruce: I'm fine. I have him right where I want him.

[A speech bubble floats in the space below the panel.]

Harvey: I have him right where I want him!

[Panel four. Fade into a flashback. In stark contrast to the dull and dark blues, greys and blacks of the present scene, the flashback panels are full of light, saturated and warm colours. Harvey Dent stands at a round red table outside a café on a sunny day, beaming. He's a handsome, sturdy man with neat, short black hair, a semi-formal brown suit and wide brown eyes. He was seated, but has risen and slammed his palms down on the table in his enthusiuam. Slightly low angle, like the camera is on the table, and to the right so we have a better view of his left side. A gold wedding ring gleams on his finger. His introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent, District Attorney. Gotham’s best lawyer, technically and morally.’.]

And think of the implications! If the Salvatore Maroni can face justice, so can anyone.

[Panel five. He paces a little behind his chair, gesturing animatedly. Motion lines trail and curve around the other way behind him. His right side is now in profile. Same angle, but pulled back to see over the shoulder of a younger Bruce wearing a nondescript black shirt.]

If his empire can crumble, so can any criminal organization or corrupt institution, no matter how powerful. This trial could be a beacon of hope for Gotham. Proof that the law can actually help people, that the spirit of it is alive.

[Panel six. Opposite Harvey, Bruce is sitting comfortably. He has notable eyebags and less light in his eyes than Harvey, but smiles in earnest admiration.]

Bruce: I think you're right. Maroni used to own the city, but ever since you, Jim and Batman started working together...

[Panel seven. Side shot of both of them from Bruce's right and Harvey's left, showing them down to their legs. Bruce leans forward. Harvey has sat back down. In the background, their memories conjure a vision of Batman and Harvey shaking hands before the Bat-Signal. The figures' lower halves fade to translucent above and behind their real counterpart's heads. That Harvey is smiling too and the one leaning forward, while Batman's mouth is a flat line but his eyes are soft.]

things have changed more than I could have imagined.

Harvey: I just hope we can keep it up. Maybe in a few years, Gotham won't need a Batman.

[Panel eight. Close-up on the right half of Bruce's face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of shock and vulnerability, although he isn’t offended. He has simply never considered being able to end his crusade before. Panel nine. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Bruce: Do you really believe that?

[Panel ten. Closer front shot of Harvey at eye-level. We can now see that he actually does have bags under his eyes. He's more pensive and his smile drops.]

Harvey: Yeah. I mean, Bats is a great guy. I don't want him to just disappear. But his methods...

[Panel eleven. Deep shot. Two petty crooks run through an alleyway at night while Batman looms behind them atop a ledge, a huge, hulking silhouette crouched animalistically with piercing white eyes and clawed fingers raised to pounce. The scene is somewhat abstracted to highlight the criminals' emotions. The alley walls seem to be closing in on them and Batman's curling cape flows into the surrounding darkness. Angle is above the very small-looking criminals, but below Batman such that his striking, soulless eyes glare right at the reader. Harvey's speech bubbles are in the top left and bottom right corners, framed by the blackness.]

fighting violence with violence and terror with terror... they're hardly ideal, are they?

[Panel eleven. Harvey places his right hand on Bruce's left arm in pride, who is too busy processing to return his smaller, softer smile of personal affection. Side shot from Harvey's left and Bruce's right that cuts them off at the torso.]

In my opinion, the work you're doing with the Wayne Foundation does better at lowering crime rates in the long run.

[Panel twelve. Over-the-shoulder shot again, Harvey's this time to show Bruce full of love, relaxing and leaning into the touch.]

Bruce: Well, in my opinion, you're a better person than me or Batman.

[His second speech bubble descends into the empty space.]

And I’d love to see the day Batman can retire.

[Panel thirteen and fourteen occupy different vertical halves of the screen and the same horizontal space for half of their lengths, the former higher, the second lower. The first shows Harvey from the right cut off at the thighs, in a courtroom, delivering some kind of unwritten passionate declaration; on his left and in the background, the defendant, the aforementioned crime boss Maroni in a nice black suit, holds an opaque bottle labelled as cough medicine and smirks viciously. The second is a close-up of Harvey’s head on the floor. Only the right half of his face is visible, the left turned away, and he is howling in unfathomable agony, tears streaming down his cheek. The stem of his speech bubble reaches down to the top of panel fifteen. This is a straightforward frontal shot of Bruce in the present. He stands tense and grim, poised to throw a Batarang with his right arm. Silver moonbeams shine through the broken skylight. Layered in front of the panel’s top border and behind Bruce, Harvey’s scream appears to ring through the cowl’s bat ears and extends continuously offscreen in extra large, blood-red lettering. The bubble fades around it to make it stand against the background.]

Harvey: ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Bruce: Two-Face.

[Panel sixteen. Same angle of Harvey and Two-Face. The left half of their face is ravaged by raw, pink chemical burn scars and has a bloodshot eye with burned lids; even their right eye is sunken and shadowed with a menacing glint; their hair is the same on the right, but bleached white, longer and wild on the left; they wear an angular, elegant suit divided vertically in alternating black and white. They’re smiling smugly, posture calm, confident and commanding. Their right hand aims a pistol at Bruce, and the camera. The other hand, bereft of a ring, holds their two-headed coin. Their introduction box reads: ‘Harvey Dent & Two-Face. All the drive. Fractional sanity. Half the morals, or less.’. The outlines of their speech bubbles are smooth as usual on the right and rough and scribbled on the left when both alters in the system are in relative cooperation - a dual consciousness referred to as ‘H/TF’ in the script - completely smooth when the still goodhearted, but deeply troubled Harvey is speaking alone, and completely irregular for the much more merciless, callous Two-Face personality alone.]

H/TF: Bats! Let us guess: you didn’t bring any backup because you have a self-righteous hero complex about us in particular?

[Panel seventeen. Closer frontal shot of Bruce scowling and hunching his shoulders in shameful concession.]

Two-Face: Good. Those Robins are nothing but trouble.

[Panel eighteen. Long rectangle panning down the room. Bruce and H/TF are in the background as H/TF gesture with their left arm to two men dressed like high-level businessmen in the foreground, tied to chairs with a gun pressed to each of their heads by H/TF's identical twin henchmen. The captives are bruised, cut and slumped in exhaustion.]

H/TF: Now, take one step toward us and the hostages get it. Don't go feeling sorry for them. They work for Oswald Cobblepot. His reform is fake -

H/TF and Bruce: Obviously.

H/TF: And they've already told us everything.

[Panel nineteen. Horizontal side shot from Bruce's left and H/TF's right, to frame the hostages between them.]

H/TF: But if you go after us, you'll lose your best lead on his criminal activities.

Bruce: And people will be dead.

H/TF: Yeah, whatever.

[Panel twenty. Close shot of H/TF from the left. They look left, contemplating their coin in their open hand. One face is corroded and blackened by acid, the other shiny and clean, both visible as it's drawn in a motion frame while spinning.]

You say that making our decisions based on chance is irrational and unhealthy, but believing in free will isn't all roses either. So many tough choices.

[Panel twenty-one is small box in the middle of the screen capturing the impact of the Batarang knocking the gun out of one of the henchmen's hand. H/TF's speech bubble floats in the space below it.]

There's never a win-win, is there?

[Panel twenty-two, a vertical rectangle. In the lower foreground and to the right, a gleeful H/TF bolt to the slight right of the camera, relishing both their escape and how unhappy their enemy is. In the background, Bruce restrains the armed henchman with a bolas while knocking the unarmed one out behind him with a backhanded blow. His cape billows with his rapid movement.]

At least the coin lets us be unpredictable!

[Panel twenty-three. Angle is essentially Bruce's POV. H/TF glance over their right shoulder, showing their unscarred features twisted in mockery, and sarcastically wave with their gun. They're just beyond the doorway.]

By the way, we're very good at getting two things done at once. You might wanna check your car.

[Panel twenty-four. Outside. Bruce's shadow falls from below the border diagonally over the Batmobile. Its tyres are slashed. Its fuel is leaking out into a puddle underneath it. In the next panel, we see him at eye height past the front end of the car. He has fallen to his knees, head hung.]

Bruce: Oracle? You were right. I need help.

[The black sheen of the Batmobile fades into a flat black background below. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Barbara: You've already got it.

[Panel twenty-six. The first two sentences are in a bubble at the top, connected to the final sentence’s one dead in the middle. She's viewed from behind at a low angle looking up at her computer monitor. Her shoulders are assertively squared. Her security camera footage is split in two; Bruce and the crippled Batmobile are in the left window and H/TF's getaway car (also black on one side and white on the other) racing along a road in the right.]

We've been gathering intel. We know where Two-Face will strike next - and you know him as well as he knows you. Let's make a plan B.

Part 2

[Panel one. Distant establishing shot of a brightly lit black-tie gala in a vast, ornate hall, the tasteful decor dominated by white, light blues and silver. A caption informs us that this is 'The Cobblepot 'Charity' Gala'. Oswald Cobblepot is in the heart of the crowd, shaking hands with some official. Bruce Wayne is within earshot, but nearer the double doors. Panel two is a lower, tighter horizontal rectangle where Oswald and his guests are staring at the camera with tiny black dots for eyes in alarm at the doors slamming open. H/TF’s shadow falls over the floor. Panel three shows that Harvey and Two-Face have invited themselves, holding an assault rifle in both hands. Three smaller vertical panels on alternating sides of the screen show the doors being locked by pairs of Two-Face's minions in contrasting, complemetary outfits and wielding guns. The bird’s eye view of panel seven makes it clear that the guests are surrounded and trapped. Panel eight cuts back to H/TF.]

H/TF: Good evening, scum and enablers. We're -

[Panel nine takes us closer to focus on their - or rather, Harvey's - surprise.]

Harvey: Bruce? What are you doing here?

[Panel ten is a frontal shot of Bruce, like the camera's been reversed in the same position. His confusion is an act, but his concern is real.]

Bruce: I'm the richest man in Gotham and this is a high-society gala. What are you doing here?

[Panel eleven. Side shot that doesn’t show the scarring. Harvey lowers the gun, eyes softening as Bruce reaches out to him.]

I thought we agreed that you still needed treatment.

Harvey: I…

[Panel twelve. Frontal short. Remembering his mission, Harvey loses a degree of control and the two embittered alters lightly push Bruce away and point the gun straight ahead at Oswald with a glare. Motion lines trail from their arm.]

H/TF: That doesn’t matter! What matters is taking down the Penguin!

[Panel thirteen. Oswald presses a hand to his chest, somehow at once mortified and supercilious. You can hear the melodramatic sad violin. Beside him, his associates are cowering and aghast.]

Oswald: Why, everyone knows that I’m reformed. Attacking me when I’m doing good just proves how far you’ve fallen.

[Panel fourteen. H/TF snap at him furiously, and their speech bubble is large, spiky (still with the different texturing) and has a red outline for emphasis. Their eyes are stylized as flames; their right eye’s flame is orange and the left’s blue. Bruce is giving Oswald an intense sidelong glare. His lettering is smaller and his bubble's outline dashed to indicate that he's speaking under his breath.]

H/TF: SHUT UP!

Bruce: Shut up.

[Panel fifteen. Wide low angle shot up into the shadowy rafters. Damian, Dick and Tim are hiding in their vigilante identities and watching the scene below intently, at the ready. Their speech bubbles are dashed as they’re whispering. Damian is tense like a coiled spring, hand is on the hilt of his sword. Dick’s facial expression is blatantly disdainful of the villain in question, but his position and body language are calmer. Tim is all business.]

Damian: Shouldn’t we -

Tim: Not until the signal, remember? We don’t want to escalate and endanger the civilians.

[Panel sixteen. Close-up profile shot of Dick.]

Dick: Yeah, I hate Two-Face, but Bruce has got through to Harvey before.

[Panel seventeen. H/TF aim their gun with their right hand as their left reaches into their pocket to take out their coin. Their jaw is tight in composed ire. Diagonal angle to show Bruce on their right, overlaid by the gun. HT/F's speech bubble is near their head, but Harvey's is under the panel-dividing horizontal line of the gun.]

H/TF: You have the right to remain silent, forever.

Harvey: Bruce, get out of here.

[Panel eighteen, a square. Bruce is alone in the frame. He folds his arms, Batman's stern, steely presence creeping into his expression and posture.]

Bruce: Whatever you're willing to do to those people, you can do to me.

[Panel ninteen. Same composition with H/TF. They frown, the unscarred features looking regretful while the scarred ones look annoyed and disdainful.]

H/TF: Fine. Just stay out of our way.

[Panel twenty. Close up as they flip their coin. We get the blurring motion displaying both sides again. The next panel is a repeat shot where Bruce’s right hand snatches the coin in midair.]

H/TF: HEY! Give it back!

[Panel twenty-one. Extreme close-up, narrow horizontal parallelogram focused on Bruce's defiant stare. His speech bubble floats close underneath.]

Bruce: No.

[Panel twenty-two. He holds the coin out of reach. The camera is angled over and to the side of Bruce's left shoulder, to put as much visual distance between his outstretched right hand and H/TF as possible, Bruce's body in between them. H/TF’s left hand is balled into fist around the lowered gun while their right gestures like they’re arguing a case in a courtroom. They look resentful, but also coldly resigned. The speech bubbles can extend out of the panel. In the backgroud, some of the guests are depicted as simplified, featureless figures.]

H/TF: They aren’t worth sticking your neck out for. Nobody in Gotham is -

Harvey: I learned that the hard way.

Bruce: And I’ve learned otherwise. This won’t make things better, Harvey.

[Panel twenty-three. Two-Face fixes the gun on Bruce with a sadistic, unhinged snarl that’s distinctly his own.]

Two-Face: Listen, Wayne, I don’t care for you a bit. Give us our coin back or I’ll -

[Panel twenty-four. Bruce raises an eyebrow.]

Bruce: But what if it’s good heads?

[Panel twenty-five. Two-Face freezes. A ‘Twitch’ sound effect is at the corner of his right eye. Panel twenty-seven. A henchman aims his own gun with nervous eagerness.]

Henchman: I'll get your coin for you, boss!

[Panel twenty-six. The vigilantes leap down from the rafters. Dick's already thrown a Wingding to disarm him that flies downward rotating and seems to cut the shape of the panel, which has a tapering lower end.]

Dick: No!

[Large red 'BANG!' sound effect between panels. Panel twenty-seven is a small box in the middle of the screen showing the Wingding knocking the smoking gun away a split-second too late. Panel twenty-eight. Bruce and Harvey in the background and the bullet in the foreground are centred. Harvey slams into Bruce and knocks him down with his full weight, briefly putting himself in the path of the bullet.]

Harvey: Bruce!

[Panel twenty-nine. Long, vertical rectangle panning down from above the vigilantes standing in dramatic heroic landing poses at the top of the frame, wearing varyingly emotive expressions of shock, to Bruce lying propped up by his elbow and Harvey on his hands and knees at the bottom. The discarded assault rifle hits the floor between Harvey and the vigilantes with a 'Clatter' sound effect in yellow, uneven text. The coin slips out of Bruce's hand with a motion line to rest between him and Harvey. Panel thirty. Angle at eye level with Bruce and Harvey. Bruce sits up. He stares at Harvey with shining eyes and the beginnings of a smile as he processes what just happened, and what didn’t precede it.]

Bruce: You saved my life.

[Panel thirty-one. Angle is behind Bruce’s head. Harvey avoids eye contact, showing Bruce his unscarred profile. He’s solemn and though he too has a relieved hint of a smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes.]

Harvey: You never stop trying to save me. It was the least I could do.

[Panel thirty-two. Harvey’s POV. Low angle, tilted up at Bruce on his feet, offering his hand to help him up. We can tell that it’s Harvey’s perspective with both eyes because the left half of the image is dim and blurry due to the damage the acid did to his left eye. The speech bubbles are exclusively on the right.]

Bruce: It isn’t too late, Harvey. You can still heal. You can get better, be better.

[Panel thirty-three. Close-up on the right half of Harvey’s face, a narrow vertical box in the upper left section of the screen. His expression is of tentative, wary hope and raw vulnerability. He has wanted to end his crusade throughout its duration, but never been able to. Panel thirty-four. A bigger square containing his entire face and taking up the rest of the screen.]

Harvey: Do you really believe that?

[Panel thirty-five. Side shot that now only shows the side shot of Harvey’s face. Bruce kneels down be closer to eye level with him.]

Bruce: Yes. Always, I’ve been where you are. Feeling like you can never be more than all your pain and anger. But if you want a second opinion, I think you’re a better person than you know.

[Panel thirty-four. A square in the middle of the screen. Harvey’s right hand reaches out to Bruce’s waiting one, but lingers, tense and trembling, above the coin. Panel thirty-five. Vertical rectangle. Harvey shrinks in on himself, hunched over with his face buried in his arms and hands clutching his hair; perhaps he doesn’t trust himself not to pick up the coin and give Two-Face a means to make harmful decisions, just can’t make another choice of his own or both. Around him blackness with spiky, scribbled inner edges consume the screen like reality is fracturing or dissolving, or some all-consuming destructive force is coming for him.]

Harvey: Just… just take us to Arkham. We deserve it. We need help.

[The black extends, replacing the white background. But then, within the darkness, floats a speech bubble.]

Bruce: You’ve already got it.

[Fade into panel thirty-six. Horizontal rectangle. Distant, high angle. The black lightens to purple and becomes the night sky, which is warming to pink at the first moment of dawn. Harvey is handcuffed, about to enter a police car on his right. A cop is escorting him. However, Bruce has his left arm around his shoulders and they’re both in relatively good moods, similar to how they were in the flashback.]

Harvey: When did you get so optimistic, Mr Gothic McBrooding?

Bruce: Someone has to be. And hey, I had a good teacher.

#i would DIE AND GO TO HEAVEN if somebody drew any of this #the tone of wfa makes a softer happier bruce and harvey friendship story that they desperately need fit so well!#GIVE US THE HURT/COMFORT #but then again #at this point i kind of don’t want wfa to give harvey more focus because they won’t do it like this #featuring:#harvey being a fundamentally good person!#harvey and bruce being best friends and soft with each other!#bruce’s faith in harvey getting rewarded by the end!#two-face also having good intentions and targeting other criminals as a dark mirror to batman with none of the restraint #bruce being a foil to both harvey and two-face with several thematic verbal and visual parallels between them #a tragically hopeful flashback to before the maroni trial!#bruce having guilt and trauma over harvey that makes him especially vulnerable when they clash!#the objectively best two-face suit design of half-black and half-white #harvey and two-face knowing batman so well (without even knowing that he’s bruce) that they can very effectively outwit him #babs as oracle being cooler and doing a better job than bruce (offscreen but still)!#two-face’s hatred of all the robins!#dick’s hatred of him right back!#harvey dent #two-face #bruce wayne #batman #bruce and harvey #batman: wayne family adventures #wayne family adventures #bwfa #wfa

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