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softlyjiminie · 5 years ago

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cherry glosses n car washes | j.j.k

⇢ pairing(s): goth!jeon jungkook x sorority sister!reader.

⇢ word count: 7K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: pwp, smut, fluff, college!au, sorority!au.

⇢ summary: in the blistering heat of the summer sun, a bikini carwash is the last place you’d expect to find tattoo bearing, black sweater wearing jeon jungkook. but then again, no one expected to find him dating everyone’s beloved sorority queen YN LN either. in all honesty, he only really came to support her…but most definitely in more ways than one.

⇢ warning(s): please read! brief fight scene, heavy smut, pwp, switch!jungkook, switch!reader, oral sex (male receiving.), oral fixation, fingering, handjobs, heavy!exhibitionism, dirty talk, overstimulation, male masturbation, cumplay, creampie, unprotected sex - please wear protection!

⇢ author’s note(s): hello my loves! happy august! i hope you all are having a beautiful summer! the time has finally arrived for this cheeky fic, read with caution! extreeeme jk spice up ahead. ( thank you to @bangtan-headquarters for allowing me to participate in their Bangtan Boardwalk Collab Event! )

everyone knows who YN LN is. some know you as a daughter, a friend but to everyone at alpha delta pi, you were sister. you were a kind to all, taking care of your peers in your sorority, whether that be during times of hardship or just needing a simple friend to pull through. no person went untouched by your bright light, no person went without your cheery smiles and soft spoken voice, through cherry glossed lips and under peach blush. you made friends everywhere you went, entrancing them with sparkling eyes and a soft cherry blossom scent— and although you denied it, you were everything everyone wanted to be; smart, pretty, popular— you were living the dream.

but then there was your dream...jeon jungkook.

with dark ink tattoos of guns and roses spiralling down his arms and intertwining with his finger tips, long, thick hair and more piercings than you could count, jeon jungkook was the epitome of college bad boy. your boyfriend was the complete opposite of yourself, trading out any colour for black sweatshirts and heavy combat boots, grazed knuckles and a pierced lip that contrasted with the bubblegum pink shirts you wore every wednesday because your sorority was obsessed with early 2000s movies and yelling ‘you can’t sit with us!’ to jocks across the quad.

jungkook liked rock music, his motorbike named missy, painting his nails black and writing songs with his little band ( the weeping kittens, which you always found absolutely morbid but loved anyways ) whilst you liked collecting sparkly lipgloss and pretty stationary kits and those sanrio stickers that you liked to put on jungkook’s phone case sometimes. it was a wonder to anyone on campus how you got together, and to say they were intrigued was an understatement.

but you loved him for who he was, even with all of his odd little tendencies; like wearing black in the summer and scrunching his nose up when he laughed too hard, or how he used your hair clips to hold his hair back when he was concentrating. you liked that he quiet in class but loud and giggly with you, soft and sensitive, snarky and sweet. jungkook wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met, not like jung hoseok from your brother frat— who all your friends thought you’d end up with. of course, you’d flirted with the jock once or twice at parties but he hadn’t stolen your heart that night in sophomore year when jungkook stole your kisses in the back of his yoongi hyung’s van.

and although your friends still try to set you two up, jung hoseok will never be your jeon jungkook— there just isn’t anyone else like him.

that’s why you wear his oversized black AC/DC shirt that differs very much from the pink interior of your room, decorated by your roommate in the sorority house on campus. you didn’t have the heart to tell aerum that the feathers above your bed made you sneeze in your sleep, or that her choice of wallpaper sometimes made you woozy and that you’d much rather a less...bedazzled look; so you let her decorate as she pleases, with only a few hums in of agreement when she changes the settings on the LED lights every week. it’s only now that you realise how blistering this summer is, so you have the air con turned up to the max— goosebumps rising on your bare legs as you chat to your boyfriend of a year over facetime about you’re upcoming philanthropy project.

‘a bikini car wash, huh? like in those teen romcom movies you make me watch?”

your boyfriend mumbles absentmindedly—jungkook has his phone propped up against something, giving you a full view of his perfectly toned body as he strums away at his guitar— he claims he’s writing you another song, the lyrics purely focused on your pink skirts and cherry vanilla chapstick, but your concentration slips as you watch his inked fingers tug at his guitar strings...thinking about the way they’d curl around your throat or slip into the warmth of your mouth and press down against your pink tongue.

your lover glances up from playing for just a brief moment, the corner of his red lips twitching up into a brilliant smile when he catches you looking. ‘dollface, you’re staring.’ he whispers smugly, quirking his pierced brow at you and you struggle to hide the warm blush that blooms across the apples of your cheeks and neck.

“no i’m not.”

‘don’t be a brat, you know you are.’

you whine at his scolding tone, rolling over on your disney printed bed sheets because after all, you’re still a little girl... or his little girl as jungkook would put it. he makes a low noise in his throat, finally putting down his god forsaken instrument so he can pay attention to you, before sitting back in his seat expectantly. “are you sure you don’t wanna come? we’re raising money for a good cause!” you try again, jutting out your bottom lip in full pouty mode as you bat your eyelashes up at him. you’d been trying to convince jungkook to come to your philanthropy event for at least a week— the aforementioned car wash that was happening tomorrow— but whenever you brought it up, his gaze would drop and he’d fall quiet. “we’re donating all the proceeds to food shelters...”

‘i don’t know, YN...’

“i even got a new bikini, i wanna show it off for you!”

‘angel...’ your boyfriend sighs, running a hand through his midnight locks with the lightest hints of frustration. you deflate immediately, dropping the topic in favour for not pushing him any further. you don’t mean to upset him, you just really want him there so you can show him off and gush about how much you love him— the thought itself has your pout deepening before you know it. ‘come on now dollface don’t make that face, you know i can’t help myself when you make that face...’

this much is true, you know that no matter what you’re doing, if you make that face— jungkook’s a goner. “meh...” your voice is quiet and muffled from where you’ve shoved your face into the sheets to hide from jungkook, because you know that you’ll melt if you look at him. you don’t know what it was about him, but your lover always had a way of making you feel small in the best of ways. despite his quiet personality, jungkook was very domineering inside and outside of the bedroom, he cared for you like no other, protected you like no other. he wasn’t one to take advantage your kindness and he wasn’t about to let anyone else do the same so perhaps that’s also why you fell for him.

jungkook hums, leaning into the camera to get a better look at you. ‘it’s not that i don’t want to come and support you baby... i’m just worried that you’ll be exposed too much and—’ he lowers his voice, so you feel as if he’s lying right next to, causing you whimper out for him. the boy tuts, a lazy smile painting his lips as he looks at you with all the love in his eyes. ‘—and god as much as i’d love to see you show off your little outfit for me, i’m not so sure i’d fit in with your...crowd of friends...’ you nod your head slowly in understanding, because as much as you loved the girls in your sorority, they had a knack for making jungkook feel like he didn’t deserve you, purely because he was different from your usual type and jungkook was always too shy and introverted to say anything. you hated that he couldn’t feel comfortable around your friends like you could with his— so you couldn’t blame him for not wanting to come around.

“s’ okay googie,” you hum, curling into a ball on your bed as he laughs at your pet name for him. “i’ll just have to show it to you another time.”

‘another time it is, dollface.’ jungkook repeats, pretending to boop your nose through the screen. you talk for a little while longer before the members of the weeping kittens come in and interrupt your facetime call. the band consists of four members; yoongi the drummer, namjoon the guitarist , jimin the bassist and jungkook, of course, lead singer and guitarist number two. the older two occupy themselves with teasing your boyfriend, poking his cheeks and singing old playground songs ( “YN and jungkook sitting in the tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”) whilst jimin clings to the youngest like a baby and if you hadn’t known better, you’d have thought that the purple haired male was the baby of the group.

jungkook’s cheeks flush a deep crimson when you decide to play along, wishing him a goodnight that makes his face ripple with cringe. “sleep tight googie-poo,” you coo with a sing song tone, finally sitting up to blow him a kiss. the other members shriek with laughter, ruffling their little junggoogie’s mop of dark hair as you tease him for them to see. “i love youuu!”

‘goodnight angel-bear,’ jungkook says quietly, gritting his teeth has he sinks into his sweater to hide his embarrassment. you know his reaction is more of a result of his hyung’s teasing— he claims he can’t sleep well without saying goodnight in your special way. ‘i love you too...’ he mumbles, giving you a shy smile before hanging up the call, leaving you to fall asleep with an equally wide smile.

“there you go, joongie, hope she’s clean enough for you!”

you grin as you wipe the remaining sudds off of hongjoong’s bright red vintage car that you’re sure he spent all of his college loans on. nonetheless, you take the twenty he offers you from his wound down window and ruffle his matching strawberry hair. “thanks YN-ah,” he giggles, turning away from you for a brief second to tuck his wallet away, he briefly smacks his friend ( mingi ) on the thigh for staring at your boobs — and you can’t blame him, you love those girls — before offering you a bright smile. “you guys did a great job on her.”

you thank him once again, winking at mingi with a sly smile before waving the boys off and waiting for the next customer. the bikini car wash your sorority has set up is booming with business, students from across campus driving in to get their cars cleaned. some of the girls on the committee ordered in pink and white balloons to hang outside your dorm house, with a handmade sign saying ‘alpha delta pi wash!’ painted in pastel shades. your girls are having a great time too, looking stunning in all types of bathing suits that show off their beautiful bodies under golden rays, splashing each other with soapy water to ease the burn of the summer sun against their skin.

you quite like the little number you’re wearing too, a pale pink two piece with obsidian black accents and panelling at either side. you wave to some of the girls as you head over to your booth to count the cash you’ve made so far, when the familiar sound of rowdy cheers and hollering boys fills the air. barely glancing up from your work, you note the excited squeals of younger members of your sorority— already tripping over their flip flops to get a taste of the frat boys that take over your car wash.

“what does a guy have to do to get his car washed around here?”

rolling your eyes, you close the catch box with a drawn out sigh— picking up your gaze to meet that of jung hoseok’s. he stands half a head taller than you, chocolate brown hair parted and pushed back from his forehead, he wears the typical varsity jacket and baseball cap combo, paired with blue jeans and his signature chunky trainers. you wouldn’t lie and say that hoseok wasn’t attractive because you’d messed about with him once or twice before, but now he couldn’t seem to understand the boundaries of your blossoming relationship with jungkook. “pay thirteen bucks and use some manners?” your question is more of a statement, with you not in the mood to deal with a cocky frat boy who thinks he’s entitled to your service. the brunette looks taken a back, not used to your snarky attitude with him, but today was not a day for you to be messed with, all you wanted was to raise money for a good cause and have fun, not deal with assholes like him. nonetheless, the jock hands you his donation with a smirk as you whistle over one of the girls to help him.

“hyeri, you don’t mind helping hoseok over here do you—?”

“no,” hoseok cuts in, stepping between yourself and the older girl— stopping her from taking the equipment she needs to clean his car. you roll your shoulders, a light sweat dripping between their blades as frustration builds up within your temple— dealing with hoseok is bothersome and all you want is to relax and let lose. the brunette steps closer to you, and hyeri watches with blushing cheeks, the short, red head almost wishing she was in your position— her flustered attitude only inflating the boy’s ego. so entitled. hoseok was so so entitled. thinking that he could get anything he wanted from any girl just because he was pretty, and maybe that was the reason why he liked you so much— because you resisted him. “i want you to do it, YN, wash my car for me princess? please?”

scoffing, you cross your arms and send an apologetic look to the bumbling mess that is now hyeri. “book him a slot for me, love? i’ll let you help?” you ask softly to which she nods her head and runs off to take a note. hoseok smiles triumphantly but his win is quickly shot down by the glare you send him, and if looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. “you know it’s gonna cost you extra for even having me near you, right?”

“that’s an extra cost i’m will to pay...” the boy hums, smirk finding its way onto his lips once again, as he hands you another twenty before heading back to his car full of idiots. relieved that he’s gone ( for the time being ) you release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and head off to grab an extra bucket and sponge to clean hoseok’s obnoxiously bright yellow ferrari, but not before you take a second to reapply a layer of your favourite cherry gloss that had faded during the day.

you miss the recognisable sound of yoongi’s truck while your back is turned to the hustle and bustle of your event, so your skin jumps with goosebumps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your bare waist. “guess who?” a soothing voice whispers into your ear, causing a light giggle to pass between your freshly glossed lips.

“let me think, is it mr. tall dark and handsome?” you tease, squealing as jungkook picks you up and spins you in his arms. before he’s even set you back onto your feet, your boyfriend attacks your face with soft kisses while tugging you into him. “you came!” you beam, once jungkook finally allows you to pull away— using an inked finger to trace patters on the small of your back. hums of approval sound from the bottom your throat while your stresses melt away, your boyfriend’s presence easily calming you down.

jungkook nods, a small smile tickling the corners of his pierced lips as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and presses your foreheads together. “i realised that i was being stupid,” the guitarist mumbles, lips only inches away from your own— you’re so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin and his own body heat radiating against yours. although your foreheads are growing sticky from sweat ( a result of the intense summer heat ), you don’t mind, loving being in close proximity to your lover. “i shouldn’t let the fact that we have different friends stop me from showing my support, i shouldn’t be one to judge your events or say i think you’re exposing yourself— because this is your body and your choice and i’m so proud of you, sorry for being a dumb boy.”

you boop his nose, heart melting at your boyfriend’s words and even more when he scrunches his nose under your touch. “but you’re my dumb boy,” you add, teasing him slightly as you lean up to brush your lips against his. from the outside, it would appear that jungkook would always be the one to make you flustered— so it amused you when your larger, much more intimidating boyfriend blushed under the slightest touches from you. he puckers his lips, awaiting your kiss only for you to nip at his earlobe and whisper. “now how may i help you today?”

pulling away, you can see jungkook shyly curling in on himself— beyond flustered by your actions. his brown doe eyes avoid your gaze while his fingers slip into the sleeves of his black sweater as if he’s hiding. “i uh, also came to get yoongi hyung’s truck washed... he’s not happy with the state we left it in last time,” your lover mumbles quietly, and now you understand why he’s acting more shy than usual.

with bubbling laugher, you reach onto your tippy toes to ruffle jungkook’s long black locks— effectively moving them out of place. “i can help with that, koo,” you tease and pinch his cheeks as you return to your normal height. “but i can’t promise it’ll be any cleaner than last time—“ jungkook tugs you into his chest once more, opening his mouth to speak, when a car begins honking from your left. you huff, pushing your head into your boyfriend’s broad chest while you grip his sweater. “it’s hoseok...i’m sorry.”

jungkook shakes his head, offering you one of his beautiful bunny smiles before he leans down and captures your bottom lip between his teeth. his deep caramel eyes are locked onto yours before he grasps your cheeks and kisses you fully, tongue slotting perfectly against yours as they battle in a light dance for passion. but as soon as the kiss comes, it’s over, jungkook releasing you while you stand dazed to process what happened. your boyfriend was never one for PDA but you definitely notice how he smirks and revels in the cheers you both get, sending heat straight down to your core and making a light slick pool between your thighs. cheeky bastard. the boy salutes you as he lets you go, allowing you to run off to hoseok’s car while someone else books your lover in, before he heads back over to the truck. you make quick work of building up the suds for washing the car, dipping your sponge into the soapy water as you work on the hood— deciding now of all times, would be an ample opportunity to tease him. in the meantime the guitarist makes himself comfortable in the drivers seat of yoongi’s truck, watching you get to work— and it’s not long before he notices little things about you, like how you lean over hoseok’s car a little more, drawing attention to the curve of your ass or how you purposely drench yourself with the crisp, clear and cool soapy water when you ring out each sponge.

suddenly, jungkook’s pants begin to grow tight and his senses kick into overdrive as he becomes increasingly aware of the show you’re putting on for him. the boy knows what you’re doing, from the way you look at him from over your shoulder, to the spark in your eyes and the way you lick your cherry gloss lips. jungkook’s body acts for him, hand sliding down to the buckle of his pants as he slowly undoes it— his cock is half hard in his briefs just from watching you. he hisses when he grabs his length, pumping it slowly. jungkook feels wrong, dirty for touching himself in public, let alone in his hyung’s van but he can never help himself when it comes to you— so he almost whimpers when you lean over to soap up hoseok’s window and give him a full view of your breasts in the little pink bralette you wear.

the guitarist thanks his luck that his dark sweater covers his dirty work, thrusting he shallowly into his hand— imagining that it’s your cute little pussy clenching around him. the warmth of need bursting in his chest because god, you look so good and he knows you’ll sound better when you’re underneath him. squeezing his cock, jungkook let’s a low groan rumble in his chest— fingertips just brushing at his orgasm.

but the euphoria of his release is suddenly ripped away from him when another girl he recognises as your roommate, areum, from the nights he visits you at the house— knocks on his window. jungkook tears his hands from his pants and gives the girl a smile, driving over to get the truck washed just as you finish up with hoseok. you smile at the job you’ve done and the way the frat member’s car shines as you dry up your hands. right when you’re about to leave to find jungkook, hoseok slips from his vehicle and grabs your wrist so that your attention is turned to him.

“she looks great, YN... thanks for cleaning her up,” hoseok praises you, leaning back against his precious yellow ferrari that you’re sure is loaned ( because realistically what college student could afford such a fancy car ), you blink, appreciative of his thanks and nod your head but your mind is too hazy from the looks your guitarist lover was giving you earlier. you know he’s beyond turned on at this point and your mouth almost waters from the thought of him taking you right there, right now. “is there any way i can repay you?”

you snap out of your thoughts, tugging your wrist from hoseok’s grip and smiling at him sweetly— hoping that it speeds up your interaction so you can return to your boyfriend. “you already paid.” you mumble bluntly, turning to leave once more before you’re pulled back into the taller male’s grasp.

“why so distant YN-ah? let me take you out to say thanks?”

“let me go hoseok.” you warn, growling out your words. it’s like he couldn’t understand, that he was incapable of realising that you just weren’t interested in him like that anymore. your eyes and heart were set on jungkook, your days flirting and messing about with boys from the neighbouring frat were over and you didn’t care what people thought of your new relationship. yes, jungkook wasn’t your usual, conventional type but he was yours. your shy, emo, inked, pierced pretty boy.

“just think about it...” the boy pushes for you to consider it, pulling you into him by the hips as the pads of his fingers sink into your naked skin.

“hoseok.” you repeat, your tone much harsher this time as you push him back by his shoulders.

“just let me—“

the wind is knocked out of you before you have a chance to retort, as you’re yanked free from hoseok’s burning grip into a warm and familiar embrace. you immediately recognise jungkook’s sweet, floral scent and cast your gaze upwards, his sharp jaw is clenched, pierced nose is flared and skin shines under the sun from his light perspiration. you’ve never seen him so angry before, at least not in public. jungkook has never been one to start fights or initiate major PDA in front of anyone, so his attitude today... shocks you. “are you dumb, stupid, or is it both?” your boyfriend spits, anger at hot as the sun that beats down on you. his large palms that hold onto your waist tighten and his possessiveness starts to make you light headed with want. you don’t know if it’s the fact that you’re both angry or that jungkook never gets this pissed but you feel the same wetness from earlier begin to gather in your panties. “shit man,” jungkook continues as a crowd begins to gather. “when a girl says to fuck off, you fuck off, especially when she’s taken.”

your pupils blow wide, gaze flickering over to hoseok who’s chest rises and falls with a mix of embarrassment and anger. you can’t tell which is the more domineering emotion. “and what if i don’t ‘fuck off’ what are you gonna do about it freak? we both know she deserves better than you.” hoseok goes for a low blow, eliciting a chorus of ‘ooo’s and ‘fight! fight! fight!’s from the group that surrounds you and his car. your boyfriend clenches his teeth ready to to spit out another comeback when you detangle yourself from his grip and knee hoseok in the dick before giving him a good old sucker punch— watching with a satisfied glossy grin as he doubles over in pain.

“YN, you bitch!” he cries out in pain, and you’re about to swing again when jungkook lifts you by your hips— legs kicking and arms flailing just to get another taste. once you’re a fair distance away, your boyfriend sets you down as you shake out your hand— knuckles barley bruised from the punch and you know that your lover is impressed ( and maybe just a little more turned on ).

hoseok’s frat brothers help him clear up his bloody nose while girls fawn over the poor thing. you’re not surprised when hyeri gives you a disappointed look, punishing you with the task of cleaning the interior of the douche’s car whilst the sorority takes a lunch break. something about repaying him for almost breaking his nose. you don’t mind though, you were far too hungry for something else.

“that was hot,” jungkook mumbles against your neck after everyone’s gone, he’s got you pressed against the door of yoongi’s truck— thigh between your legs and lips barley touching your neck. you moan lowly, feeling your hips naturally grind down against the meat of your boyfriend’s thigh whilst slick gathers at your entrance. the combat jeans he wears are a rough polyester, only adding to your stimulation but you’re beyond turned on at this point, not caring if anyone sees. not that they will, the car wash is closed while everyone’s on break, so you have time to kill. “the way you sucker punched him like that, god i don’t think my dick’s ever gotten that hard that fast...”

your laughter falls into an airy moan, as your fingers dance their way down from jungkook’s sweaty hair to push at his sweater. you wonder how he’s not burning in the thing with how thick it is, not to mention how black clothes attract heat but you don’t question it, only knowing one thing and one thing only. that you want it off. “don’t lie to me googie,” you whine when he pulls away to rid himself of the ghastly article of clothing— a different type of heat building in your core. “saw you watchin’ me wash hoseok’s car earlier, bet you were painfully hard just sitting there knowing you couldn’t touch me,” you breathe, enjoying the way he twitches in your grasp as you yank him up for a blazing kiss. his strawberry tongue swipes over your lips to taste the cherry they have painted on and the flavour bursts in your mouth as he forces your lips apart and tangles his tongue with yours. when he pulls away, only a trail of saliva connects you both, making you both groan in unison. “were you touching yourself, baby?” you ask breathlessly, forcing your head back against the cool surface of the truck.

“fuck, angel face...” jungkook hisses at your lewd words, hips stuttering when you grab his growing bulge through his jeans. “h-how’d you know?

“i just know you.”

your boyfriend presses his lips to yours once again, fingers diving down to pinch your clit over the panties of your bikini— making you squeal with pleasure. jungkook swallows each and every one of your noises, hands trailing up and down your body until the slide under your bralette where inked fingers pull at your nipples and squeeze at your breasts. the peaks harden under jungkook’s touch, which is surprisingly cool despite the weather and you arch your back into him— desperate for more.

“let me feel you,” he finally says, sounding just as desperate as you and you nod, letting jungkook drop your feet to the ground gently and shove his shirt into the front of yoongi’s freshly cleaned truck. the guitarist is about to open the door for you when an idea pops into your head. pulling jungkook’s arm, you point over to the piercing yellow ferrari on the other side of of the lot outside of your sorority’s house and his face falls. within an instant, the key’s of hoseok’s car are back in your hand (after an hour of cleaning it) and jungkook is lowering you onto it’s hood. “want me to fuck you here, dollface? for everyone to see?”

you nod your head, a series of incoherent babbles falling from between your lips as you stare up your boyfriend with a hazy look in your eye— a look that drives him wild. jungkook strips you of your bralette and takes a breast into his mouth, sucking and licking and biting like a man devouring his last meal. you have no choice but to take what he gives you, closing your eyes to the melody of wet, sloppy sounds as his warm tongue swirls around each bud— contrasting with the cold metal of hoseok’s car beneath you. his freehand tweaks your other nipple before dancing down to between your legs as he pushes your thighs further apart. wetness pours from your burning entrance, causing your panties to stick deliciously to your pussy and jungkook groans around your second breast ( having switched between the two ) before he slides his two fingers past the flimsy pink material to circle your dripping hole.

“please koo, finger me...fuck me!” you cry desperately, writhing against the expensive car that your pussy drools onto. he groans, wasting no more time as he pushes his tattooed digits into your tight cunt, you whimper as he grinds his palm against your clit with every thrust of his fingers inside of you— dragging his finger tips against your needy walls as your eyes threaten to flutter shut from bliss.

your boyfriend tuts from your breast, standing straight to lean over you while more of your juices splatter lewdly against the hood of hoseok’s car. “nonono, angel, eyes open, want you to look at me as i stretch you open on this fucker’s car, yeah?” he pants, curling the fingers he has buried in your pussy so that they catch deliciously on that one spot. your bleary eyes focus on one thing and one thing only, your lover. the way that his lips shine under the sun with smears of your cherry lip gloss, and the way that his dark eyes shift to lighter shades of coffee brown in the sunlight— the way his strawberry lips are caught between his teeth as he pleasures you and your heart bursts with adoration. “that’s my good girl...” he mumbles, voice gravelly with need when he notices your open doe eyes.

with uncoordinated movements, you manage to tackle the buttons of jungkook’s pants, pulling his painfully hard cock free from its material confines. he practically whimpers when your burning palm comes into contact with his weighty length, his tip bright red and glistening with need. “feel good baby?” you ask him while doing your best to pump him in time with the thrusts of your fingers, creating the illusion of him being inside of you. jungkook leaks endless amounts of precum, eyes scrunching shut as he grows closer to his orgasm.

jungkook buries his mop of midnight hair into the crook of of your neck, kissing at the skin there. “d-didn’t finish earlier...” he stammers, thrusting his length into your grip. “if you don’t stop i’m gonna cum before being inside you...” he wastes no more time, pushing your pretty pink panties aside and slapping is leaking tip against your glistening pussy— teasing you both even though you’ve been craving each other all day. his strong, tattooed arms hook around your legs, bringing you closer to him as he finally pushes his cock past your entrance— you hiss in unison as his weighty length sits within you and you dig your heels into the small of his back to prompt him to move. “shit...angel, dreamed of this pussy all day...”

“then take it jungkook, take me like you mean it,” you almost scream, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. your nails dig crescent moons into his blemished, freckled skin as he circles his hips and drills is cock into you, tip rubbing against your fiery walls while you clamp down on him. your cunt selfishly sucks him in as you find the strength within you to lift your hips and meet his thrusts— loving the way he feels and the burn of his fat cock stretching you open. the air between you seems heavier, hotter as the sun shines brightly above you— your perspiration clouding the glimmer on the hood of hoseok’s car as mix of your arousals smear across the honey yellow paint. you’re messy, dirty, tainting hoseok’s car as jungkook fucks into you with wanton— chasing the release that’s been building in his stomach all day.

you love it though, the way he wrecks your little hole out in broad daylight for everyone to see if they wanted— the sounds of his hips slamming against yours filling the empty lot in front of your sorority. anyone could come back now and see you taking his cock, and the thought makes your pussy gush with sweet, hot nectar. “your cunt is so greedy, swallowing my cock whole,” jungkook reminds you, pushing his cock into your womb until he reaches the hilt. “you must like me taking you in public huh?” he speaks your thoughts, moaning heavily as you squeeze around his length with every word, your juices wetting him more. jungkook presses down on your tummy and you watch with awe as it bulges slightly— his hips never easing up as he pushes himself impossibly deeper inside of you. “god angel face, would you look at that, look at me inside of you.”

“you’re so big,” you praise from underneath him, gasping as he grinds himself into you— harsh material of his jeans brushing against your sensitive clit. you play a game of back and forth, pushing your hips against each other with every turn until jungkook picks up the pace again, a knot in your stomach begins to form— your orgasm sneaking up behind you as your pussy weeps and cries, painting the front of jungkook’s jeans as well as your pretty thighs. “wanna cum on this thick cock of yours koo, make me cum please please...”

“you’re driving me insane dollface,” jungkook comments through gritted teeth, pounding into you now at a relentless pace— you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock against your walls, causing your jaw to go slack as you drip endlessly. he shuts your pleas up with the two fingers in your mouth letting you taste the remains of your essence. your boyfriend only manages a few more thrusts before you’re falling limp against him with new colours flashing behind your eyes as cream against his cock. jungkook rides out your high, hitting your g-spot over and over and almost reaches his climax when you hear someone’s footsteps against the gravel. eyes widening jungkook pulls your weak frame into his chest, using the discarded keys to open hoseok’s car door before bringing you inside. your heart thumps as you spot a sister from your sorority in the side mirrors, she seems to be looking for something but for now, you remain out of view.

with that in mind, you push yourself out of jungkook’s iron grip— knowing full well that he still hasn’t cum. ignoring your boyfriend’s nervous and confused expression along with the thumping in your chest, you drop to your knees, paying no mind to the burn the gravel causes against them. “YN, what are you—?” jungkook never finishes his question as you brace yourself on his thighs, giving sweet kitten licks to his tip before taking him into your mouth. you won’t need to do much work, he’s already close and you can tell from the way his abs clench and his fingers weave their way into your hair. your free hands pump what doesn’t fit into your hot mouth, as you drool on his cock and spit gathers on your chin.

your boyfriend whimpers quietly in the front passenger seat and you slap his inner thighs when the girl walks past. you spare a glance to the mirrors once more, swirling your tongue around your lover’s length as he strains to hold in his moans. he whispers ‘pleases’ under his breath, begging you to let him cum...so once the footsteps retreat and disappear completely, you tap his thigh once and jungkook immediately bucks his hips. your jaw falls lax as he thrusts into your mouth as if it were your tight heat, desperately chasing the release he’s been waiting for all day. “fuck, fuck, shit!” he curses as your throat tightens around his length, causing him to spill his seed into your mouth. you swallow gratefully, only pulling away to show him the mess he made of your tongue before letting him pull you onto his lap. “such a dirty girl, sucking me off like that with people around...”

“you loved it,” you tease, twirling his long hair between your fingers as he kisses down the valley between your breasts.

“would have loved to cum inside you, more.”

you straddle jungkook’s lap, letting his half hard cock brush against your soaked panties as you grind down on him. “then let me make you cum again; let me ride you.” you state more so than ask, taking his hands into yours and intertwining your fingers. jungkook looks up at you with bright starry eyes, and you lose yourself within their constellations— you loved him, you knew that and no one would change that. the mood slips into something softer and you’re no longer in a rush to ruin hoseok’s car, instead you take your time easing yourself down onto your love’s length as it hardens with each stroke of your hips.

neither of you will last long this time, sensitive from your previous releases but that doesn’t stop you from slowly lifting your hips and bringing them back down to start a steady pace. the length of jungkook’s weighty girth, drags along your velvet walls with each rock of his hips into yours, sending tingles of pleasure down your spend. he lets go of your right hand, using his large inked palm to grab at your waist, guiding you into him in away that makes him whine. he moves onto your ass, squeezing the peachy flesh as you bounce on him, launching you both into new realms of pleasure.

“love that ass baby, how good it looks in this little set,” jungkook whimpers against your sweat slicked skin, closing his eyes to tune into the sounds of your angelic moans and wetness against his dick. “always so pretty for me...”

you swivel your hips in soft circles, clamping down on your lover with each word of praise as he sucks blues and indigos and violets between your breasts, his mouth salivating from watching them bounce with every thrust into your tight heat. he worships you under the golden sun, heated bodies moving together as you both work towards release. “it’s all yours, koo,” you cry, biting your cherry lips— bitten red and swollen from kisses your lover used to soothe your cries of wanton. “i’m all yours.” you add before he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and you’re pulling him by the hair to yank him into another sweet kiss, tasting traces of your gloss on his pinkish lips.

“mine.” jungkook claims your mouth as his, as you squeeze and clench and clamp around his girth, tears beginning to roll as your high approaches. the guitarist doesn’t up, letting you swallow his whines as the sensitivity grows too much, the tip of his length hitting that one spot over and over again while you push your hips down to meet his every thrust.

“look me in the eyes when you cum with me.” you growl to him, freeing your hands to cup his cheeks— lips tingling and cunt spasming. jungkook can barely nod but he obliges, deep brown eyes pulling you in as his warm breath fans across your face. you drown in his eyes, falling under as the knot in your stomach finally snaps— your hips falter as you cling to jungkook with all you have, release glazing his cock until he fills you with his creamy essence. your fingers massage his wet scalp while you bury your face into his neck, hearing him whimper and cry out as he fills you over and over again.

eventually, the sensitivity grows too much and jungkook pulls out of you with small moans, fingers finding your messy entrance as a mix of your arousals drips onto the leather seats. “i love you, angel face...so fucking much,” he finally says with glossy eyes and a tiny smile, dipping his finger into your leaking hole and smearing the evidence of your rendezvous against your lips.

“and i love you, more than anything.” you hum back, licking the sweet and salty sheen from your lips before mirroring your lovers smile because all though he’d rubbed of your cherry gloss, jungkook’s cum was the next best thing.

⇢ taglist !

@periminkle @singular-itae @ggukkieland @preciouschimime @ultraanonymousey @aishots @yiyibetch @luvrssunrise @uyyugukkie @10cm @4gustdx @codeinebelle @itssmarla @http-je0n

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matildashoney · 5 years ago

Text

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Ten

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

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis, @wherearethewatermelons, @cock-a-doodely-doo

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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

good luck with this one, angels. x

Harry hasn’t spoken much the entire flight, only with exceptions of thanking the flight attendants for their courtesy and asking if Amelie wanted water or something to eat. His lips were tucked in a straight line, pursed tightly, the worry line in his forehead etched into his brows. His green eyes were a muted colour, one earphone dangling from the mess of curls on his head. He kept looking over to Amelie, waiting for her to say something, to yell at him, to scold him, to even whisper. He missed her voice when she was talking to him. She always has a different voice with him – no matter which emotion she was feeling more – and it is his favourite sound in the whole world. Her voice is sweet and smooth like honey, twinges of her mother’s accent when a word would nearly slip into another language and the twang that her father gave to his children. Amelie’s voice is melodic, hanging on every syllable and enunciating in a way that Harry could listen to her speak forever.

Harry just wants to hear Amelie speak to him.

Amelie is hidden behind sweatpants and a sweatshirt, neither matching in their colour scheme, Harry’s old Greenbay Packers hoodie clinging to her torso, the sleeves still slightly loose after nearly a year of washing and drying. Her hair is tied into a bun, stray baby hairs falling to the nape of her neck and her forehead, the saltwater clinging to the peach tone that is slowly fading into a deeper brunette with her roots. Amelie and Gemma were meant to dye their hair together when she went to London after St. Bart’s, but that’s not in the itinerary anymore.

Harry reaches for her hand, his heart breaking when Amelie unclips her seatbelt and shakes him away, standing to her feet and staring at him with the hardest glare that she could muster without tears.

“Can you just,” she mutters, her voice trailing at the end of the sentence, taking a deep breath and hiding her face away from his as she angrily wipes a tear from her cheek.

“Can you talk to me? Baby, I don’t understand,” Harry whispers, dropping his hand disappointingly to his thigh and extending his legs slightly to try and prolong his time with her.

“Don’t,” Amelie sterns, stepping over his legs and pausing when his hand grasps her waist lightly, steadying her to avoid falling as a flight attendant walks behind her swiftly and without caution, nearly causing her to trip into her. Her eyes soften when he releases her, suddenly wishing that he would demand her to speak to him. Her mind and heart were conflicted, because as much as she wanted to be angry and yell and express all of the negative emotions swimming in her chest, Harry is the love of her life and the idea of him hurting makes her stomach turn.

“Ames,” he whispers, squeezing her hand, his heart breaking at the feeling of the sweat in her palms and the shakiness in her fingertips. He wants to comfort her, to soothe her. “Amelie, please.”

“I,” she breathes shakily, taking her hand and turning on her heel, her words barely above a whisper. “I need a minute.”

Harry stares sadly as Amelie walks swiftly down the walkway, locking herself in the toilet faster than he could turn around and say a word. His thoughts go over every single event that occurred since Christmas, since the day before when he flew home without her. He thinks about the kiss they shared in the car when she arrived a few days later. He thinks about all of the words they shared and the wishes they whispered between kisses beneath a mistletoe Harry sneakily hid above his bed, the way they made love, and everything felt alright.

His hands rub his cheeks harshly, his eyes stinging with tears as he thinks about their holiday and what could’ve gone wrong, what he could’ve done better. All Harry wants is Amelie.

And feeling her slipping is surely destroying him.

Harry could feel that something was different.

Amelie hadn’t mentioned anything, neither had Phoebe when Harry texted her asking if Amelie was alright and if something happened at Christmas that he didn’t know about. Her attitude around him was a bit different, more reserved, and it reminded him of how she was at the beginning of their relationship a year ago before she opened up and got comfortable. Boxing Day was wonderful, celebrating the day with her, making lazy love in his bed, sharing presents and having a stuffing meal with his parents and their family and friends.

And then Harry told her who would be on the yacht. Only two days before they were set to go on it and celebrate New Year’s Eve. Her reaction was less than ideal, a forced smile and a peck to the cheek and an excuse to go and reach for her phone and go to her bath early. Harry could tell that Amelie was on the phone with Phoebe, giving short responses and only asking vague questions to spare his own interest.

He wasn’t too sure what she was telling Amelie, but he didn’t think much of it. Phoebe and Harry were friends, weren’t they? There wouldn’t be, shouldn’t be, anything to worry about. He brushed off his own anxiety about their conversation and mulled about his business to ready himself for bed, but as soon as she stepped outside the ensuite in a towel and walked into the wardrobe to get dressed, Harry knew something was wrong.

Amelie was more comfortable around Harry than ever before, walking out of the bathroom naked and opting to either steal a shirt from his laundry or sleep naked on the warmer days, showering with him, talking with him about the ideas in her head for a new exhibit and the possibility of taking a few naked portraits to paint for something for herself.

But, in that very moment, as Amelie turned her face away from his and dressed in the most loose-fitting pyjamas that she could find in her half of the closet, Harry knew something was wrong.

And the days following weren’t any better, even when Harry tried to ask. He wasn’t asking in the right ways, of course, but what was the right way? How was he supposed to know? He would ask if everything was alright at dinner, or if she wanted to talk about anything before bed. She always gave the same half-hearted smile, a kiss to his cheek, and reassurance that she was alright. And Harry believed her.

Until the yacht, that is.

Harry never really understood what Amelie meant by the way people would never assume they were together, they were dating, especially based on their looks alone. He never thought much of it because everyone close and important to them knew and respected their relationship. He never had to defend himself to anyone.

Until the third day.

All day, Kendall was hanging on him, clinging to his arms, taking pictures with him. Kris snapped a few of them, encouraging the poses and the flirting and the way Harry naturally listened to the requests. Until there was one that made even him uncomfortable. Her lips much too close to his even though it was an ‘innocent kiss on the cheek’ and immediately his hands were up, and he was excusing himself.

Amelie walked away as soon as Kendall started clinging to Harry, and there was this sick feeling in her stomach – the anxiety – that was making her think about all the times she saw Jack in a similar situation, from afar acting a similar way. Logically, Amelie knew that Harry would never behave in the same way Jack did, treat her as poorly, cheat on her, tell her that she’s replaceable, that she isn’t worthy. He wouldn’t ever do that, because he loves her.

Harry loves Amelie. Right?

He found her staring at the stars, sketching mindlessly on a blanket in the quietest part of the boat. He laid down next to her, kissing her shoulder, staring at the perfect replica of how the stars and the moon look above them. He complimented her work, a heavy feeling on his chest when she simply nods and hums in appreciation. That’s the first night she doesn’t let him touch her, shying against from his wandering hands with an excuse of exhaustion and a chaste kiss to his lips.

Only coming out for breakfast, she says that she got an offer to do a few pieces for an Up and Coming Artists exhibition in Beverly Hills and is going to be staying on the boat, taking in the sun and sketching for when they go back. Harry looks at her quizzically, confused as to why she hadn’t told him when they woke up, when they shared an innocent shower together, on their way to breakfast. He murmurs his congratulations with a forced smile and a kiss on her temple, but there is something in his chest that is telling him something is wrong.

Harry peeks into their room around two, walking in with a drink and a glass of water for Amelie to have. “Come get some sunshine with us, baby,” he says, sitting beside her on the inserted loveseat in the bay window and kissing her temple, trying to ignore how her body tenses with his touch.

“Think I’m just going to take a nap,” she reasons, hiding a fake yawn behind her palm and setting her pencil and her sketchbook on the bedside table.

“Can stay if you want me to,” Harry offers, his hand on her knee and his eyes soft under the dim light of the suite. “Can do something other than a nap if you want.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Amelie sighs, forcing a smile and pulling her body away from his reach.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ames?”

“I’m fine, baby.”

Harry’s heart twinges at the name, the sound so familiar and so comforting yet feeling so off coming from her lips in that very moment. “Alright,” he sighs, leaning forward and kissing her lips lightly. “Love you.”

Amelie mumbles something under her breath, almost mistakable for simply a sigh. Harry leaves shortly after she settles under the covers, bringing the curtains down and making the room as dark as possible for the midday sun. Harry excuses Amelie for being tired with his parents, assuring them that everything was alright despite their questioning stare.

Everyone else seemed to forget she wasn’t around.

That’s when Harry noticed even more so what Amelie was talking about, and there was a pang in his chest filled with guilt. He mentioned Amelie in every other sentence, and yet, only his mother was the one that seemed to engage in the conversation. Did people think they wouldn’t last? How could anyone not realise her bright hair and shining smile and the sweetest laugh was missing from the conversation? He felt a bit angry at that and walked to another part of the boat to lay on a chair, needing to be alone with his thoughts and his emotions and settle down. He would talk to Amelie about it, later, apologise for not noticing sooner and promise to be better about it.

His thoughts were interrupted when Kendall asked to see the exhibition pictures, coming up seemingly out of nowhere and laying on the chair connected to his. Complaining about not being able to see, she tossed the towel over them, her fingertips scrolling through the pictures, asking ignorant questions that Harry wants to ignore. Had he been this dense about art before, too?

His thoughts must have been so deep in his head when he pulled the towel away from them that he didn’t notice his girlfriend standing dumbfounded at the walkway, her lips pursed together in a tight line and a numbness washing over her emotions. His jaw dropped, knowing how badly that must’ve looked to her, how this is not the first time she’s been through something similar and all the anxiety and the thoughts must be rippling through, the depression slowly resurfacing.

Amelie walked away much more calmly than she anticipated. Maybe it’s because she’s older, she doesn’t feel the need to make a scene as much. Maybe it’s because she’s embarrassed, embarrassed to think that she ever believed all that Harry told her in a year as opposed to what Jack told her for three.

Harry could replace her. Jack was right. There was no one more easily replaceable that Amelie, herself.

He nearly runs over a staff member on the way off the boat and to the hotel, sputtering apologies and shoving his sunglasses on his nose to hide himself away, his heart sinking when he sees her staring out the window with her legs to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. He spilt apologies and attempts to justify what happened and what she saw, how it was completely misconstrued. Amelie stayed quiet, nodding and humming when necessary, her thoughts circling around his explanation and to the anxiety beginning to overwhelm every emotion and every breath that sits inside her. He brushes his fingers through her hair as she stares out the window, not breathing a word.

Harry could see it happening, the impending spiral, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He wakes up from his mid-afternoon nap the next day to their suitcases clattering against the makeshift wardrobe, a string of profanities leaving her lips in a yelp of pain. His body shoots out of bed, his knuckles rubbing at his eyes, his lips parting in a yawn as he tries to speak. “Ames, what are you doing?”

“Going home,” she spits, not daring to turn around and face the half-asleep man beneath the sheets, the one that she loves more than anything and can’t picture her life without. Her voice is bitter and cold to hear, but it’s the only way she can speak without breaking into sobs. “Can come if you want, I really don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Hey,” Harry sighs, swinging his legs around the bed and padding over to her, gently prying her hands away from suitcase. His heart drops when she shakes him away and starts tossing her clothes messily into her open case. “Tell me what’s gotten into you.”

“I really don’t fucking want to, Harry.”

“Mon ange–”

“Don’t whip out the French and think I’m going to want to talk to you,” Amelie says harshly, tears spilling over her eyes and onto her cheeks and a frustrated grunt leaving her lips as she falls to her knees on the carpet. Her whole chest is caved in with her shaky breaths, her arms tucked tightly against her ribs to control her shaking.

“Amelie Fay,” Harry breathes, his hand taking her wrist, lightly tugging, “look at me.” He doesn’t let go of her hand as she stands, her broken posture making their height difference more apparent than ever as Harry looks down at her. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Do you really not fucking get it?”

“Get what?” he sighs exasperatedly, his shoulder slumping in defeat as she shakes away his touch and attempts to brush a stray hair away from her forehead. “Not really sure I get anything. Know you’re anxious, right now, and you won’t tell me why. Know that you saw what you saw yesterday, and you didn’t tell me how you felt about it. Know that you get anxiety about meeting new people but what happened in August? Talked about it and then we were good. I apologised for what you saw yesterday, but it wasn’t what you think. That’s all I can say is sorry.” He isn’t really sure what else to say. He is confused as to why Amelie won’t talk to him, why she won’t open up. “Don’t really get the difference between talking then and now.”

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters, brushing her fingers through her hair and tugging at the root, stepping over the suitcase and walking away to gain some distance. Harry can see how much she’s shaking by the way her knees are tied together.

“Maybe,” Harry admits, nodding and tucking a hair tie between his teeth while he gathers the hair at the nape of his neck, tying it in a bun on his head. “Maybe I just don’t fucking get it. Explain it to me. Make me understand.”

“Do you not see that people don’t see us together? Because you only act that way around your family, and your close friends, Harry. Never the people that are going to talk about it.” Harry can see how hurt Amelie is by the words she’s saying, by the truth held behind every syllable and the way she has to stare at his chest or his knees, avoiding his eyes altogether. Confrontation was never Amelie’s forte, and having to do it in an unfamiliar environment made her want to be sick. “Can’t even look at you, right now.”

“Well, I’m not walking away, so look at me.” Harry’s words are stern in comparison to how unsteady and shaky he feels inside. He feels as though all of his bones are limp, all of his muscles disintegrated and all the emotions that made him feel strong and capable have fallen to his feet and out of reach. He can feel this beginning to end, and not in a way that he wants. “I don’t get why you’re being like this. Ames, we’ve been together for nearly a year,” he confesses, his words not thought out before tumbling from his lips. He should know why Amelie is feeling this way, he does know. He isn’t thinking. That’s the problem. “Tell me why I would want anyone fucking else. Make it make sense to me.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Harry,” Amelie groans, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the way his arms are crossed in front of his chest. Harry either stood in that pose or with his hands on his hips when he’s angry. Her nostrils flare as she scoffs at the idea. “This isn’t about you.”

“Then, what is it about?”

Amelie waits a moment, thinking carefully of her words and taking a deep breath. All of the thoughts in her head are suddenly clear as she steps towards him, her arms folded in front of her chest like his and mocking his stance. “You don’t think about me,” she says firmly, confident in the words that she’s speaking into the air, as much as they break her heart into pieces, “when it comes to people that are in a different world from me. Get it, you know, I don’t fit in with your friends, I’m not the stereotypical person that you hang out with based on my looks. I’m not good enough to be with you. Knew that from the get-go.” Amelie blinks rapidly, forcing herself to stay hard on the exterior and not shed a tear. “Didn’t think it’d wind up with someone throwing themselves at you in front of me, though.” Harry’s eyes well up, closing his parted lips and tucking his chin to his chest. “Thought it was different with us, you know? Thought that all those times you said it was me that is good enough for you and that everything he said was wrong, that you meant it. Thought that you really wanted me.”

Neither Harry nor Amelie dares to utter Jack’s name, anymore.

“I did mean it,” Harry whispers, tears welling in his eyes and his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. He can feel the splinters of the arteries and ventricles against his ribs, ripping at his muscles as the pieces of his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. “I do mean it.”

“Harry, I saw the way you were interacting and talking to everyone.” Her eyes fall to her feet, her cheeks tinged a shade of red that splotches whenever she begins to cry. Harry knows that his heart is over when a tear falls down her cheek. “Have to be so much more careful and on guard with me. Don’t even look happy when you talk to me anymore. Comfortable, that’s all we are. That’s not fair,” she hiccups, sniffling and wiping the tear away with her sweatshirt sleeve. “Not fair to either of us, really.”

“Doll.”

“Don’t, Harry. I just want to go home. Don’t feel like you have to come. Don’t want to ruin your holiday.”

“Only a holiday because you’re here,” Harry says softly, his hands wiping away the tears on his cheeks as Amelie turns away, her eyes staring down at the intimidatingly empty suitcase. They always helped each other pack and unpack, and now she would have to do so alone. “Can you wait like, fifteen minutes? Don’t go anywhere without me.” Amelie nods silently, not wanting to see the ounce of hope glimmer in the emerald eyes that draw her in. “I’ll figure out how to get us home, today.”

Angrily wiping the tears from her eyes and leaning down to start putting her clothing away, she nods, not daring to meet Harry’s intense stare. Amelie thought about making a scene, screaming at the top of her lungs that Harry is an asshole and she hates him and never wants to see him, again. Maybe, she’ll even say she doesn’t love him, just to twist the knife.

That wasn’t something Amelie could do though, because while, yes, Harry can be an asshole sometimes, she doesn’t hate him and, more than anything, she wants to see him every single second of every day for the rest of her life. And, fuck, would she be lying if she said she doesn’t love him with her whole heart.

Harry bypasses anyone that gets in his way, walking straight to his mother and stepfather’s room with tears in his eyes, silently praying that they would have the answer to his question. He knocks three times, Robin’s voice ushering Harry to enter and their eyes wide with concern as his hair is tied into a messy knot on his head and his eyes are red with tears.

“Don’t know what I did wrong and now she wants to go home and she’s acting really weird and I’m worried. Amelie is worrying me. Think she’s going to leave me,” Harry speeds, all of his words jumbled together and his thoughts overwhelming and bringing him to tears. “Don’t think she’s going to talk to me ever again when we go home.”

“Harry,” Anne says softly, standing from her chair in the corner of the room and leaving her teacup on the plate, walking over to her son standing distressed in the middle of their room, “what are you talking about? You live together. This is just an argument. It happens.”

“No, Mum,” Harry sniffles, knuckling his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “Didn’t,” he hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks, “Didn’t defend our relationship to people, let other people take pictures all over me, barely showed her any love like she should have felt. And I made her feel like Jack did.”

That sentence breaks Harry apart.

“Honey, I’m sure that’s not true,” Anne sighs, wrapping him in a hug and embracing the boy that is much too tall to be cradled into his mother, like this. Harry needs the hug, though, and she would never deny him, nor his sister, that.

“But it is, Mum, because she said that she thought she was wanted by me and that there isn’t any happiness when we speak to each other. That’s exactly how she used to feel with Jack.”

“Harry,” she soothes, rubbing his back calmingly and gently prying him away from her embrace, her hands holding his shoulders to properly look into his eyes and speak, “it’s some communication issues. That’s fixable.”

“Not with her anxiety, Mum,” Harry argues, knowing his girlfriend, the love of his life, better than he’s ever known, anyone. He takes a deep breath, all of his thoughts ready to be rushed into one sentence. “She’s going to cut me out. Promised herself she’d never go through this, again. Said she’d cut ties with anyone that made her feel that way.” He takes a moment to breathe, tears falling down his cheeks, “I made Amelie feel that way.”

“Have to talk to her, Harry,” Robin says, scratching his fingertips over his beard lightly. “Don’t think you apply to that rule, you know? Different when you love someone. Jack didn’t love her; he did things maliciously. You love Amelie and didn’t try to hurt her.”

“But whatever I did,” Harry hiccups, stepping away from his mother and leaning against the dresser in the corner, his arms folded in front of his chest, “I hurt her. I said things that weren’t thoughtful.” His hands rub his face in frustration. “Made her feel like I don’t want her. How can I ever come back from that?”

“Have to talk and assure her that you do,” Robin tells him, sighing and heaving a breath as he stands from the bed and walks over to him. “Harry, you know Amelie better than anyone – you know what’s best.” His hand holds Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his stare. “If she’s really not feeling well, then you two can fly home tomorrow when we dock for the rest of the trip. Have to have a serious conversation, though.”

Amelie is asleep and curled into one of Harry’s sweaters by the time he stalks back to the room.

“Can I lay with you?”

Amelie nods silently, graciously accepting his arms around her and allowing her eyes to flutter shut with the feeling of his lips on the back of her neck sweetly.

“Know that you want to go back to California, and we need to talk,” Harry whispers, his lips touching her skin and savouring the way her curls fall in his face. “Booked a flight for tomorrow for us to get the hell out of here and go home.” Her hands hold his tighter around her waist, making sure that he won’t let go. “Let me hold you, tonight, please.”

Amelie sucks in a deep breath and brushes a stray tear away from her cheeks, rolling around and tucking further into Harry’s chest, his hands holding her tightly and breathing in the saltwater clinging to her hair.

Harry’s eyes are shut, and he is nearly asleep when Amelie’s fingertips trail up his chest, her thumbs tracing along his jaw and her lips sponging light kisses on his cheek. His hand squeezes her hips, encouraging her to continue, his head rolling against the pillow to give her more room. He can feel the tension in the air, the way all of their thoughts and words are being held in the base of the throat to avoid ruining this moment.

“Love me,” Amelie whispers, moulding her lips with his and coaxing his body to lay above hers. Her movements are slow and steady, almost as if she was memorising how each kiss, each touch, each breath feels against her for the last time. “Don’t think about it, just love me.”

But how can Harry not think about it? His chest is tight because he knows that something is coming, something he is going to hate. He can feel the unspoken words on his tongue, the anger in his chest, the hurt in his emotions.

“I do, I do love you.” He interlocks their fingers and quietly, passionately makes love to her beneath the covers, professing his love to her in kisses and touches and moans. He can taste the vulnerability, the things left unsaid. He feels as though this is the only way he can know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. Harry hates that.

Harry squeezes her hands, kissing her deeply and professing his love in the only way he knows. He takes her in his arms, holding her, feeling the tacky skin against his and the panted breaths on his cheeks, not mentioning the tears in his neck. Amelie shuts her eyes, pretending that if she falls asleep all of the negative thoughts and emotions in her head will disappear.

All they want is to pretend like they’re okay, even if it’s just while they sleep.

And in the morning, Harry woke up without her. Her suitcase was in the corner of the room, a note saying that she’s gone to have breakfast with his parents to say goodbye. Goodbye sounds so final in her note, it makes his stomach turn. Harry puts on his bravest face, his fakest smile, and walks out, joining the group for breakfast and playing into Amelie’s lie that she wasn’t feeling too well and had some work to get done, and they would be going home to help her feel better. Anne didn’t mention that Harry went to them in a panic, and by Harry’s stern stares, she doesn’t dare to think he mentioned it either.

Harry insists on carrying her luggage and being the proper gentleman, he should have been from the day they walked onto the boat, but he couldn’t take back what he didn’t do. He knows that Amelie is anxious, and there is a slight relief of pressure when she lets him hold her hand through security and the escort to their plane, her head on his chest, her hood pulled above her wet hair.

That was it. Five days of bliss turned into two days of disaster. Harry’s world turned upside down.

And he wasn’t too sure how to fix it.

Harry’s heart sinks when Amelie walks quietly to their seats, her hand touching his shoulder to tell him that his legs need to move to accompany her and his hands settle in his lap. Her eyes are red-rimmed and there are tears lingering on her eyelashes, her lips plump and reddened with biting into the flesh to mask her crying.

“Got you some water.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, forcing a smile as she takes the water from his hands and twists the cap open, taking a long sip and setting the bottle in her bag before leaning against the seat, her eyes squeezing shut. “Need to sleep for the rest of the flight before m’brain implodes.”

“Migraine?”

Amelie nods, tears welling in her eyes as the pain echoes through her. Harry opens his arms, grateful that she nods and lifts the armrest, tucking her arms around his waist and cuddling into his chest. His kiss lingers on her forehead, his fingers gently scratching the nape of her neck and cuddling her closely into his warmth, into his embrace around her. Her breathing is slower, her lips parted with pants as she falls asleep easily in his arms.

Harry can feel the tension disappearing as Amelie drifts asleep, yet he knows that whatever’s to come at home is only going to be worse.

/ / /

Comfortable silence is fucking overrated. That’s how Harry feels, right now.

Harry feels that there is no such thing, especially when it can be felt in his bones as his heart is ripping through his chest, leaving scars and tears along the way, that his girlfriend is going to tell him that she’s leaving and doesn’t want to be with him anymore. His love, the love of his life is silent, disappearing before his eyes, and there is nothing, no way to prevent it.

Comfortable silence is meant for the moments in the early morning as the sun is rising and birds are chirping and he’s made love to his girl and they’re falling asleep together, once more. Comfortable silence is meant for the moments where she’s sketching the beach as they lay in his boot at their favourite lookout point, Malibu’s prettiest beaches laid out before them. Comfortable silence is meant for the moments where she’s cuddled into his chest, watching their favourite programmes or reading her favourite books, only speaking to read a quote or a specific line that strikes her.

Comfortable silence is not meant for the quiet moments before your heart is broken.

“Think,” Amelie stutters, running her fingers through her hair and pushing her fringe out of her eyes, the curls that Harry loves tied into a messy knot at the base of her neck and a light sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead from anxiety. “Think we need to take a break. Have a bit of space for a while.”

“No,” Harry says, frustratedly setting his head in his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs. He won’t look Amelie in the face. Her eyes are glossy and dim of their colour and staring into her eyes will make him break down into tears. Her features are cold and seemingly heartless as if all the love she’s ever had for him has disappeared. Maybe that’s what makes this hurt more.

Harry will never not love her.

“Harry,” she sighs, biting at the inside of her cheek and taking a hesitant step towards him. His hand immediately moves away from his face to stop her, shaking his head and returning his stare to his feet.

“Amelie, don’t. I’m well aware that I fucked up and I hurt you, but please don’t fucking say that to me,” he spits, his voice cut with a rasp and the thickness in his accent, the swears burning the tension in the air with a wave of vulnerable anger.

“Harry,” Amelie breathes, her nails digging into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her skin. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her skin tinging pink with her rising blood pressure. Her mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and reactions and dizziness that makes her believe she might pass out, “listen to me.”

“I really don’t fucking want to when you’re breaking up with me,” Harry says, pinching his bottom lip between his fingertips and taking a deep breath with his next thought. “Do you want to date other people? Is that it? God, please don’t fucking tell me that either.”

“Quit swearing at me and listen to me.”

Harry’s eyes meet her stare, the intensity in her voice, the anger, the volume a height he’s never heard her speak before. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, her fingertip digging into her temple and trying to relieve the headache. Harry wanted to kiss the pout off her lips. “Don’t want to hear it.” He shakes the thoughts out of his head, away from his mind. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Can you stop being so fucking thick-headed?” she groans, throwing her arms in the air in frustration and rolling her head against her neck, her nostrils flaring as she inhales a deep breath. “God, Harry, you don’t get it.”

“No, Amelie, I really don’t.”

“Can’t handle everything that’s going on in my head with you breathing down my neck,” Amelie says, controlling her temperament and her anxiety, the queasiness sitting in the base of her throat, her head swirling.

“Oh, so sorry ‘m caring about you, then,” Harry sneered, the sarcasm dripping in each syllable and the anger visible in the striking vein in his forehead. Amelie could have sworn that he was beginning to hate her. “How insensitive of me.”

How could you think Harry wouldn’t hate you after this?

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” she shouts, her body slinking against the dresser and hitting her head against the wooden frame, her knees tucked to her chest. “Get over yourself for a minute.”

Harry shuts his mouth, not daring to say another word. Harry has never seen Amelie this angry, especially not with him.

“’m trying to understand something,” she mumbles, her glossy eyes cast to the ceiling, a betraying tear slipping down her cheek. “Why the hell is it okay for you to get jealous when someone flirts with me, but as soon as I’m upset over someone literally throwing themselves on you, I’m the fucking problem? Like, make that make sense to me, Harry.”

“Don’t care when people flirt with you as much as you think.” Harry is lying through his teeth. His greatest flaw is his jealousy. Maybe not the greatest considering admitting that he’s wrong is his least favourite thing to do, but it certainly is a weakness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Fine, I get fucking jealous. Tell me something I don’t already know,” Harry retorts, sighing heavily and knocking his head against his neck, his ability to control his anger wearing all too thin.

“Harry, you don’t think about anyone but you, sometimes, and I’m fucking tired of it,” she snaps, the sentence cutting through him like the sharpest knife, tearing at his stomach and his heart and the emotional control that was rooted in his chest. Her heart was begging her to not hurt him, but her brain was screaming to make him feel the way she does. “Did you think about how I would feel if I saw you – which fucking happened – laying like that? Did you think about how I would feel listening to everyone talk about your relationship with her when I was sitting right beside you? Did you ever even fucking think of me?”

“God, I think about you all the time! You take up all the space in my head. There isn’t one thought that isn’t wrapped around you,” he yells, his voice overpowering hers and making her sink deeper into her knees. Harry’s heart falls into his stomach seeing her shy away from him. “Can’t understand how you’re so insecure about it all the damn time,” he says, shaking his head and standing, holding his hand out to her and frowning when she refuses to touch him. He drops his hand, walking away and spitting out before he could properly think, “Could go out any fucking time of day and girls would throw themselves at me to fuck me.” His mouth snaps shut at the comment, turning on his heel and walking to her, the anger still digging in his veins and making his apology come out in the worst way possible. “Doesn’t mean I fucking do it.”

“Get the fuck away from me.” Her voice is broken and distraught as she stands on her feet, her height not nearly reaching Harry’s but her hands angrily pushing him away from her. “Girls throw themselves at you?” she snickers, carding her fingers through her hair and pushing it away from her eyes. Her blood is boiling so much that the tears in her eyes have evaporated. “Good, you arrogant son of a bitch, I’m glad that they do. Go get one.”

“Fine,” Harry spits, his jaw tense and his eyes widening at Amelie walks to the bedroom door that was shut and locked when they walked in with their suitcases earlier that morning. “Maybe I fucking will.”

“Don’t let the door fucking hit you on the way out.” Her hand yanks the knob, nearly turning it loose. Her eyes portray the hurt, the betrayal, the pain. Harry swears that wouldn’t recognise her, wouldn’t recognise the anger and the hate in her eyes. “Don’t come back either.”

You hate me. I’ve made you hate me.

Harry masks his upset in the harshest tone he can muster, blinking away tears in his eyes. “Don’t think I will.”

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw and staring at the bedroom door. His stomps are heavy into the corridor, his feet moving against the stairwell fast and his hand swinging the front door open and slamming it behind him. He wouldn’t look back. Harry was more than able to get into his car, drive to the nearest bar, and meeting a girl to simply fuck wherever they wanted, wherever they could. Quick and fast. Means nothing. Forget about Amelie. Forget it.

That’s what he needed to do, isn’t it?

Harry gets into his car, turning on the engine and speeding out of the drive, his vision blurring and eyes welling with tears as swerves into a parking space and turn the engine, his hand slamming against the steering wheel as sobs wrack through his body. His thoughts running over every horrible thing he said, his heart broken and tearing through his ribs, scratching and making his entire chest burn with guilt and shame. Thinking about forgetting Amelie would include forgetting everything.

Harry would be forced to forget the kisses, the touches, the love. He would be forced to forget the conversations in a language he learnt for her, the secrets they shared together that belonged to them and only them. Forgetting the lovemaking and the way his hands and his lips knew Amelie’s body like a map, like their intimacy, their connected moments were a treasure.

Cheating on Amelie would ruin everything. Harry couldn’t do that.

Harry turns the engine, cranking his steering wheel and driving home, the highway made through rush hour and taking much longer than he wanted to get there, to get to her. He is expecting Amelie to be gone, to have packed her bags in the thirty minutes he’s been out, to pretend that Harry never existed in her life and move on. His chest heaves in the slightest relief when her car is unmoved in the drive, yet he knows that Jenny or Fay could have gathered her. He stalks to the front door, his knuckles turning white around the doorknob, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to force the oncoming tears at bay, his thoughts scattered and unable to fully make sense.

His shoes stay at the platform of the stairwell, his hand holding onto the bannister and his feet trudging up the stairs as he makes his way to the bedroom. He can see that the light is on, but there he has very little faith that she will be inside. His hand pushes the door open, his eyes welling with tears when he notices the suitcases on the carpet and clothes being tossed inside messily. Harry swears that he’s never seen Amelie so angry, and it breaks him to know that he’s the reason why.

You can’t fix this. You can’t make this better. You’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined the best thing to ever happen to you.

Amelie’s voice is dripping in sarcasm and bitterness, her voice travelling around the bedroom as she forces her favourite sweatshirts – not his, his is in the laundry bin near what is her side of the bed, she must not want it anymore – into the deepest part of the suitcase. “Oh, what’s wrong? No one wanted to be part responsible for you cheating on your girlfriend?”

Harry closes the door, taking a step towards her and making the conscious decision to sit on the chest behind her. Amelie ordered it online a few months ago, saying that they would keep all their memory albums in there and one day it would be filled to the brim. He doesn’t anticipate that being the case, anymore. “Amelie, I was just showing her pictures of the exhibit. Had my towel over our faces because the sun was too bright, and we couldn’t see.”

“Don’t want to hear you say things that you don’t mean, Harry.”

“Fucking swear on m’life, Ames. I’d never cheat on you.”

Amelie tears too hard at her lip, swearing and angrily standing on her feet, tears staining her cheeks as she stares at Harry, disappointment in her eyes. “And what if I don’t believe you? Felt pretty confident in your ability to tell me that you could walk outside and have someone to go fuck in your car or wherever you decide to fucking do it.” Harry stands up, meeting her halfway and standing directly in front of her. “Go,” she shouts, pushing angrily at his chest and staring at the way he refuses to move, a tear falling down his cheek. “Go fuck someone, Harry. See if I fucking care.” Amelie gulps, heaving a shaky breath as her index finger pushes into his chest, “You won’t be the first person to hurt me and I bet you won’t be the fucking last.”

“Amelie,” Harry whispers, his hands lightly holding onto her shoulders, his mouth curving into a pout and his eyes squeezing shut, tears falling down his cheeks. “Amelie Fay.”

“Don’t use my whole fucking name,” she says, her hands shaking so roughly that her sweatshirt sleeve – one that’s marked with the pipe drawing – isn’t able to wipe away her tears. “You know what? Maybe I’ll go fuck someone else. How’s that sound? I’ll go fuck someone else and forget all about you.” Hiccups sound through the air as Amelie struggles to breathe. “Maybe that’s what I’ll fucking do.”

“Hey, Ames,” Harry sighs, taking her hands in his, holding her wrists tightly and bringing her hands to his chest, “look at me.”

“Fuck you, Harry.”

“Amelie, I made you that promise a year ago that I would never cheat on you, and I intend on keeping it.” Harry brings Amelie’s hands closer to his mouth, wanting to kiss her fingertips, her knuckles, her wrists, her arms, every inch that makes her. “Didn’t and wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“And what if I don’t believe you, Harry?”

“Deserve it, I do. I deserve that,” Harry breathes, nodding and kissing each fingertip. “Can’t change what I did,” he whispers, kissing the back of her hands and her wrists. “Have to do all that I can to make you trust me, again.”

“Tell me what you would’ve done if that was me,” she hiccups, tears stinging her eyes, her chest too tight to gain a breath. “Tell me what you would do if I fucked someone else.”

This can’t be happening. Harry is going to leave. Harry isn’t going to be your boyfriend anymore. You’re going to be alone. This is what Jack wanted. This is what he is waiting for. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You can’t go back to Jack. You can’t. Harry can’t leave. This can’t be happening.

“But I didn’t–”

“Tell me.”

“Feel sick to m’stomach,” he confesses, his eyes squeezing shut to try and erase the image of anyone touching her. “Find whoever it was and break their hand for touching you.” His words are barely above a whisper. “Get m’self in a lot of trouble, I reckon.”

“Can you imagine having a fucking horrible day and then walking outside, needing the comfort of your girlfriend, to see her wrapped up in someone’s arms, a towel was thrown over them, not able to see what the fuck they’re doing? How would that make you feel?” Amelie mutters, unable to muster a voice loud enough, strong enough to yell. Her energy is gone. All of her will to make this better is gone. Harry’s lost from her.

“Not very fucking good,” Harry murmurs, gently raising her sleeve, goosebumps prickling her skin, his lips sponging wet kisses along her arms, salty tears on his cheeks. His heart craves her touch. He needs to be kissing her. His mind is a mess, too many thoughts and feelings in his head, all unfiltered and tearing him apart.

Tell me how to make this better. I want to make it better. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave.

“What would you do in that situation? Tell me.”

“Be angry,” he whispers, planting his lips on her neck and delicately kissing her skin, soaking in the way that – even in her anger – her head tilts and makes space for him to leave his mark. “Take that fucking towel off of you and demand an explanation.”

“Tell me what I did,” she breathes, her fingertips curling around the collar of his sweatshirt. As much as Harry has hurt and angered her, her heart is longing for his lips on her.

Make it better. Fix this. Do something to make me want to stay. Do something to show me that we’ll be okay.

“Nothing.”

Harry gently grabs Amelie’s cheeks, kissing her deeply and squeezing his eyes shut, savouring in the way her tongue so effortlessly moves with his and their lips are perfectly aligned, her taste tingling his senses and sparking emotions that made his skin itch to be one with hers. All Harry wants is to love her. “Don’t kiss me.”

Amelie’s words are a betrayal on everything she really wants. His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling the curls out and having her scent wash over him. His breaths are hot against her lips, barely pulling away from her kiss to speak, “Baby, kiss me and make it better. Can make it better, I know it. I’ll fix this. Please.”

“Can’t. No,” Amelie hiccups, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks as her hands push Harry away, shaking away the grasp on her wrists. “Promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

Harry’s voice is unsteady, shaking with every syllable. He is losing the love of his life. Amelie is already gone. “Didn’t cheat on you, I swear on my life. This is all a big misunderstanding. Please don’t leave me.”

“Maybe it is a misunderstanding,” she sighs, rubbing her hands over her face and trying to ignore the burning sensation in her lips, the one that makes her want to kiss him. Harry takes a step towards her, his shoulders slumping as she takes a step away. “But you can’t take back what you said, Harry. Told me that it wasn’t that big of a deal that they were talking about your past relationships, that you were taking pictures the way you were. Hate to break it to you, but just because Jack isn’t around physically doesn’t mean that all the things that were said to me aren’t in my head all the damn time.” Harry notices Amelie’s bottom lip quivering, and every single part of him wants to take her in his arms and comfort her, soothe the ache in her chest that he is the reason for. “Think about it all the time how I’m not good enough for you, how it’s so clear that I don’t deserve a love like the one you’ve shown me.” Her breathing is shaky and passing through parted lips in pants, and Harry is sure that she’s going to give herself an asthma attack at any moment. “But this, Harry, this broke me. Can’t you see that?”

Harry is silent for a minute, trying to gather all of his thoughts and have something to say, something that is worthy of forgiveness. “Can see it, I can. I fucked up. I’m so sorry,” he musters, his teeth biting into his cheek nervously, his eyes blinking away tears as Amelie turns on her heel and makes her way to the bedroom door. Harry quickly follows behind her, their feet light against the wooden stairs, his hand reaching out and grabbing her wrist as they reach the platform and lightly tugging her to look at him. “I love you, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Need to get out for a little while.”

“Are you,” Harry whispers, releasing her wrist and scratching the nape of his neck. “Are you coming back?”

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t do anything stupid. Please. Don’t be reckless.” Harry’s thoughts are everywhere and anywhere and the thought of losing her because she was crying or upset and driving recklessly makes him want to be sick. “Call me if you need me. I love you.”

Amelie nods, pursing her lips together in a tight line and rubbing the tears on her cheeks with her sweatshirt sleeve. Harry is behind her on the stairs, his eyes welling with tears as she grabs her keys and rushes out the door. Her teeth chatter as soon as the wind hits her cheeks, the January air crisp and much colder than anticipated for California. Her engine turns over, her hands tossing her phone and her wallet onto the passenger seat, her mind taking her to the place where she promised she would never go to again.

Jack doesn’t recognise her new car. His fingers nurse a cigarette, the smoke blowing from between his lips. His oblivion is only slightly comforting, as it doesn’t take away from the way his eyes refuse to tear away from the tinted windows and the navy colour of her car. He was always intrigued to understand what he shouldn’t have, and that interested Amelie at first until it was her that he couldn’t have.

Christ, Amelie, what the fuck are you doing here? Do you want something to happen? Are you fucking insane?

Amelie’s body shakes with sobs, nails digging into her thighs and her forehead leaning against the steering wheel, her head pounding with a migraine and her vision blurring with tears. Her life is falling apart at the seams, all of her emotions shattered and destroyed in a matter of days. All that she had, all that she knew is gone. Her love, the love of her life, the one that she wants to spend forever with, disappearing before her very eyes. Harry wouldn’t want her after this, as much as it was said so.

I’m not strong enough for this. I can’t do this. I don’t want this.

Her cheeks bleed with the tiny rips her teeth gnash into her skin, her fingertips digging into her eyes, her nose running, her blood pressure is high – too high – and her consciousness is drifting. Amelie’s mind sets into a panic, her fingertips rushing to lock her doors and moving to recline her seat all the way back, her eyes squeezing shut as her fingertips rollover pressure points, trying to draw the queasiness away and her thoughts to sort enough to drive home.

Harry would help you if you were home. Harry wouldn’t let you get like this. That’s what he was trying to avoid. He just wants to talk.

And for the thirty minutes that Amelie is laying down, strictly focusing on her breathing, trying to regain the strength to drive home, willing her migraine to dissipate and the fog in her brain to clear, her mind is replaying Harry saying “I love you” as she walked out the door.

Harry is calling, Amelie can hear her phone vibrating on the ground. Her migraine is slowly fading, the darkness surrounding her making it much easier to calm down. Her eyes stare up at the moon, wondering why at this time all of the stars are failing to align. Her hands grapple for her phone and her wallet, tucking the wallet in the centre console and opening her screen, there are four missed calls and seven text messages. Clicking on the voicemail, Harry’s voice rings through the radio, the engine turned over and ready to be driven home.

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Know that you needed to get out, and ’m sorry for bothering you,” Harry begins, his voice shaky and nervous. “Come home, Ames. I, um, I want to talk this out.” His anxiety is heard in the rasp clutching every syllable. “Think that we can get over this, you know? ‘s hard, we say things we don’t mean, but that doesn’t mean to have to say goodbye.” Harry is sniffling, now. “Please don’t go to Jack. Don’t do that.” He coughs to mask a choked out sob. “Come home. Fuck, I meant to say please. Je t’aime. I love you, I’m sorry. Please come back.”

Amelie clicks on the second message.

Harry’s voice is a bit softer, more tender. “Ames, I’m worried. Call me back. At least tell me if you’re alright.”

Third message.

His voice is harsh and etched in the thickest accent Amelie has ever heard. “Amelie, I’m going to come and find you if you don’t call me back soon.”

Fourth message.

“Amelie, please, baby.” Harry is crying. His voice is barely above a whisper and his nose is slightly stuffed as he takes a deep breath in. “Please be okay. I need you. Please.”

All the way home, Amelie is thinking about Harry saying that she’s needed, that he needs her. Her heart is entirely his. All of her, every thought, every breath, every painting, every idea, includes him, his love, the way his support has changed how Amelie thinks. Her mind can’t tear away from the insecurities, though, the way all of what Jack has once said to her clings to her thoughts and her doubts when Harry even slightly behaves in a way that she isn’t used to. Amelie is more than aware that therapy takes time and having to admit to Harry that she needs time to find a way to love herself before they can be together makes her want to break, once more.

Fuck, I love him. I love him so much. I can’t go through this. I can’t have him hate me.

Harry is sitting at the dining table, staring at his phone when Amelie walks inside, throwing everything onto the table beside the door and tossing her trainers messily in the closet. He immediately stands, rushing over and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into a hug and tucking his face in her hair, breathing her in, tears wetting her scalp as he squeezes her.

“Hi,” Amelie whispers against his chest.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, kissing her temple and laying his forehead against her head, his fingers carding through her hair. “Fuck, you’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

“Almost passed out in the car, and I had to lie down.”

Harry pulls away, staring at her intently, taking in the flushed cheeks and sweat beading at her forehead, her lips slightly parted and chapped from heavy breaths. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if something worse happened. “Amelie, you should’ve called me.”

Amelie gulps, licking her lips and blinking slowly, “My phone fell on the ground and I couldn’t reach it.”

“Gon’a get you a warm flannel and some water,” Harry says, kissing her temple once more and walking into the kitchen to fill her water bottle from the cabinet, handing her the light pink flask and nodding towards the stairs. “Do you need help getting up the stairs?”

“Can walk, it’s fine.”

Harry nods respectively, walking carefully behind her with a hand on her back to steady her, her legs slightly wobbly as she holds on to the bannister. He quietly shuts the bedroom door behind them, walking straight into the bathroom and running the warm water over a washcloth, wringing out the excess and taking a breath. His eyes blink away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, walking into the bedroom and sighing at the sight of his girlfriend – if he could still call her that – sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the bed.

“Think we should talk,” she whispers, exhaustion in her eyes, her fingertips tracing over the tattoos on her thighs.

“Can talk in the morning, you need to rest,” Harry says, shutting the light and setting the cloth in her hands, his fingertips brushing her fringe away from her forehead. His thumb presses into the button of the lamp on her bedside table, drawing the curtains closed and readying the bedroom for the night. Harry is silently hoping that he’ll be able to fall asleep with Amelie once more before she leaves him.

Amelie grabs his hand, standing on her feet and setting the towel on the wooden table. “Harry.”

“Amelie, I–”

“Know that you love me,” Amelie says, her heart breaking as Harry’s eyes begin to well with tears, his hand held over hers on his chest. “Know that, I do. Have to give me time, though. Can’t love you the way you deserve if ‘m not okay, if ‘m not loving myself.” Her thumb brushes the tears from his cheek. “Unintentionally, we’re hurting each other by not talking, especially me, and we’re just using words to hurt each other. That’s not something I want for you, Harry. That’s not something I want for either of us.”

“Need you to tell me what you want, what you need from me,” Harry sighs, tears staining his cheeks and his tongue trying to wet his chapped lips. “Tell me how to fix this.”

“Have to forgive each other, Harry. Our words, our argument was cruel. That wasn’t fair to either of us,” she whispers, her thumbs soft against his dry skin. “Think we need a few weeks apart, that’s all. Like you’re on tour or I’m doing a mural. That’s all you have to think of it as.”

“But it’s not,” he breathes, his hand gently moving her wrist away from his face, “we’re in the same city, the same house, Ames.”

“I’m going to stay with Mama and Papa and Phoebe for a week or two,” Amelie reasons, shying away from Harry as he denies her touch. Her fear of being rejected by him is overwhelming her senses. “This way we have that space.”

“Don’t have a studio at your parent’s house, and that’ll drive you insane.” Harry knows Amelie better than he knows himself. His heart couldn’t stand to see her break without having her art and her space to breathe. “Can you just stay here? Have me bring some things into the guest room and leave in the morning and come back late at night, I don’t care.”

“But, where will you go?”

His nails scratch at his head, his chin tucked against his chest and his knuckles rubbing at his eyes to rid the tears. “Don’t know, I’ll make myself busy during the day.”

“Don’t want you to think ‘m a horrible person for this, Harry,” she whispers, her fingertips beginning to pull at her lips, the slightly metallic taste of blood on her lips causing her to swear.

“Hey, hey,” Harry sighs, gently prying her hands away from her face and bringing her into his chest. His arms wrap around her shoulders, tucking her arms around his waist and preventing her from subconsciously hurting herself more. “Don’t do that, you’re okay.”

“’m sorry.”

Harry gently rubs her back, his nose tucked into her hair as she cries into his chest, her breathing shaky and panted against his chest. His heart breaks for his love, wishing desperately he could take her pain away, take away all that was done to her, all that he did to her. “’s okay, angel. ‘ve got you.”

“’s all m’fault.”

“’m guilty, too,” Harry sighs, fingertips brushing through her curls and holding her tighter in his warmth. “Don’t blame yourself for everything. This isn’t all your fault. Not like we’re breaking up, yeah? Couple weeks to take some time to breathe and get ourselves together, and then we’ll come back and talk.”

Harry’s hand releases her hair, laying in the centre of her back and soothingly rubbing her spine, Amelie’s eyes meeting his. “Can you stay with me, tonight?”

“Don’t know how good of an idea that is, Ames,” he breathes, tucking a strand of hair away from her forehead and behind her ear, “for either of us.” His chest heaves with a breath, his mind and heart conflicted with what he wants. “Like you said, we were just so cruel to each other.”

“Harry,” she whispers, tears spilling over and her fingertips clutching his hips.

“Don’t cry, please. I’m here,” Harry sighs, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks, his lips touching her forehead and her cheeks. “I’ll stay. Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t go out and fall in love with someone else, okay? Need you to come back to me.”

“Couldn’t and wouldn’t dream of it, mon ange.” Harry gently brings her chin up, his eyes meeting hers, his lips hesitantly pressing to hers to emphasise his statement. “’s you and me, that’s it.”

“Don’t hate me, please.”

“Could never hate you,” Harry assures, brushing the hair away from her neck and lightly kissing her jaw.

“Kiss me,” Amelie whispers, squeezing his hips and mending their lips together. Her eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, her lips slightly rough and dry compared to the gentle feeling of his. His hands grip under her thighs, delicately laying her on the bed and slanting his lips on hers, peeling their clothing slowly and tossing it onto the carpet.

“Never wanted to make you sad,” Harry whispers against her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Know that,” she sighs, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him, silencing his words to hide away the tears that were waiting to fall down her cheeks. “Don’t talk. Make love to me, that’s all.”

“Have to know that I love you.”

“I do, I know.”

Harry and Amelie make love under the tangled sheets of their once shared bed, tears shed, and arms held tightly around each other, quiet whimpers and moans sharing the love and sadness and emotions pouring through them.

Harry clutches Amelie’s naked body against his chest, his fingertips carding through her knotted curls and his lips touching her hairline. “Are we going to talk?”

“Mean, we’re still living together,” she breathes, her fingertips tracing over the birdcage on his ribs. Her throat is dry, the feeling of every emotion rushing through her brain and her migraine beginning to resurface. “Expect us to.”

“And I’ll be there for the exhibition,” Harry says reassuringly, the darkness lingering over their bedroom intimidating to the heartache that is panging their chests.

“Know you will.”

His words are pleading, his fingertips tucking under her chin and bringing her to meet his stare. His heart is so broken. “Can I do anything to change your mind? Anything.”

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, shaking her head and delicately kissing his jaw. Her body sinks further into his embrace, her eyes closing and her hand splaying over the expanse of his back.

“Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime davantage.”

Harry stares at the ceiling, his arm wound tightly around his love. His mind is racing, too many thoughts overwhelming him and too many emotions circulating through, taking his breath away and making his heart feel small in the pit of his stomach, his ribs caved in and puncturing holes in his lungs. His cheeks wet with tears, his hand wiping at the betrayal and falling to where her arm is draped over his waist. Harry’s never noticed before, but Amelie always seems smaller when they’re tucked in bed together when there is the rare opportunity to cuddle her when her hair is falling over her face and her lips are parted between breaths. He soaks it in, all of the upset, all of the tears. His heart clings to the hope that they’ll find their way back, they’ll forgive each other, and they’ll love each other unconditionally forever. That’s all Harry wants: forever.

Harry stares at the beautiful, broken-hearted woman in his arms, the one that he’s fallen so madly in love with, and silently prays to whoever is listening that they’ll make their way back to each other soon.

/ / /

Harry marks another day on his calendar in the guest room and his heart sinks at the sight – two weeks taking ‘time’ from Amelie. He took nearly everything from his office and set it on the desk in the makeshift bedroom for himself. He couldn’t bear being next door to the studio and not going in to steal kisses or have lunch with her or teasingly swipe paint on her nose or her arms.

Her conversations with him are barely anything to remember. Quick check-ins and asking about dinner plans in the mornings as she makes her tea and he grabs his coffee. Maybe the occasional question about who would go to the shops and buy their groceries – usually her for the sake of not being noticed – and making a list of whatever they’ve run out of. Harry wants to ask when she thinks they can speak again, having an adult conversation about what to do with their relationship. His heart is heavy, knowing that his best friend barely speaks to him, and doesn’t really want to. He knows that Amelie has been having nightmares, again, and there have been a few nights where they’ve had a quiet conversation as he soothes her. She never brings it up in the morning, though. Harry wants Amelie to talk to him, even if it’s to say that she’s thinking because that would mean that there’s an opportunity to make it better.

More than anything, it’s painfully obvious that Harry and Amelie really do miss each other, even if they won’t admit it.

Jenny gave Harry an earful at her kitchen counter, his head in his hands, despair etched into his features. There wasn’t anyone to turn to that knew Amelie quite like Jenny did, and Harry knew that she would be honest with him, even though it would surely hurt.

Opening her front door, Jenny rolled her eyes and nudged Harry inside, waddling into her kitchen and taking a seat on the dining chair, her ankles swollen, and her lips wrapped around the straw of her water. You know, if I wasn’t pregnant, I would beat your ass for the pictures I saw.

I know, Harry said, tying his hair into a knot and frowning. It’s really not what it looked like, but I don’t blame you for being mad.

Amelie hasn’t told me anything, she sighed, running her fingers over her bump and leaning her cheek in the palm of her hand. Need you to tell me what happened, and we can try to see the best way to get her to open up, again. Obviously, it’s a good sign if she didn’t call me and ask her to help her leave.

Thinking about Amelie leaving makes Harry shudder. Okay. And Harry tells her everything. All of the harsh words that were said to each other, the leaving, the kisses. He leaves out that they had sex – she can piece that together on her own. He talks about how they’ve barely spoken. I miss her so much. I didn’t think I could ever feel this way. It’s the fucking worst. His eyes refuse to meet Jenny’s because of the disappointment that she feels is lingering over his head, the tension in the air.

This happened to Dan and me, she says, and you’re lucky that Amelie is nicer than I am because I kicked him out of the house for a week. One of his exes started coming around and he’s a boy and didn’t see that she was trying to get in the way. Told him that he needed to decide what he wanted.

Obviously, it worked out for you, though, Harry sighs, I don’t think Amelie wants me anymore, even though she’s all I want.

Maybe you should try to prove that to her, then. Living in the same house and avoiding each other clearly doesn’t do the trick.

And Harry takes Jenny’s advice to heart.

Calling the only person that he knows will have the advice to give him about Amelie, the drive to Pasadena takes much longer than the typical thirty minutes. Harry’s thoughts are racing, and his heartbeat is erratic as the freshly painted house and the flowers and the brick walkway comes into sight. Fay’s car is outside, Harry’s pulling up beside it. His phone vibrates in his pocket, Amelie’s contact showing on his screen, a message saying that she’s going to buy more canvasses and spray paint and to not wait on her for dinner. His heart sinks at that, knowing he wouldn’t see her at all that night.

His thumb pressed into the doorbell, his heart sinking when her younger sister answers the door, the twisted expression on her face and the way her head shakes at the sight of him making him want to shrivel into the floor and melt away. Her eyes could pass for daggers, and Harry swears she’s twisting the knife to make the nerves in his stomach worse.

Her and Amelie surely know how to kill with their stares.

“Hey, Pheebs,” Harry breathes, his hands shoved in his pockets nervously, “is your mum home yet?”

“Yeah,” Phoebe says hastily, the hostile tone a vast change in comparison to how they normally interact. “Why are you here?”

“Pheebs–”

“Don’t call me that anymore,” she interrupts, tears welling in her eyes at the thought. Harry was her friend, yes. But Amelie was her sister, her blood, her best friend.

“Phoebe,” Harry begins, his voice trailing as she turns away, Fay swiftly shuffling into view. “Hi, Fay.”

“Hi, Harry,” Fay welcomes, greeting him with a motherly hug and rushing him inside, the January air crisp and chilling his cheeks a bright red. “Calm the cold shoulder, Phoebe. There’s much more to the story than what a magazine decides to tell you. Clearly, Harry’s here for a reason. Don’t make him feel worse.”

Phoebe nods complacently, turning on her heel and stalking up to her bedroom, giving Harry one last look at the top of the staircase before slamming her door shut. Her feelings were conflicted. All Phoebe wanted was to see Amelie happy, and she is happy with Harry, evidently unhappy without, and there was no way to have a happy medium.

“Come inside the kitchen. Get you some tea and warm you up.” Harry follows Fay into the kitchen, standing quietly in the corner and rocking on his heels as she readies a kettle and paces about the island. “Oh, don’t be shy, now. Come sit.”

Harry fiddles his thumbs, smiling shyly at Fay across the counter and staring at the barstool that his girlfriend - he wouldn’t stop calling her that - painted. He never felt uncomfortable coming to their house, rather slightly uneasy with the thought that they could very well be mad at him for all that he’s done. He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before saying a word.

He isn’t entirely sure on how he should ask his girlfriend’s mother for advice on how to bring her back to him. Because, at the end of the day, Fay was Amelie’s mother, Fay would support Amelie. They didn’t owe him anything.

“How are you doing?” Fay asks sweetly, leaning over the counter and casting her eyes over the solemn boy sitting at her kitchen counter. Phoebe answered the door with a disgusted look on her face, and she knew that couldn’t have been easy to take. “Are you eating? Sleeping well? Had your mum text me the other day to check-in.”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Harry answers honestly, not daring to stare into the eyes that are scarily matching to Amelie’s. “It’s weird. We’re living in the same house, eating meals together, bringing each other coffee from our favourite place, but we’re not together – still in the break, or whatever it is. It’s like we avoid the topic altogether. Ames brushes me off every time I try to bring it up.”

“Know this can’t be easy on you, Harry. It’s clear how much you love her. But this can’t be easy on Amelie, either. She loves you. More than she’s ever loved, anyone. And that includes us,” Fay giggles, patting her hands on the counter and moving towards the whistling kettle. “Harry, what happened on the holiday was an honest mistake. It’s hard, learning all the signs of when someone’s mental health is staggering and trying to remember all the triggers, I’ll say that. But, if you’re going to be in a relationship with someone that does suffer from a mental disorder, you have to be willing to try a bit more. Know that you are, and it’s not just you – Luca and I had to learn, too – that’s just a blanket thought.”

Harry nods understandingly, pursing his lips and encouraging her to continue.

“Know that you both said things you don’t mean. Not sure what you said to her on the boat to make her want to come home, and that’s none of my business, nor is it anyone else’s, but you need to understand that someone with anxiety will cling to those words, especially when there are experiences in their past that give them insecurity about relationships.” Fay sets a cup of tea in front of Harry, milk and sugar accompanied shortly after. He doesn’t like tea, but the kindness that he is being shown in this moment is more than he deserves, and he’ll drink whatever is put in front of him. “Amelie needs breaks sometimes. Allows her to clear her mind and remember what’s important. It’s been that way since she was thirteen. But, Harry, you need to know that you are important to her, likely the most important.”

Harry’s eyes sting with tears at the statement. “I want to be enough for her. I want her to forgive me.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about you. Forgiveness is about the person acknowledging that they were hurt and are ready to move on, to accept that the person may or may not love who they are,” Fay says, the way in which her words pour out in wisdom and clarity only emphasising her ability as an author. “Knowing if that person is wanted in their life is the way they know.” Her lips purse together for a moment. “You and Amelie have to forgive each other. Quite easy to tell that you love each other for who you are, but sometimes you have to wait it out.”

“How do I know if Amelie isn’t going to want me anymore? Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Don’t think you’d be living together, spending time together, sleeping together,” Fay says knowingly, “if she didn’t want to forgive you.”

Harry scratches his neck, rolling his head around his shoulders and sucking in a breath. “I’ve been taking pictures of the moon every night since we got home. Maybe I can do something with that. Kind of showing that ‘m thinking about her, all the time, and thinking about us since it’s our thing.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea. And that’ll spark some inspiration for her to paint, too.”

“Thank you,” he nods, pinching his bottom lip together and sighing. Harry stands from the barstool that once belonged to Amelie, grateful as Fay walks around the island and wraps him in a motherly hug.

“You’re going to be okay. Things just take time.”

Harry smiles, sighing and beginning to walk towards the front door. His heeled boots click against the wooden floorboards, her younger sister waiting at the edge of the stairs, her arms folded in front of her chest and her lips tucked inside her mouth. Harry could see the resemblance between Phoebe and Amelie, especially in their faces when they’re angry. He smiles at her, opening the front door and thanking her mother once again for speaking to him. Her father is walking up the drive, smiling sadly and patting his shoulder as they greet each other quietly. Harry is disappointed in himself, in the way that the relationship he made with her family is slowly disappearing before his eyes. He felt welcomed, he felt like Harry. He isn’t sure he would ever find that with anyone else.

His head turns over his shoulder as a hand plants on the hood of his car, prompting him to shut the door and turn to face whoever is preventing him from leaving. Phoebe is standing against the car, a stern glance telling Harry that what she has to say is going to be serious and should not be taken lightly.

“I’m pissed at you.”

“I know, I’m pissed at me, too.”

“Can tell when things are bad, you know? Cherry called me when you told her who was going on the boat with you, and I’m sure I didn’t make the situation any better by giving my opinions, but what else was I supposed to do?” she exasperates, her arms folding in front of her chest angrily as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “Don’t even bring up how shit the photos make you look, Harry.”

“Know they do,” Harry sighs, his hand brushing his hair away from his face and returning it to the open pocket. “Talked to your sister about it, but you know. Everything is kinda a mess, right now.”

“Do you love my sister? Like, actually love her,” Phoebe wonders, the harsh stare in her eyes softening as Harry’s eyes gloss over.

“More than anything. More than anything ever in m’whole life.”

“Don’t let her think you don’t, then.”

Harry nods, swallowing the sob sitting in his throat, getting into his car and turning on the engine. He drives away slowly, taking in the words that were said to him, scratching at his forehead and tugging on his curls, anger boiling his blood as he passes the café and stares. His drive home is longer than necessary, but Harry needed the time to think. He needed space to breathe. He grabs dinner from a café near their house that she loves, sulking when Amelie’s car is yet to be seen in the garage. Her text said that she wouldn’t be back until late, but that didn’t stop Harry from hoping he would see her.

He writes a quick note on the countertop where she leaves her wallet – so she never misplaces it and can’t leave without panicking – telling her that he bought dinner and it’s in the microwave. He sighs, the emptiness of their house intimidating to his emotions. His makeshift bedroom is cramped with anything he might need, trying his hardest to avoid being around her when she wouldn’t speak. His collection of polaroids are in a box on the bedside table, his hands grappling for the photographs and the camera and bringing them upstairs.

His side is unmade, the duvet tossed and the sheets messy, and his heart sinks. He lays the pictures out on the dresser near the bed, a sticky note set on the side, the white camera held in his hands as he made his way onto the balcony to scope out the stars. He lights his phone’s flashlight for a better image, taking the picture of the moon and waiting for it to develop to add to the pile.

He waits a moment to write anything, trying to think through the quotes sorted through his brain and find one that would be something special, that would mean something to her. He’s read nearly thirty books in the year he’s known her, all taking the time on the road when he wasn’t recording or writing or sleeping. He felt smarter, more impressive.

Harry’s memory of Virginia Woolf’s, The Waves, comes to mind, the quote about the stars seeming perfect to accompany the images. His handwriting is neat on the yellow note, scripting the quote and thinking about the signing, almost scared to say that he loves her.

His chest heaves as he leaves the bedroom. closing the curtains and the lights for her, his footsteps light on the stairs as he makes his way to the guest room, the creaking of the garage alerting him that she was home. He doesn’t want to bother her, knowing that her day must’ve been tiring, and he takes himself into the room, making his night routine action and stepping into the bathroom.

Amelie walks into the kitchen, her lips curving into an involuntary smile as she sets her wallet down and takes in the note that was left for her.

Dinner in the microwave, it’s from Café Habana. Hope you had a good day. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Harry x

Harry could be heard singing in the shower, making Amelie smile wider. Her hands pull the sandwich out of the microwave, her mouth watering at the sight. Her stomach growls, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten anything all day. She tends to forget to eat on the worst days, her mind going through a million thoughts and never calming to ease into the daily necessities. Amelie eats the sandwich all too fast for her liking, savouring the taste and filling her water to bring with her upstairs.

Her heart is heavy hearing the shower cut and Harry’s voice quiet, his singing always comforting on the nights she couldn’t sleep. Her nightmares are back, and they’re happening every other day. She wants to ask Harry to sleep with her, to protect her from bad dreams. Her hands gently close the door, never locking it in case he decided to take matters into his own hands and come to their bed.

Her hands peel the uncomfortable clothing off her skin, inhaling the scent of Harry’s sweatshirt she tugged from his side of the wardrobe and slipping it over her torso, naked from the waist down. Her fingertips take off her rings, her lips parting and her eyes glossing over as she sees the seventeen polaroid photographs of the moon on the counter, all dated and lights perfect for her to replicate in a painting.

Her hands clasps over her heart, the genuine thought behind such a simple gesture meaning so much to her, to them. Harry was her moon, and always would be.

“There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.”

Hope this is some inspiration. Harry x

All Amelie can think about it how much she wants to run down the stairs and kiss him. Harry is her inspiration.

/ / /

Harry’s ear twitches at the knocking on the bedroom door. His guitar is in his lap, strumming a melody that’s been sitting in his head, one about his girlfriend and their time apart and the sadness that’s been coursing through him over the near three weeks that it’s been like this. It’s Amelie knocking, Harry knows this. Her hesitancy gave her away; she always gets nervous to go to him when he seems slightly preoccupied. He doesn’t want to know how many times someone told her that she was bothering them. He would always drop everything to be there for her. Call it a weakness or being smitten, Harry could never find it in him to act any other way.

“Hey,” Amelie says, hands tucked in the pocket on her sweatshirt – the one she got at the concert a few months back – and her eyes staring at her feet anxiously.

“Come closer to me; it’s not like I’ll bite you.” Her mouth twitches into a smirk as they share a knowing smile, her knee settling on the mattress as her foot stays planted on the ground, her body much closer to his than she might have anticipated. “Hi,” Harry smiles, setting his guitar on the platform and turning to face her. “You okay?”

“Need some help with the exhibition pieces, if you don’t mind.” Her hair is a fresh shade of peach, her fringe a bit shorter in the front, her hazel eyes bright in the corners with a highlight he’s never seen before. Her hair is curled at the ends, still long and flowing down her back, and Harry wants to twirl it around his ring covered fingers. “Could you help me load ‘em in my car?”

“Course.” His feet slip into the trainers next to his bed, standing up and ushering his hand towards the door, waiting for her to walk out first.

All of her pieces for the exhibition are against the foyer wall, and Harry wants to sit with her and talk about them all before they have to leave. His eyes take in the bags under her eyes and the slight flush to her cheeks and decide against it. He hands her the tinier canvas, a greyscale sketch of a hand holding onto someone’s shoulder, and there is a slight hiccup in his heartbeat at the sight. His hands clutch onto two much larger pieces – one, a coloured version of the sketch from the second night on the holiday; two, the lookout point in Malibu that they always go to on their picnics.

Harry waits beside the car as Amelie unlocks the doors, opening the boot and the backseat to set everything separately and ensure that they wouldn’t be damaged along the way. “Doin’ alright?”

“I’m alright.”

Harry knows Amelie is lying. “Have you been sleeping?” His questions come out more as a statement, a way to talk about what’s going on. Knowing that she wasn’t talking to Jenny or Phoebe, and she certainly wasn’t speaking to him, who was she speaking to? Amelie needed someone to talk to, to share what was overwhelming her and work through the emotions. Harry wishes she would talk to him. “At all?”

“By the way you’re asking I’m assuming you know the answer,” she sighs, scratching her head as her eyes flutter for a moment, the tiredness overwhelming her today more than usual. All of this would pass eventually. Flowers. Blooming. All that she told herself to try and feel better. “It’s fine, Harry. I’m okay.” Today it feels like shit, though.

Haven’t slept for more than three hours a night for almost three weeks. Sure, you’re okay.

“Can talk to me, you know,” Harry softens, leaning against the doorframe at the guest bedroom and squeezing her hand. He could laugh at how ridiculous this entire scene appeared to anyone without any idea of their situation, appearing as a movie, the scene where they were saying goodbye at the end of a date and she was anxious about kissing him. If only. “’m your best friend.”

Disregarding all her anxiety and hesitation, Amelie walks towards Harry, snaking her arms around his waist and sinking into his warmth, into the embrace that comforted her on the worst days. “Know that.” Her voice is muffled by his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin on the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

Harry squeezes Amelie tightly, his lips in her hair and his fingertips lightly curling around her hair. He can’t help it, it’s his favourite thing to do. “Come on, I’ll get dressed and then I can help bring this to the venue.”

Her face continues to stay tucked into his chest, her arms holding his waist tighter to not let go. Maybe she needed this hug more than she thought. “Don’t want to interrupt you if you’re busy.”

It doesn’t take much effort to read between the lines – at least he’s gained that from this ‘time’. Had this been a few weeks ago, he likely would have ignored the comment altogether and brushed it away as her not needing him. “Never too busy for you.” Kissing her forehead, Amelie reluctantly releases him from her grasp, taking a step back and folding her arms in front of her chest, closing off from him. Harry grabbed her hand, squeezing it and making her loosen, “Come on, I know you’re going to change to go to this venue. I’ll change, and we’ll be on our merry way.”

Amelie hides the smile tugging at her lips behind her hand, rolling her eyes and walking out of the bedroom and making her way into the washroom, her two pressed shirts for the introductions – today – and the event – in two days – pressed and ready to go. Her pantsuit is hanging with the blouse, and there is a swirl of butterflies in her stomach as she thinks about the day she bought it – the way Harry wouldn’t stop making obnoxious jokes outside the fitting room, the way the old woman stared at his crude remark about how fit her ass looked in the trousers, how he dramatically drew the strap of her lacy bra against her shoulders and earned a smack upside the head when it hit her skin. Harry gripped her waist and pulled her into a kiss, telling her to hurry so they could leave. Her heart was a swirl of emotions, filled to the brim with love and she was sure that it could never get better than that.

And it would be an outright lie if Amelie tried to say that that’s not what she wants and needs, right now.

Harry calls her name in the foyer to tell her that he’s ready, his eyebrows quirking upward as she walks out of the washroom and pulls her favourite boots on her feet. He holds his hand out for her to take, guiding her onto her feet and nudging her out the door. He turns on their playlist quietly, noticing her shaking hands and grabbing it, interlocking their fingers and squeezing her hand to soothe her. His directions are counting on the drive only being ten minutes, but with traffic, he’s sure they’re going to be sitting there much longer.

“Harry?”

His eyes light up at the sound of his name. “Hm.”

Amelie gulps, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip anxiously, the words clawing at her throat. “Do you hate me?”

If you do, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I won’t be able to handle it.

Harry turns to her, astounded by the question. “For what, Ames?”

“Our ‘time’,” she sighs, slightly frustrated that she even has to elaborate. Having to say it felt so foreign on her tongue, so uncomfortable.

“Could never hate you, Amelie,” Harry says soundly, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles and his hand cranking the wheel to turn onto the highway. “Know we’ll be together.” He shrugs his shoulders, taking a moment before continuing. “If I have to wait for it, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”

“Going to therapy, again,” Amelie mumbles, wiping away the blood on her bottom lip with her thumb. “Went back a little before Christmas.”

“Oh my god,” Harry excited, kissing her hand and turning to face her at a stoplight, “that’s incredible.” His smile is so wide that his dimple is nearly making a permanent crease in his cheek. “You never told me you were doing that.”

“Didn’t tell anyone except Mama,” she explains, heaving a deep breath and releasing the tightness in her chest. “Needed to get everything in my head together.” Her voice goes quiet, softer than the sound of the music. “It was getting to be too much.”

Harry pulls into the closest parking space, backing in to give space to haul in the paintings. He shifts the gear, turning to face her before saying anything. “Know that it’s hard for you,” he acknowledges, squeezing her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Couldn’t be prouder of you, though. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Amelie frowns when he releases her hand, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning the engine. Her hand grips his forearm before getting out of the car, her voice shy and timid. “Harry.”

“Yeah?” Harry stares at her so intensely, there is a feeling in her chest making her want to hide. He squeezes her thigh encouragingly, smiling when her tongue licks over her lips and chest moves with a breath to gain strength.

“Would you wait for me?”

He doesn’t entirely understand what she means. “’m going to help you bring these in.”

“No, no,” Amelie sighs, “I mean.” Her voice trails into the silence, all of the anxiety-ridden words caught in her throat, stuck on her tongue. “Would you wait for me? To get better, I mean.”

“Amelie, I’d wait a lifetime for you,” Harry says assuredly, shaking his head at the thought of ever leaving. He could never love anyone that way he loves her. “You’re worth every second of waiting.”

And Amelie can feel it, the butterflies in her tummy and the way her heart is beating so heavily against her chest, the emotions all swirling through her mind. Her eyes prickle with tears and there is an urge to break into a smile and kiss Harry so deeply that they lose their breath.

Harry doesn’t wait for her to say anything, kissing her temple and opening the boot, giving her a minute to calm down. He knows Amelie better than anyone ever has.

“Alright, let’s bring these in,” Harry says as soon as Amelie walks around the car, handing her the smallest canvas and tucking the larger ones under his arms, smiling brightly as the curator claps at her arrival.

“Amelie! How nice to see you,” the young woman chirps, she is trying to assess the situation, a printed smile on her lips. “Is this your assistant?”

“Ha,” Amelie snorts, the brightest smile Harry has seen on her lips set into her features, her cheeks flushed with the comment. “This is my boyfriend, Harry.”

“Think that title makes me an assistant by nature, angel,” Harry says, earning a laugh from the young woman. He smirks as Amelie rolls her eyes dramatically when the woman walks ahead, kissing her hairline and squeezing her tightly, his heart warm in his chest as she grips his hand and interlocks their fingers, following the gallery direction through the venue and showing where her paintings would be displayed in the upcoming days.

Harry is listening to all the instructions and the greetings that the gallery is offering to the artists when his phone vibrates in his pocket, a confused look on his face when it vibrates, again. His lips press to her ear, quietly whispering that he’d be right back, not ignoring the way her skin prickles with goosebumps at the contact.

His mouth curves into a grin at the messages, knowing full well the intent behind them. They would spend hours together, working and likely arguing – because the likelihood of them agreeing on everything was slim to none – and bantering back and forth as they used to. Harry needed that, needed to feel that comfort. He needed to know that there was still something between them, that they hadn’t lost it along the way. Because he loved Amelie, and he needed her to love him, too.

Need help with the nursery while Dan is at the station.

You up to be bossed around by a pregnant lady, tomorrow?

His heart warms as she turns and smiles at him, her hand set over her stomach to tell him that they needed to get lunch before going home. Amelie absolutely hated eating at art events. Always complaining that they only have foods that are too fancy and never filling. He would always agree, and they would find a niche spot near the venue to indulge in before going home. And that’s what they would do, today. He would spend as much time with her as she wanted. Everything was falling into place. Everything was going to be okay.

Harry needed to believe so.

/ / /

Harry carries a bouquet of chrysanthemums to the front door, Amelie following closely behind him and smacking his shoulder playfully as she teases him for having a brown nose. He ruffles her curls, earning a warning look and poke to the chest. All morning they were teasing each other how they used to, how they loved to.

Jenny swung the door open, her eight-month belly very much in the way of nearly everything. Harry was going to be needed more than anything, Dan involved in production week and the crib coming unassembled – although she insisted that they ordered it already assembled – they needed their assistance. Harry kisses her cheek, walking deeper inside their house and setting the flowers on the table, leaving Amelie and Jenny to have their moment – as they always do – and make himself useful in walking to the nursery.

“How are you? You look good,” Jenny says, shutting the door and walking into the kitchen to grab her water. “Things going okay?”

“Think so,” Amelie says, shrugging her shoulders and picking at the stems on the bouquet. “Have the exhibition tomorrow and he’s coming.”

“Have you told him about, you know.”

“Um, not yet,” Amelie whispers. “Think I’m going to when we go to lunch, later. Things are going well, and I don’t want to lie.”

“Don’t stress too much, I know that’s not going to pass through that head of yours, but I really do think that you’ll be okay. Tell me if Harry’s being an asshole, though, and I will show up, eight months pregnant, and have some words. Can’t really beat his ass like this,” she giggles, squeezing her hand and nodding her head towards the nursery. “Let’s get in there before he starts making executive decisions.”

Amelie laughs, shaking her head and walking into the nursery, Harry already piecing together the crib and twisting the screwdriver, slowly bringing the two wooden structures to their intended form. Her eyes lay over the expanse of his back, his hair tied into a knot and away from his neck. Her thoughts are too much to hear what Jenny says to him, Harry having to elbow her thigh to grab her attention.

“Gon’a stare at me the whole time we’re doing this? Kinda need your help. Can stare at me all you want at home.”

Amelie’s cheeks turn bright red with the comment, “Va te faire foutre.” Her knee nudges his back, a yelp leaving her lips as his arm wraps around her thigh and pulls her into him, her hands planted on his shoulders for support.

“Don’t need to swear just because I’m right,” Harry smirks, kissing the inside of her thigh and carrying about setting the crib.

“Could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife,” Jenny snorts, turning around and grabbing the tiny paint cans that they bought to paint the walls. “Do me a favour and don’t do anything in my children’s room.”

“Can’t make any promises with this one,” Harry smirks, grabbing the paintbrush being held near his face. “Try me, doll.”

“Alright,” Jenny giggles, clicking her tongue and shaking her head at their banter. “Harry, let me know when you’re done with the cribs and I’ll come and tell you where to put them. Have to get the twins’ clothes out of the laundry.”

Harry nods understandingly, a smirk toying at his lips as Amelie is pries open the paint containers and begins sketching out the meadow for the wall. His hands work at the same pace as her, their best friend settled in the corner folding laundry and leaning against the wall. He enjoyed the occasional teasing, Amelie taking her thumb and sticking it in the paint to wipe across his cheek when he teases her for the way her tongue pokes between her lips when she’s focused. Jenny grumbles at their flirting, only spurring Harry to want to do so more. He loved the moment, only belonging to them.

“Think the crib should go along this wall, J,” Amelie says, wiping her hands on the smock she brought with her in the car and wiping tugging on her hair to tighten the tie, ignoring the way acrylic paint is suddenly on her skin.

Harry turns to her, reaching out his hands and helping Jenny stand. “Don’t we want the pregnant woman to tell us that?”

“Harry, you’re about to get a foot up your ass, at any minute.”

“Know I wouldn’t mind that from you, love.”

“You two are so annoying.” Jenny hides her smile behind her phone, taking a picture of the wall to send to Dan and imagining where to set the cribs. “Think Amelie is right.”

“Ha,” Amelie smirks, squeaking as Harry’s arms wrap around her waist and set her in the hallway outside the nursery. “Put me down, Harry!”

“Not until you apologise for being mean,” Harry says, trying desperately to hide the smile on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be finishing the job without you, then.” Harry moves to walk away, his head turned over his shoulder when Amelie grabs his wrist. “Have something to say?”

“Can we still get lunch after we’re done?” Amelie smiles, knowing well enough by now that Harry never means what he says when it has something to do with leaving without her.

“You’re so annoying,” Harry grumbles, taking her hand and tugging her behind him into the nursery to finish their job. “Thanks for asking me on a date, by the way.”

Amelie stands silently at the door, taking a deep breath and wiping her palms against her jeans. Asking Harry to go to lunch never really registered as a date in her mind; their dates were always private and, in their house, their garden, their bedroom. “Never said it was a date.”

Oh, what I would give to go on a date with you, right now, Harry Styles.

There is a tension in the air that they haven’t felt in a while, a spark lingering between them that is longing to be tested.

Harry smirks, shrugging his shoulders and leaning down to close the paint covers. “You didn’t have to.”

The Beachwood Café is relatively empty in the area that they’re settled in. Harry has a coffee and a muffin, Amelie nursing a tea and a chocolate croissant. They’re sitting opposite each other, Harry’s eyes set on her as they talk mindlessly about dinner and their families and their ideas for the weekend. Harry mentioned Malibu and a picnic.

Amelie’s conversation with Jenny is lingering in her mind, and there is a dryness in her throat that is begging to be relieved by simply telling him. Harry might be angry – he should be angry with her – and that would be the consequence that she has to suffer through. Harry can tell that she needs to say something, but he doesn’t want to push her, because there is something in his stomach telling him that he doesn’t really want to know.

Her fingertips trace around the rim of the mug, the tea burning her throat and lingering in her chest. That’s the clear feeling of her anxiety, in this moment. “Can I tell you something?”

Here we go.

“Hm.”

It’s probably about Jack. She probably went to him. She’s probably going back to him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This can’t be how we end. Things were going so well. They were going well, right?

“Drove to the café the night we fought,” she whispers, cheeks flushed with shame and guilt and fear. “Didn’t even really know I was doing it. Got there and parked and realised Jack was outside and started panicking and locked my doors and that’s why I almost passed out.” Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you talk to him?” Harry asks, his fingertips ripping the wrapping around the muffin. He knew this was coming, yet there was still an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Please tell me you didn’t talk to him. Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me for him.

“Couldn’t even get out of the car,” she says, “I had a panic attack.”

“Did you want to?”

Say no. Say no. Say no.

“Don’t think so,” Amelie sighs, scratching at her head and trying to explain her emotions in the most logical way. Anxiety wasn’t necessarily rational. Her actions were surely a portrayal of that. “Got angry with you and just wanted to leave. That’s where I wound up.”

Harry’s voice gets quiet, his eyes stinging with tears at the thought of what he has to say. “Is this what it’ll be like every time we argue? Going back to him?”

Her heart falls to pit of her stomach, nausea and uneasiness sitting in her chest, the oxygen barely reaching her lungs. “No, I swear.” Her swear is the only words that have come out of her mouth steadily. “I didn’t know how to get to the beach lookout in Malibu that we go to and my mind immediately went there.” Her voice gets quiet, again. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Did Jack see you?”

“Don’t think so,” she breathes, wiping away her tears that are freely falling down her cheeks and leaning her cheek into her hand. “My windows are tinted. No one can see inside.”

Harry’s head lifts from his food. “Is that why you’re having nightmares?”

“How’d you know?” she whispers, pursing her lips together, her thoughts racing with fear as her eyes meet his. His eyes are glossy, a sign that he’s about to cry, too.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Can hear you,” Harry sniffles, his fingers pushing his hair away from his face. “I’ve come in a few times to calm you down.”

“Understand if you hate me, now.”

“Come here,” Harry sighs, opening his arms and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she settles hesitantly on his thigh, his hands wrapped around her waist. “I don’t hate you, Amelie. I don’t think I ever could.” His tone is a tone Amelie has never heard before, and the silkiness of his voice could surely put her to sleep. “’m just upset that you went there, and it made you sick. Don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened and there wasn’t a way to find you or get to you. Not to mention that Jack could’ve seen you or something.” Harry shudders at the thought. “He’s not going to like it very much if I ever see him, again.”

“Harry, I swear to you I won’t go there, again.”

“Alright,” Harry smiles, kissing her jaw and patting the empty spot next to him, sliding the tea and croissant to her. “Come on, we’re going to exactly who we tease at restaurants and sit in the same booth.”

For a few minutes, Harry and Amelie sit there, basking in the sunlight in their private corner near the window, and eat their food, occasionally stealing a bite from one another. They’re silent, but comfortable, trying to soak in all that was said in their conversation and the heavy promise that was made. Harry believes Amelie, that’s certain, but there is brewing anger in his veins that makes him want to punch Jack straight in the jaw.

“Heard you on the phone with Jeff the other day,” Amelie says, breaking their silence and turning to stare. “Have anything new with a contract or something?”

“Columbia wants to sign me,” Harry nods, a smile tugging at his lips as Amelie instinctively grabs his cheeks and chastely kisses him.

Let me kiss your lips, Ames.

“Oh my god, Harry,” she grins, squeezing his arm and mindlessly kissing his shoulder. “That’s insane.”

“’m supposed to have dinner and talk about it tomorrow night. Can we have a celebratory lunch? Can reschedule if not.”

“No, that’s fine. I think I’m supposed to see Mylie and Talia soon. I’ll text them and see what they’re up to.”

“Okay.”

Once it’s gone quiet, Harry takes the opportunity to drink his coffee, settling in their seats, taking the moment to absorb everything that’s happening. And the way his cheek is tingling from her kiss.

“Um,” Amelie hums, smiling as Harry wipes the crumbs away from her mouth. “I was thinking.”

“You tend to do that a lot.”

Amelie giggles, nudging her shoulder against his and moving the plate to the opposite side of the table, not daring to meet his stare. “Think we should talk about you moving back into our room, soon.”

“Want that?”

“Mhm,” she hums nervously, wiping her hands on the napkin. “Maybe it can be done in the next few days. All the transitioning and that, as soon as the madness is over.”

“I’d like that,” Harry grins, gently taking her chin in his hand and making her eyes meet his. “A whole fucking lot, actually.”

“Me too.”

And, at that moment, there was no one else in the world. Just Harry and Amelie, and the tiny speckle of hope that sat between them.

/ / /

Harry can feel himself drifting asleep every few minutes.

Amelie grabbed takeout on their way home, neither really caring to cook or clean any dishes with the work they put in decorating the nursery with her best friend. Taking their dinner to the living room, Harry nudged her closer as they talked about the exhibition and who would be there, the signing with the label and what that would mean with touring – she never minded him being away, she understood more than anyone he’s ever met – and about his plan to go to England towards the end of February. Harry asked Amelie to go, and with her cheek resting on his shoulder, her hands tucked around his forearm as his hand splays across her thighs, she nodded silently and hummed in agreement.

Harry blinks a few times, his hands gently rubbing Amelie’s knee and kissing her hairline, contemplating how likely it would be for her to wake if he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs. He was well aware that she wasn’t sleeping properly and knowing that being with him comforted her that much made him want to stay cuddled on the couch for as long as they possibly could.

His thumb gently rubs her cheek, frowning when her lips jut into a pout and she curls in tighter against him. “Helping Jenny really tired us out, huh?” Harry whispers, his lips touching her temple sweetly. “Viens, mon ange, on va te mettre au lit.”

“Mais, bébé,” Amelie mumbles into his shoulder, hiding her face in his neck and willing herself to fall back asleep. She felt safest in his arms, slept best beside him, “je ne suis pas fatiguée.”

“Have a long day tomorrow, Ames,” he sighs, squeezing her thigh and brushing her hair away from her face. “Have to be up and out of here at nine.” His hand gently takes the blanket away, tossing it messily to the opposite end of the couch. “Want me to carry you?”

“No, it’s alright,” she yawns, rubbing her hands over her eyes and dozily standing up, grateful to his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her upright. “Are you coming with me in the morning?”

“Mhm,” Harry smiles, walking around her and beginning to turn all the lights and bolt the doors. She waits for him at the stairs, nodding towards the bedroom and waiting to have him walk behind her. He nods, acknowledging her silent request and laying his hand on her back, supporting her as they trudge up their stairs to their once shared bedroom. “Told you I’d never miss an exhibition.”

Amelie waits at their bedroom door, turning around and facing Harry, her tired eyes tracing over the features that she loves. He was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, and there was an incessant nagging in her mind telling her to bring him to sleep with her. “Thought that was only when we were, like,” she trails, her heart going elsewhere as his hand leaves her back and settles at his side.

Come back. Come back.

Harry stares at her, tucking his lips into his mouth and thinking carefully about her reaction to his response. “Amelie, you’re my best friend,” he says earnestly, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as he continues, “I wouldn’t miss it. No matter what.”

“Figured you’d say that. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Amelie kisses his cheek, taking him slightly by surprise. “That’s for, well, everything. Especially for the polaroids. Makes me happy you still think of me when you see the moon. I’ll always see us in the stars, you know?”

Harry doesn’t realise that he’s doing it, turning his head and grabbing Amelie’s lips, their mouths moulding onto each other in a blink. Her lips are soft and delicate, the tinge of strawberry that Harry is so used to making his heart warm. Her body is leaning on her toes for height, her hands around his neck not nearly enough to make their heights the same. Amelie wanted to have her nose bumping against his, her teeth pulling at his bottom lip and her tongue tasting his cupid’s bow, the fever of their kiss more than anything they’ve ever felt before.

Harry slowly coasts his hand along Amelie’s figure, squeezing the curves that he adores and making home at the back of her thighs, silently praying that she’s not given up her comfortability with him. Her hands hold his shoulders, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he hoists her around his waist, holding her back and her bum, squeezing her to him. His lips are plump with colour and hot to the touch, their passion unspoken in the way that their oxygen is dismissed and the only thing they can seemingly do is have their lips on each other, making up for the weeks that have passed without a single touch.

Harry was more than used to going weeks without a touch, without a kiss, but there was something about living with the person that you want to be touching and kissing and not being able to that makes it seem all the more torturous. Making themselves comfortable on the duvet they’ve made love on more times than they could count, their privacy enforced with the closed door and silences phones, their hands skirt along each other’s bodies as if they’ve never explored the territory. Amelie yanks Harry’s shirt above his head, throwing the material somewhere below them. His skin is hot with her hands running over it, a whimper leaving his lips as her fingertips toy with the waistband of his shorts. His hands grab hers hurriedly, interlocking their fingers and holding their arms above her head, his lips slanting over hers and bringing her into a kiss that makes her break away to take a breath.

“Don’t leave me, tonight.” Amelie’s eyes are wide and bright under the moonlight, the stars casting a fluorescent glow over her skin, her freckles are beginning to lighten on her cheeks and her baby pink hair is splayed over their pillows.

Harry swears he’s never seen Amelie look so beautiful.

“Not like ‘m going too far, angel,” Harry breathes, his thumb tucking a hair behind her ear and breathing in the scent that lingers from her, his knees straddling her hips. All at once, he is much too aware of this position that they’ve been in far too many times before. “Going into m’room and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her thighs wrap around his waist, holding him to her and making sure that he wouldn’t leave. Harry leaving would break her heart. “Harry, that’s not your room. This is.”

“Not right now, it isn’t.”

“Baby,” she whispers, her thumb drawing a line from his jaw to his lips, her mouth peppering light kisses on his cheek, “don’t go.”

“Alright,” he sighs, sinking further into her touch, his hand gently holding her wrist and kissing her palm sweetly. He subtly wishes that he had more self-control, more willpower with her, but he simply didn’t. He loves her too much. “Go on, budge over.”

Harry reluctantly moves from his stance over her, walking around the frame and plugging their phones in to make sure that their alarms are set, and they would be up and out of the house in time to make it to the exhibition early like Amelie preferred. His heart clenched knowing that, at this time tomorrow, he would be in the guest room on the opposite end of the house, sleeping alone. His eyes met hers with a shy smile, his fingers tucking into his shorts and staring at her for permission, a simple nod and a smile telling him that he would be okay to sleep in his briefs. He turns the light off, huffing as he sinks into the warmth of their bed, her arms immediately wrapping around his waist.

Harry enjoyed being the little spoon as much as Amelie loved being the big spoon, their best compromise, and there was a comfort knowing that they would fall asleep that way for the first time in weeks. Amelie felt safe around him, in his arms, her cheek pressed to his back and breathing him in, his hand holding hers as sleep overwhelms her.

Until the clock strikes 04:37, Harry is sleeping soundly with Amelie presumably behind him. He wakes up to whimpers and heavy breathing, hands scratching at the duvet and her legs tense. His eyes widen and take in the sight, his hand running over her cheek as her body shakes and he knows she’s having a nightmare. His heart shatters in her chest, his fists rubbing at his eyes and his fingertips gently trailing over her cheeks, quiet hushes trying to wake her.

“Ames,” Harry whispers, kissing her temple and gently squeezing her shoulders to wake her, “wake up, baby.” His biggest fear is scaring her when she wakes up, startling her and making her shove him out of the room. His thumb flicks on the light, his eyes never leaving her. “Amelie.” His eyes are soft as Amelie blinks rapidly, trying to accommodate to the light and her heavy breathing and the thoughts swirling in her head. Her hands reach out for him, her arms circling around his shoulders and bringing him to her chest, needing his weight on her to ground her. “I’ve got you. It’s just us. You’re okay.”

“Nightmare,” Amelie says, her fingers tucked into fists as she holds onto him tightly. Harry steadies his body weight on his knees, his arm holding her waist and his fingertips combing through her hair soothingly. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Harry reaches towards the duvet and yanks it over their bodies, readjusting his figure and laying completely flat on Amelie’s chest. He knows that the feeling is safe, the feeling over his body entirely over hers, weighted and secure. Her fingers brush through the curls clinging to his forehead, tiny baby hairs falling out of the bun tied messily on his head. “Feeling better? Need to talk about it?”

“Felt you beside me and then my brain went everywhere,” she whispers, her eyes squeezing shut as his lips touch her jaw comfortingly, her eyes scared to meet his. “Hate having them.”

“Can always ask me to come back earlier than a few days, Ames. Doesn’t have to be that long.”

Amelie meets Harry’s intense stare, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Her heart lurches in her throat, tears welling in her eyes. “Come back.”

Harry nods, smiling shyly, pressing his lips to her cheek. His throat releases a grunt as he lays on his back, pulling her into his arms and squeezing his embrace around her, securing her in his hold and touching his mouth to her hairline, kissing her sweetly. “I’m here. You’ve got me.”

“Haven’t talked in weeks,” she murmurs, her arms holding his hips and slotting her thighs between his. “Miss you.”

“Can talk more, tomorrow, okay? Have a big day, and you need to rest.” His fingers brush through her hair the way she loves, his hand holding hers around his waist securely. “Miss you, too. More than you know.” Harry wants more than anything to talk to Amelie, right now, but that would be unfair to her.

“Didn’t think it would go this far.”

“Think what would go this far, Ames,” Harry repeats, his voice barely above a whisper as Amelie’s breaths pant against his chest, her cheek against his heart, listening to the soothing beat. “’s okay to talk to me, baby.”

“Didn’t think it’d take me more than two weeks to,” Amelie whispers, her words barely registering in Harry’s brain, “to figure out what ‘m ready for.”

Before Harry could even ask what exactly she meant, Amelie’s breathing was steady, her hands lightly splayed over his chest, and her mind had drifted to sleep, leaving Harry to sit with his thoughts until the morning.

Amelie and Harry collectively agree to ignore the first three alarms.

Amelie’s fingers are holding his arm over her waist, hand clasped around his wrist, her nose nudged into his neck, his face pressed into her hair. Harry’s body heat paired with the heavier comforter for the winter is causing them to sweat, yet neither really mind. His words are garbled into her hair, his hand tightening around her waist as she reaches for her phone and turns off the alarm, groaning at the time. Harry always sets the alarms three hours early, giving them enough time to love on each other and kiss and quietly talk under the covers before they’re getting on their way, yet today, neither one says a word. It’s like that for nearly an hour, until Amelie can’t take the silence and they decide it’s time to move.

And everything is strangely quiet as Amelie readies herself for the exhibition.

Her body is clad in a navy pantsuit, a white blouse clinging to her chest, her favourite platform boots on her feet. Everything felt very her. Harry took a shower and got ready in minutes, leaving her to have time to soother her anxiety as she always does. He hasn’t spoken to her though. Giving the tea he makes her every morning to her in the bathroom, he simply nodded and kissed her hair, and the silence was making her uneasy.

Harry is sitting at the edge of their bed, his fingertips drumming against his thighs nervously and she curls her hair. “Ames,” Harry says, trying to capture her attention. Amelie turns around, muttering a swear in French as she nearly burns her hand. “I think,” he breathes, “I want to talk about what you said, last night.”

Amelie’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion and Harry knows that she doesn’t remember.

“Guess it was as you were falling asleep again, but you said something about not knowing it’d take you more than two weeks to know what you’re ready for. Are you not ready to be with me? Get back to how we were, I guess is what I’m saying.” All of Harry’s words are said in a rush, and Amelie is barely able to comprehend what he’s saying.

“That’s not–”

“Feel like ‘m running into a wall, here, Ames,” he breathes, his hands splayed over his knees. “Gave you space for three weeks. Only talked to you when you talked to me. Came with you to set the exhibit and all, we talked like normal adults. Called me your boyfriend to everyone. Did the nursery for Jenny together. Gon’a wind up being a Godmother and Godfather, for Christ’s sake, and we don’t even speak about us.” His voice is shaky, and his eyes are welling with tears, and Amelie wants to walk over and kiss him before a tear can fall down his cheek. “Moving back into our room and almost having sex together, last night. Got through a nightmare. Kissing you, like that, I.” One tear falls before Harry can catch it. “Need to know if you want me, Ames. Can’t keep doing this.” Another tear. “Because I want you. I want you so badly,” Harry whispers, his voice choking on his words as a cry wracks through him. “And I’m so sorry what all that I said, for what I did. I wish I could take it back. This is killing me.”

And then he feels it, the feeling that makes his heart race and his lungs tighten and his stomach twist with butterflies.

Amelie’s mouth on Harry’s, kissing him passionately and deeply and heavily, her lips silky and sweet against his, her fingers carding through his curls and holding his face to her, Harry’s hands immediately finding home on her waist. His breath is lost amongst her touches, his lips parted and his tongue tasting the mint that lingers in every hasty kiss. All of his thoughts are encompassed by her – who she is, why she would ever want to be his, her support and her encouragement for him, how much he wants her. Harry’s thoughts circle around how much he wants Amelie forever. Her teeth gently nip at his bottom lip as his mouth pulls away, a whimper etched into his soul as his hand holds her neck and brings her even closer to him, his lips fully immersed in her.

Harry’s jaw is loose under her touch, her thumbs rubbing his skin. His hands gently coax her to straddle his waist, his back lying flat against their mattress, his hair splayed messily beneath him. Her lips are intoxicating, the way they fit so perfectly on his, feel so heavenly, taste so sweet. He never wants to part from her. He wants her tongue to run across his lip and their kisses to be messy and their moans to be a bit too loud and heavy for an early morning. He wants to feel all the love Amelie has for him in her kiss. Harry wants to share all of his love for her in his. He wants to stay in the moment, to never leave, to have his mouth on her and silent professions of their love in the air. He wants to live in this, the moments that are only them, and be where no one could ever come between them again. Harry just wants her.

And they kiss for what feels like an eternity.

“Didn’t know it’d take longer than two weeks for me to know that this isn’t what I want. Don’t want to be apart from you,” Amelie whispers against his cheek, kissing him lightly. “All that we have to face, whatever it is.” A kiss to his jaw. “Think we can talk about this. Have to forgive each other. Know we can do this.”

“Do you mean that? Don’t lie to me, Ames,” Harry whispers, his adam’s apple bobbing in this throat as she kisses his chin. “That would be cruel.”

“Harry,” she says, “tomorrow, when the exhibition is over, and we have time, we’ll talk.”

“I love you.”

Amelie can feel the words stuck in the back of her throat, itching to come out and mend the brokenness etched between her and Harry. Her hands cup his cheeks, gently bringing his face to her and making her lips meet his, kissing him sweetly and squeezing her eyes as his fingertips trace over her cheeks, savouring the moment that is solely theirs. “To Jupiter and Pluto and the moon, around the stars, and all the way back to wherever you are.”

Harry knows Amelie hasn’t said the words but repeating that back to him is more than enough, for now.

/ / /

Harry runs his fingers through his hair, adjusting the shirt clinging to his torso, his boots on his feet and squeaking noisily against the hardwood floor as he walks through the corridors, his heart sinking as he notices a singular dinner prepared on the counter. He doesn’t see Amelie in the kitchen, his lips pulled between his teeth as he steps further into the room. His breath hitches in his throat as Amelie walks into the kitchen unaware of his presence, her chest bare to her favourite – and Harry’s – lace bra and a pair of cuffed denim jeans. One of her favourite blouses, the ones that twist in the middle and fall a bit deeper in the cleavage is in her hands, likely because it had to be ironed from the laundry. Harry smiles shyly, happy that Amelie isn’t rushing to hide her body away, to run away from him.

Maybe, that’s a good sign. Harry needs to believe it is.

“Jeff picking you up for your meeting?” Amelie wonders, her eyes set on the knot that she is trying to tie in the front of her shirt. Harry nods, admiring her as her lips purse together in thought as she stands in front of the mirror, unsure on her decision. “Is this too much? Too, you know,” she says, gesturing towards her breasts and the way her chest is nearly spilling out of the material.

Harry wiggles uncomfortably in his seat; his jeans much too tight against his groin. Had things been different, Harry would be dragging Amelie up the stairs and insisting that their plans for the night be cancelled. His heart sinks at the thought. “Going out, hm? Going to a club or summat?”

“Guess so,” she shrugs, taking a gulp and wiping her hands on her ripped jeans. “Talia and Mylie want me to go out with them. Think their boyfriends are coming, but I’m not sure.”

“Can come with you, if you want me to. Get you out of going out if you’re feeling anxious.” Harry’s suggestion is rushed from his tongue, his palms rubbing against his face in annoyance at how desperate he has become for Amelie’s attention. “’s not a set meeting, you know. ‘s a meal more than anything. Only an overview of what we’re going to talk about in two weeks.”

“Go and have that meeting, it’s okay. That’s important and I’ll be okay. Besides, Harry, it’s about Columbia.” Amelie turns towards Harry, her favourite platformed boots clinging to her feet. Harry smiles knowingly because even with the platforms Amelie is still significantly shorter than him. “Does this look okay? Doesn’t look like I’m trying to put myself in a position where people will talk to me?”

“Hate to break it to you, angel,” he smirks, his fingertip dragging along the rim of a water glass sitting on the marble countertop, “but men are going to talk to you either way because you’re beautiful.”

Her tongue clicks as she rolls her eyes, shaking her head and walking further into the kitchen to grab her water and take a sip from her straw, leaning over the counter and holding her arms together, Harry’s eyes fell from her loose curls to her chest nearly falling out of her top.

Harry could almost see himself leaving kissed purple bruises along the valley between her breasts, stopping right at the moon and working his way back to Amelie’s neck, suckling more of her skin and proclaiming how much he loves her.

“Earth to Harry.”

Harry’s eyes meet hers and his heart drops, taking in the concern etched in her features. His heart was screaming for him to ask her to come, to be his date and say that he would cut the meeting short, that they could celebrate her exhibition pieces together as they always do and they could finally talk, yet the words were lodged in his throat. “Hm.”

“Is it okay, you know, if I call you?” Amelie sounds nervous, her fingertips toying with her metal straw and a heavy breath making her chest shake. “Not unless absolutely necessary, but you know, in case of anything.”

Harry is well aware of what she means. Anything always has something to do with the person they hate most in the world, and his ability to seemingly show at the worst times. Amelie knows that she can always call, but there is something sweet in the validation that makes her feel warm inside. “Always, angel.”

Amelie nervously approaches Harry, her eyes trained on his movements as he swivels in the barstool and opens his thighs to accommodate her, her fingertips running over the collar of his patterned shirt and adjusting it. “Don’t let anything Jeff says, scare you away from thinking you don’t deserve to be at Sony, okay? No one deserves this deal more than you.”

“I adore you, Ames,” Harry says, the words spilling from his lips without thinking, his heart pounding outrageously fast in his chest as he nervously awaits her reaction.

Harry swears that he’s dreaming when Amelie grabs his cheeks, kissing him deeply, his hands making a home at her waist and her fingertips holding his collar. His hands slowly inch lower, coasting under her bum, seeing how open she is with him – fully prepared to rip his hands away if she even makes a sound of discontent – and when she moans into him, his heart swells against his chest and he is putty in her hands. Amelie leans further into his touch, nearly sitting on his thighs with how close her body is to his, her fingers moving from his shirt to his hair and tugging as he loves. Harry squeezes her hips, moaning into her mouth and smirking as she whispers, “I adore you, too.” Her confession is besotted with his kiss and his touch, her mind nearly unaware of the words tumbling from her lips without remorse.

His throat utters a groan as his phone vibrates behind her, his eyes squeezing shut as her lips pull away, her thumb brushing over his flesh to wipe the chapstick. He hasn’t kissed her like that – a proper kiss, as he would say – in so long, he almost asks her to leave the tint as a reminder. He grabs his phone, answering Jeffrey’s call and holding the speaker out for them to hear.

“On my way, H,” he says brokenly through the speaker. “Don’t be moping around when I get there.”

“Hi, Jeff,” Amelie smiles, folding her arms in front of her chest and turning around in Harry’s grasp, his arm around her waist and her head leaning on his shoulder. “He’ll be out. Don’t worry.” Amelie ends the call before Jeff could respond with another joking dig at his demeanour of the last two weeks and Harry grins. “Don’t smirk at me like that. ‘m just doing ‘im a favour, you’ve been walking around with a frown for weeks.”

Harry blushes, his dimple aching his cheeks and his hands slowly making a home on Amelie’s waist, turning her around in his arms and tightening his thighs around her to hold her in place. His chest tightens at the thought of her leaving him, especially when they’ve made such progress in the last few days. “Bisous, s’il vous plait.”

Amelie kisses his cheek sweetly, rubbing the chapstick into his skin. His arm is tight around her waist, holding her to him and being reluctant to have her leave. Amelie knew that Harry would be clingy the days after they have a talk about where to go with their relationship, especially when she told him that she needs him – not that she really minds the clinginess. Harry needs to go with Jeff, tonight, though. “Don’t be an asshole and ditch that important meeting when Jeff is already on his way.”

“Can come when I’m finished,” Harry offers, his fingertips inching beneath the silk material of her top and rubbing the skin chaffed by the wiring on her ribs. “Can get smashed on tequila and dance and take you home with me.”

“Considering that we live together, it’d make sense that you take me home,” she giggles, carding her fingers through his hair and brushing the curls away from his face. His eyes are bright under the fading sunlight, and there is a swell against her chest as he leans into her touch.

“’m serious,” he says, squeezing her hips and pecking a kiss to her bare shoulder. Harry reluctantly releases Amelie from his grasp, the breath knocking out of his lungs as she tucks into his chest and wraps her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, his arms slinging over her shoulders and embracing her, his nose nudged into her hair as he kisses her head. “Text me when you want me to come. I’ll be right there.”

“Alright,” Amelie breathes, sucking in a deep breath, overwhelmed by his scent and his embrace and the kiss that is lingering on her head. “Harry?”

“Hm,” Harry hums, grumbling as she squeezes his hips to have his attention, to have his eyes meet hers.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t have this, okay?” she whispers, her thumb and forefinger holding his chin, his face hovering over hers, their mouths too close to touching, the swell of his lips too enticing for her eyes not to flicker to.

“I won’t,” Harry affirms, muttering a profanity under his breath and pushing his mouth to hers. His lips are gentle, kissing her sweetly and thinking about saying the words that are lingering in the air. “I adore you.”

Until they aren’t lingering anymore.

Harry said it, and Amelie is staring at him as though it was said for the very first time without any cause, and Harry is fully thinking she isn’t going to say it back.

“I adore you, too.”

Until she does.

His hands grab her cheeks and give her the happiest kiss that he’s felt in more than a long time, his smile breaking apart their lips as he presses his pink flesh to hers over and over again until she’s giggling and pushing at his chest. His hand grabs her wrist and playfully drags her to the door with him, his hand holding the back of her head and kissing a hard peck to her cheek and her lips before walking outside. He turns over his shoulder to wave, his fingers making the peace sign as they always do and a smirk on his lips as she makes one back, shaking her head and turning on her heel and making her way deeper into their home as he gets into his friend’s car for the evening.

“Look who decided to leave the house,” Jeff teases, smacking his hand on the centre console and taking a swift look at his bright appearance, “and with a smile on your face.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, hiding his smirk in the palm of his hand. His eyes travel to his phone in between his thighs, the vibrations of a text message coming through on his skin. His smile is bright, his dimple indenting his cheek and his fingertip sliding across the screen to stare at the message from ‘Mon Ange’.

Make a killer fucking deal, baby. x

Harry’s heart warms, the overwhelming emotions sitting in his throat. His thumbs type a reply faster than he likely should have, locking his phone before Jeffrey could peer over and take a look.

Always for you. x

Only the quiet hum of the radio is playing, Harry’s attention focused outside the window and disappearing away from his friend and his phone. “You okay? Look better than you did the last time I saw you,” Jeff says lightly, doing his best to gauge Harry’s mood.

“Going through some shit,” Harry confesses, shrugging as he cards his fingers through his hair. “’m good, now, though; that’s what counts. Today was a good day.”

“Are you really?” Jeff stares at Harry as the car pulls into a space and into park, the door unlocking and their hands reaching for the handles to get outside and into the restaurant. “How’s everything with Ames? You two alright?”

“Think so,” Harry says confidently, nodding as his lips purse together in a tight line. “Think we will be.”

“Don’t know what happened between you,” Jeff whispers, stepping away and to the podium at the front of the restaurant and checking into the reservation to be hidden away, his eyes meeting Harry’s as they begin walking towards the back, “but whatever it is, you’ll be okay.”

“Hope you’re right about that,” Harry hums, quietly thanking the hostess and taking a seat opposite Jeff. “Okay,” he breathes, setting his hands on the table and leaning forward with a smile on his face, his mind replaying the words his love said before he left. “Let’s talk Columbia.”

Columbia is sharing an interest in a five-year contract – albums, tours, music videos. Harry would have reign over the sounds and the artistry, working with his favourite producers and writers and all that encompasses creating an album he loves. His mind is overwhelmed with the idea, with the offer, because more than anything, Harry wants to make music. Music is his life, his love. His relationship has inspired so many lyrics and melodies already, and he wants nothing more than to share the love he has for her in the best way he knows how. Harry says that he’s going to take a day or two to think about, although he already has his answer.

Afterwards, Harry and Amelie share a few messages back and forth talking about the night and her dinner with Mylie and Talia and their boyfriends and where they’re headed for the evening – Amelie doesn’t know the bar – and that they’ll call when they’re nearly there for him to meet.

One hour. Two hours. Three hours.

That’s how long Harry waits at home without a text message. That’s how long Harry waits for Amelie to text him and tell him to come to meet with her and her friends for the night. He was dressed and ready to go, waiting at the kitchen counter, paying too much attention to the vibrations coming from his phone and the light that would appear with every notification. He wants to text her and ask, to make a friendly reminder of his offer.

That’s too pushy, Harry. Let her warm up to you, again. Calm down.

His eyes meet the bright clock on their microwave and Harry scolds himself for thinking that Amelie would text him on only the third day they’ve started talking and really easing into each other, again. He sighs, standing from his barstool and sticking his phone in his pocket, turning the lights in the kitchen and hallway off and making his way through the foyer to get to their bedroom.

Maybe things weren’t going as well as Harry thought they were.

Harry sucked in a breath, his hand tucked into his briefs and making his heartbeat race. He was tired of this routine. He missed the closeness of being with her, the feeling of her skin on his, the slow kisses and the thick burn that coursed through his veins. He desperately tries to not think of her, to not think of the way she used to clutch his shoulders and squeeze her legs tighter around his hips, bringing him as physically close as she possibly could.

His mind is running rampant, overwhelming and drawing his attention away from the slickness of his hand and the slow tugging that is encouraging him to a release. His lungs can’t catch his breath, a heaviness on his chest that is making him anxious, that is making him near tears.

He laid there, spent, in a panic. His chest was tight, and something felt wrong. He only felt this way once before, the time when Amelie missed her flight, and the thought of why he is feeling so sick makes him want to vomit. He rubs his face in his palms, his fingertips digging into his eyes as he stares at the alarm clock sitting next to the bed. Harry knew that they were going out, likely making her come home late and slightly tipsy, Amelie told him earlier in the evening before Jeff picked him up for dinner. He didn’t want to call and irritate her, mistaking her agreement to call if she was in trouble with an agreement to call and have him be her date for the evening. He was finally getting somewhere, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. He heaves a breath, leaning against his headboard and flicking on his light.

He shouldn’t be worried. He shouldn’t. Amelie promised him. Amelie promised she would come back to him. They promised each other they wouldn’t do anything. Amelie wouldn’t break a promise. Not a promise to him, at least. Right?

He takes a book from his nightstand. He picked it up a week ago at a bookstore that she would have loved. He bought the French version. He thought that reading a translated text might help him learn more, especially considering Amelie wasn’t making herself around to teach him. His eyes scan the page, unable to settle the feeling in his stomach.

He reaches for his phone, his eyes widening as her picture brightens his screen and the vibrations echo on his palm. He answers faster than he can bring the phone to ear, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach when he hears her crying.

“Harry?” Amelie hiccups, her throat tight and tears falling down her cheeks. His voice is rasped and worried as if the air was knocked out of his lungs the moment she called.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Harry never stopped using the name. He couldn’t – it was her. His stomach twists with the sound of her wheezed breaths. “Baby, talk to me.”

“’m havin’ an anxiety attack and ‘m scared,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she walks outside and beneath a light, her phone tight against her cheek. “Need to come home, Harry. I need you.”

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