Written by: loveinslowmotion on archive of our own

Posted on: October 31, 2019

Description: He seemed pretty into her, and Harry hated it. He'd do anything to show her that she's the one he wants.

Official Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21251516

Warning: This chapter contains mature content. Please read at your own risk! :)

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"Who's she talking to?"

"I don't know, haven't seen him before."

"He looks pretty into her."

The spying girls giggled between them, as if they were fully inconspicuous in amongst a room full of music's finest. Harry, for one, hadn't a clue who they were, let alone how they had gotten into the exclusive party. When he realised just who they were gossiping about, he selfishly almost wished they hadn't been allowed in.

From his spot a few stools down at the bar, Harry's gaze found the object of their attention all too easily; he always had a way of seeking her out in a crowd. Taylor, and some guy. Some guy he didn't know. Some guy that, from what he could see of the side of his head, was probably good looking. The good looking ones always liked to try to talk to her.

Not that it matters, Harry reminded himself, dragging his eyes away for his own sake. She hadn't come to this party with him; she could spend her time with whoever she damn well pleased.

It was just a shame she hadn't picked him.

That was hardly a surprise, though: they hadn't been seeing each other again for long. Things were simple and undefined; they hadn't had The Talk about whatever it was they were doing. They were taking life as it came, which meant quiet days of hanging out in each other's apartments, talking and cooking and catching up on year's lost, and, evidently, not telling anyone about it.

It was almost an unspoken rule between them. Taylor hadn't needed to tell him she wasn't ready to be thrown into another media circus, while Harry was all for alluding unnecessary attention. Avoiding cameras was something they had both grown relatively savvy with, and yet even so, they spent most of their time together alone, where there was no one else to whisper what they thought of the sight of them.

The last time Harry had dared to plan a nice evening out for them, he had almost blown it. Well, technically it hadn't been his fault – he had done all he could to make sure that they would go unnoticed. They'd enjoyed themselves sitting in the dark theatre, his hand resting casually on her thigh and her fingertips gently on top, sneaking out together after with practiced stealth. Only someone had recognised him, mentioned that he was in the company of a tall blonde, and the jokes of him having a type resurfaced again.

No one had seemed to know Taylor was in London at the time, yet she still worried. She liked spending time with him, but there was a cost. It wasn't something she loved to acknowledge – she wished it wasn't even true – but she wasn't sure just what price her heart was willing to pay anymore. Not when she was convinced whatever they were wasn't really serious.

So she wasn't really thinking when this guy came up to her and seemed friendly enough. It didn't occur to her that Harry would even notice.

For a while, Harry pretended he hadn't. He found some mates to chat to and have a drink with, not mentioning that well actually, he was sort of seeing someone at the moment, and that's who he was spending so much time with lately. He was even staying with her tonight – well, he was supposed to be, anyway. Maybe she would change her mind, ditching him to hang out with Mystery Man instead.

Tay's not like that, Harry told himself. While she hadn't attended the party with him, she had promised they would spend the night together, and Taylor wasn't one to break promises.

Besides, she didn't bring strangers she just met home, either. He had nothing to worry about.

Except... Well, what if he did?

When he dared to glance over to the last spot he had seen her across the lavish bar, Harry wasn't really expecting to still find her there. Surely, she would've found an opening to excuse herself and re-join the friends she had arrived with, but there she was. Still talking to Mystery Man. Smiling at him. Looking like she was enjoying herself.

It had to be, what, half an hour since he had first seen them together? Who knew how long they had been at it before he'd noticed. That wasn't normal. That wasn't just being polite. That was something.

Maybe it was just the whiskey talking, but Harry was becoming terribly suspicious that he was in the midst of being replaced, as if he was across the world, not merely across the room.

He didn't like the feeling.

Ordering another drink, Harry tried to be the better man and stick it out. He tried to ignore them – he was meant to anyway, since this was too public, with too many people to see and talk, spreading gossip like wildfire. It was difficult, though. So damn difficult to stop his eyes from sliding over to Taylor, regardless of what company she kept.

Short to begin with, her dress had ridden up where she'd sat down and crossed her legs for modesty, showing off more than enough of her toned thighs. The glittery gold of it suited her, complementing the tumble of blonde waves falling over her shoulder. She looked almost like a goddess, untouchable. Especially when she smiled. God, he loved when she smiled.

It was only natural that he wanted to be the one to bring that light into her expression. Not some random guy who didn't know how she liked her tea or that she had a bad habit of biting her nails when she was nervous – he should be the one to make her laugh, to make her feel more relaxed at a party she was never fully convinced she deserved to be invited to. No one made her laugh like he could.

...Right?

Not once did he see Taylor glance his way; surely he would've if she did, considering he could hardly take his eyes off her. Harry was definitely staring, and he didn't give a shit. All he could think about was how she was ignoring him, as if Mystery Man was her perfect match and no one else mattered. As if he didn't matter.

For years, he had had to watch her give her undivided attention to anyone but him. He had watched her love other men, as if he had never meant anything. And now, when he was just getting to be a part of her life again, it was happening all over again.

He hated it. He fucking hated it.

The better man act didn't last long, with alcohol settling into his bloodstream and mixing dangerously with his jealous streak. Not that Harry was about to admit he was jealous, oh no. His green eyes were awfully appropriate at present, but there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell of Harry admitting that seeing Taylor with any other man drove him positively mental. Every single damn time.

Glancing down at his right hand, he reminded himself that she had left her mark on him: on his forefinger was an old silver band, engraved with an intricate array of leaves. Taylor had found the ring at a market, giving it to him with a simple smiled, "I saw it and thought of you," which meant more to him that he let her know. He'd worn it every day since.

He had to do something. She wanted him to do something. Surely.

Impulsively, Harry abandoned the conversation he had already checked out of, stopping by the bar for another two glasses. Really, who could blame him?

It quickly became apparent that, actually, Taylor could. Despite his mental image of her being thrilled to have him sweep her away, when he arrived at the booth she and Mystery Man had scored, Taylor's eyes flashed with an undeniable what the heck are you doing here?

"Nice to see you, Taylor," Harry greeted her charmingly, well aware of how she had always had a thing for his pronunciation of her name. He was well aware she wasn't going to turn down a free Old Fashioned, too, even if he did slide right into the booth on her side without an invitation, blatantly interrupting.

"Hi, Harry," Taylor replied politely. Not moving to give him more room, he ended up closer to her than he should've been. Close like she liked, but not in public.

"Thought you might like a drink," he said as if it was some chivalrous gesture, not one born out of jealousy. He was yet to even acknowledge the man sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Though a petty part of her was tempted to decline the offer, Taylor couldn't resist wrapping her slender hand around the cold glass he slid towards her. "An Old Fashioned?" she guessed expertly, the beginnings of a smile creeping up on the corners of her lips. She had to give him credit for remembering her tastes.

"Mhmm," he hummed, and he knew he shouldn't, he really did, yet he still rested a hand on her bare knee as if they were at home, just the two of them, not at a party with a bunch of people they knew and plenty they didn't. It was only very slight, but it made her stiffen, just the tiniest bit, her smile freezing in its place.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Taylor told him. "But you didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

That wasn't all he wanted, she was certain. If she was honest, she wanted it too, but she wasn't going to be obvious about it, not here. He should've known that.

"You having fun?" he asked her, which was rather a loaded question, considering she had company sitting right across from them. What was she meant to do? Whatever answer she gave was going to disappoint one of them – whose ego was she meant to stroke: Harry's or Mystery Man's?

Harry's, obviously. But him appearing like this hadn't been a part of their (admittedly unspoken) deal, so did he really deserve it?

"I'm having a lot of fun," Taylor emphasised a little more than necessary, glancing at the brunette across the table and playfully rolling her eyes. It had the man smiling in understanding, which was quick to piss Harry off. Just like she knew it would.

"Really?" he said flatly, disbelieving. "You don't look it."

"Maybe you don't know what I look like when I'm having fun."

"I think I know better than most."

Harry squeezed her knee then, and Taylor wanted to disagree, but she couldn't. Harry knew, alright. He knew damn well.

Unintentionally taking simultaneous long sips from their glasses, they looked quite the pair. With only one glance, it was evident that they were familiar with close proximity, even if it had been quite some time since they'd allowed it. Both of them were striking in their good looks on their own, and when you put them together, well, they were nothing short of mesmerising.

Mystery Man shifted in his seat, sensing he had suddenly become a third wheel, thanks to the supposedly nice pop star who had completely blanked him ever since he had disrupted the pleasant conversation.

The silence between them grew more palpable as Harry sat his glass down and oh so casually reached to tuck a lock of Taylor's hair behind her ear. She didn't think she reacted, but her head tilted slightly towards him, and her features softened. Even if she didn't especially want him that way right here, didn't mean she didn't want him at all.

"You look beautiful," Harry complimented, fingers trailing down her hair, brushing over her shoulder before they settled back on her knee. "Gold suits you."

"Thanks," she murmured. It wasn't the first time he'd said that to her tonight: after getting ready, she had Facetimed him to show off her glittering ensemble, which he loved. In turn, she had loved that he'd been yet to slip into the pinstripe button down he was now wearing.

"You should just go like that," she had teased, admiring the swallow tattoos on his bare chest that she had traced over countless times before. It had made him grin, and reveal that he'd rather save the shirtless look just for her when they met up at the end of the night.

Taylor hadn't had enough to drink to flirt with him now, though evidently he had. He wouldn't be sitting beside her otherwise.

"Are you two friends?" Mystery Man stupidly asked, taking the chance to get a word in, reminding them all of his presence.

"Sort of," Taylor began to say, just as Harry declared, "Very close friends."

Childishly, she could've shoved him right off the end of the booth. Very close friends, huh? It didn't presently seem that way to her, considering he hadn't picked up on her signals for him to go. They'd see each other later, he didn't need to be talking to her here!

With her cheeks flushing, Taylor cut him a look that he largely ignored, before feeling the need to explain herself to the friendly guy she had just met. "We catch up sometimes. Occasionally."

"We've known each other for ages," Harry emphasised the difference between him and the man across from him. His advantage over him.

"I should leave you to it, then," Mystery Man decided, smiling ruefully only at Taylor as he began to slide out the booth. He understood what Harry was trying to do, and that he wasn't going to be able to compete. "Nice meeting you, Taylor. See you 'round sometime."

"I hope so!" Taylor replied enthusiastically, so he would know that what Harry was clearly hoping for wasn't the same as what she wanted right now. It still didn't stop him from leaving, though.

Once Mystery Man turned his back on them, Taylor grabbed her glass and took an extra generous gulp of her drink. Thank god he'd been thoughtful enough to bring her a drink. She damn well needed it.

Before he had the chance to open his mouth and say something else that was only going to irritate her, Taylor leaned in closer, just not with the intention he was eager for. "What the fuck was that?" she discreetly hissed, not waiting for his explanation. "Out. Get out. Let me out."

Shuffling along as he was told, Harry watched on dumbly as Taylor hastily slipped out after him, tugging the hem of her dress down with one hand and clutching her nearly empty glass in the other. "We'll talk later," she told him firmly, without even sparing him another glance.

Harry blinked at the golden figure parading away from him, determined and self-assured. Foolishly, he didn't understand why he was suddenly being abandoned. All he knew was that, well, this party was kind of shit.

* * * * *

Nearly, Taylor pled tiredness so she could get out of the conversation that was surely going to end the night on a sour note. Nearly, but she was old enough to know that leaving things unsaid was for the worse.

Still in her glitter dress yet with her stilettos ditched in the hallway, she was lying on the couch with the company of a cat, waiting, when she finally heard Harry knock on her apartment door. It was a rather rhythmic knock, one that went on for longer than necessary, which let her know that he hadn't stopped after that Old Fashioned. Not that she had either, but that was beside the point.

Meredith watched on from her perch on the back of the couch as Taylor dragged herself up and stumbled over to the entryway. It was going to be fine, she reassured herself. They were just going to talk, and it would be fine. They were perfectly reasonable adults.

Well, one of them was, anyway. The other was grinning like a child who could do no wrong.

"Tay," Harry sighed happily at the sight of her, relieved that the brief thought that she might not actually answer the door for him was nothing but a silly little fear. Of course she would answer for him! She always did.

For the rest of her time at the party, Taylor had ignored him – on purpose this time. She'd reunited with her friends, squashing any chance of her letting him hang out with her publicly again. Instead, he had visited the bar again, trying to pretend that he was okay with that.

He followed her inside eagerly, though he was stopped abruptly when Taylor unexpectedly turned around and held up a commanding finger, halting him before they got far. It almost seemed like a joke, but there was no humour in her tone when she asked, "What were you thinking?"

Harry tilted his head to the side, blinking slowly. She would have to be more specific than that.

"We weren't at that party together! You knew that," Taylor prompted, trying to keep her voice controlled; she didn't want to pick a fight.

"But... we've been hanging out," Harry replied naïvely, with an innocent shrug of his shoulders.

"Not like that. You can't just spring that on me; you know I'm not ready."

Not ready. Yeah, she'd seemed really not ready to be seen with any men when she was chatting up Mystery Man for ages!

When his gaze dropped to his feet, keeping silent for too long, Taylor crossed her arms over her chest, exhaling, "What?"

"That guy," he simply said, his green eyes flashing when he looked back up at her. This time, it was Taylor who hesitated. "You were with that guy."

"Oh my god, you've got to be kidding me," she muttered, regaining her composure.

"Who was he?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"It does when you'd rather hang out with him than me."

The smile he had entered with was long gone, and almost, almost, Taylor just wanted to forget this whole thing and bring it back. It wouldn't be hard, but she couldn't just let it go. It didn't feel right.

"I just met him; it didn't mean anything," she emphasised. "I can't believe you're jealous!"

"'M not jealous!"

"You obviously are! Harry, you know how I feel about you–"

"Do I? You didn't seem very into it tonight."

"Because you came out of nowhere and acted like I was all yours!"

"You are!"

That was the wrong thing to say. Harry knew it as soon as it came out his mouth, saw it in the way her expression tightened just slightly. Even so, he wouldn't take back what he thought was true.

"We haven't defined anything–" Taylor fumbled to defend herself, though he cut in easily.

"How would you like it if I'd been flirting with another girl all night?"

"It wouldn't matter," she lied. "You can do what you want."

"I did. Fuck, Taylor, how do you not know that?"

Harry took the few steps towards her, and she unconsciously held her breath as he closed the distance between them.

"All I wanted was to be with you," he spelled it out for her frustratingly slowly. "You were fucking killing me all night."

It was the same now. Her body language was telling him to back off, but her eyes – god, her eyes were staring into his with a fierce intensity. It was rare for her, and it roused something in him, something he thought he should bury if only he didn't suspect she was feeling it too.

"You should've just said."

"You didn't listen."

"I'm listening now."

With her gaze drifting down to his lips, abandoning her stubborn decision that they were only going to talk tonight, only a few heavy seconds passed before Harry's hands moved to her waist, pulling her in for a kiss he had been dying to give her all night. It was harder than he would've given her earlier, more possessive – oh, definitely possessive when he forced her back against the closest wall as she hastily uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around his neck. She stumbled, but he kept a firm grip on her.

If she wanted him to tell her how he felt, well, that's exactly what she'd get.

He told her in the desperate way that he kissed her, lips parted and unwilling to leave hers. He told her in how he pressed his body flush against hers, pinning her to the wall so she couldn't slip free, not again. He told her in the low moan that escaped him when she held him there, encouraging with her hand tangling up in his hair and her lips just as eager.

When he broke from the kiss for just a moment, just to look at her, right now undoubtedly all his, Taylor gazed up at him through her false lashes. Blue eyes radiating a sudden lust, she bit down on her lip, as if he had erased everything else from her mind with the simple press of his mouth on hers. Within a mere few seconds, she was reaching for him again.

It had him thinking maybe she was trying to tell him the same thing.

There was still a frustration fuelling the pair of them – mostly Taylor; it was jealousy for Harry. For he was jealous that someone – anyone – else had gotten to spend the night at the party with her. He needed her to know that he loathed to see her with any other man, and that this – this was never going to be better with anyone else. No matter how hard they tried, they could never know her the way that he did.

Ridiculously, Taylor wanted to apologise. She hadn't been flirting with anyone else, and she was sure it didn't matter who she chose to simply talk to, but she had never meant to properly upset him. Her reservations over being together were her own, and perhaps this was all a lesson in communication that would bring them closer in the end. Or maybe he'd just been a jealous ass and she was stubborn and scared. Either way, he was very aroused and she was maddeningly torn between getting down on her knees or letting him fuck her against the wall, clothes and all.

She had always found great thrill in surprising him: breaking from their feverish kisses, she reached up under her dress and yanked down her underwear. The delicate fabric fell down around her ankles, where she kicked them off to the side, inviting him to what he so clearly wanted.

I'm yours now, her eyes told him.

And she really thought she had won at the whole surprising thing, until he picked her up and carried her away from the wall that had suddenly seemed like the perfect spot for make up sex. Any sex, really. Just as long as it was with him.

Exhaling heavily when he dropped her on the nearby couch and climbed atop her, Taylor fumbled to undo any of his shirt buttons, far too distracted by his lips beginning to trail down her throat. Neither of them even noticed Meredith dart off the back of the sofa as if her life depended on it, no longer interested in sticking around now that they were so engrossed in each other.

Harry reached for her thigh like he had been intermittently been thinking about all damn night. Smoothing up her soft skin, he then hitched her dress up around her hips, and she thought, yes, finally, but she was wrong. Well, sort of.

"Oh," Taylor sighed.

Above her, a cocky grin spread across Harry's face as his finger slipped effortlessly over her centre. His self-satisfaction over how aroused she was was somewhat annoying, but it was hard to be pissed at him when he was touching her like that.

Slower at first, Harry picked up his pace as soon as he began stroking her with another finger. He was still watching her with that eager expression as he rubbed her hurriedly, fingers sliding up and down, up and down, with thrilling ease. Every moan that left her red lips came as its own little reward, one that Harry was dying to receive more, more, more.

It would've been easy to get her there, and he would've, had he not abruptly pulled away from her. Taylor cursed under her breath at the loss of contact, brushing her damp fringe off her forehead as her mind battled between being annoyed at him for stopping and at herself for wanting him so damn badly, for always wanting him. Even when she wished she didn't, when she said nothing about it at all, it was always him.

Shuffling down the sofa, Harry nudged her legs further apart, pressed a few hasty kisses to her inner thighs. His breath was hot against her skin as he murmured, "Baby," before his tongue – oh, shit, his tongue took over from where his fingers had left off.

With her hand tangling in his hair, leg dangling off the side of the couch, Taylor panted as she subtly rocked her hips to the rhythm of his mouth. Harry loved her eagerness, he fucking loved every enlivened sound she made when his tongue swirled over her sensitive tip. He was aching to be touched too, yet he reached his hand up to find her free one, holding tight as she tilted her head back and moaned with her satisfying release.

Harry lapped her up enthusiastically, barely letting her catch her breath. There was a moment when he soon sat back up where he gave her the impression he might, as he unbuttoned his shirt and dumped it on the floor, but that was more for show: it gave her something to admire as his fingers returned to her.

"Fuck, Harry," she groaned, disappointed that it was only his shirt he had removed and that it was only his forefinger circling around her entrance. He always did know how to tease her, and she couldn't really be disappointed that he had always been able to read her body. She really, really could not be disappointed with any of this.

With something else in mind, though, Taylor had to tell him, "I want you," since apparently he wasn't going to give it to her unless she said something.

What she got certainly wasn't what she was expecting.

"Oh, shit!" Taylor gasped suddenly. "Is that–"

The grin returned to Harry's face. "Yes."

"Oh my god."

It was his finger she got – his forefinger pushing deep inside her, and every time he moved it, she felt it. Oh shit, did she feel that silver ring, the one with the leaves she had thought so pretty when she saw it at the market. It looked even better on his finger, but it had never crossed her mind that it might also look good on his finger inside of her.

"You like that?" Harry couldn't take his eyes off her, thrilled by her surprise at feeling the ring she had gifted to him rubbing against her rim every time he pumped his finger. She swore again, which he took to be a yes.

"You know that's not– I wasn't asking for your finger," Taylor struggled to correct him.

"You will be now," he confidently assured her, teasing her with a second finger, hesitating over letting it join the other. "You like that, eh?"

Fuck, she did, but she was stubborn. Especially when he was drunk and cocky and trying to make a point.

"Got the 'H' on that one," Harry told her, encouraging. "You like that one. You want it, babe?"

Taylor gritted her teeth, undecided on handing him the satisfaction of giving in to his talk. It was too hard to pretend she didn't want it, though.

"Yes," she eventually exhaled, groaning as almost immediately he slipped his two fingers in together.

Maybe it was a little bit of a power trip for him. Or a lot. Maybe definitely a lot.

"Fuck me, babe, you like that." He liked that. He fucking loved that this was him, here with her, making her moan like that. Even without her saying, he was convinced that it was never the same for her with anyone else. Nothing was.

"Harry," Taylor breathed out, her eyes closed, all coherent thought having long since vanished. He hummed, and she would've kissed him, had his lips not been so far away.

It was a little uncomfortable, the rub of cool metal against such a sensitive spot every time he pushed his long fingers as deep as he could. She liked it better when he slid his fingers out and she could feel his rings as he stroked up her centre, before gliding back down into her, but – oh, hell, she liked all of it. Every damn sensation that hitched her breath and made her want more of him.

"D'you think you can take the 'S'?" Harry asked first, and even with his husky voice, the question came from an endearing politeness so ingrained in him that she had to laugh.

"I can handle you, Styles," Taylor opened her eyes to smile at him, though they promptly squeezed back shut when he gave her a third finger. "Oh."

Harry went slower, not wanting to hurt her. He lowered his voice, too, when he promised her, "I'm all yours," and she swore those three simple words were the sexiest thing she had ever heard.

It was with his fingers as far as they could reach inside her, his opposite thumb coming to rub circles over her clit hurriedly, that she was finally overwhelmed with sensation, climaxing once more with a desperate moan which struck him straight to his core.

The silver band she had presented him, the gold 'H' and 'S' he had taken to adorning regularly, glistened with her arousal. Slowly, he licked each finger, tasting her, actually giving her a moment to catch her breath this time.

She was staring up at the ceiling when he crawled up into her line of sight, immediately bringing a dazed smile to her face. And to think, she had been too afraid to spend her whole night with this man who so obviously adored her.

"I mean it," Harry quietly reassured her, unable not to smile back down at her, "I'm all yours."

When she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a revering kiss, Taylor told him the same thing.

* * * * *

Mid-morning light filtered through the gap in the curtains when they woke together in Taylor's bedroom. Taylor was first to stir, with blankets covering her sore body, silently admiring Harry lying on his side facing away from her. Long red scratches glowed against his skin, and with a delicate touch, she ghosted her fingertips over his broad back. A cheeky little smile began to tug at her lips, and softly she placed a kiss on one of the marks she had made in the heat of the moment of last night's exploits, sliding an arm around him as she snuggled back up to him.

When Harry woke soon after, his hand searched for hers. "Morning, love," he sighed quietly, content in the very simple act of being with her the moment he awoke, with her being the first thing he saw when he rolled over. It just felt right.

"Good morning," Taylor whispered when he turned to face her. Gently, she gave him a chaste kiss, before cuddling up against his bare chest, his arms closing around her protectively.

They stayed like that for a while, simply listening to the other breathe. It was peaceful – well, until they heard the dash of a cat in the hallway, not so light on its feet. Both of them glanced towards the door, waiting for anything more, and when the apartment fell quiet again, they shared a soft smile.

Harry's expression grew more serious, though, as he said what he knew he needed to. It was early, and they weren't even dressed, but it wouldn't have been right to go about the day as if all of yesterday hadn't happened. "'M sorry for last night, love."

"What part are you apologising for?" Taylor teased him lightly, making it easier for the both of them. It made him fight another smile, so she knew it worked.

"You know. The party."

"It's okay."

"No, I should've– I was a bit of a dick," he confessed with a nervous little laugh. It didn't go unnoticed that she didn't disagree. "We weren't there together, I just... can't stand seeing you with anyone else."

Sliding her hand to his cheek, she brushed over the light prickle of his stubble. He had grown into quite the man since they first parted all those years ago. Physically, yes, but emotionally too. Harry seemed much surer of himself these days, and while she often questioned what he truly wanted now, a part of her still caught up in the uncertainty of their first relationship, she knew he was different now. They both were.

"I know," she whispered. "I... I would've hated it if it was the other way around," she admitted, wrinkling her nose a little. While she would've handled it differently, there was no questioning that she would've been jealous, too. She felt awful pang of guilt for making him feel that way, for being aware of what she was doing and doing it anyway, out of fear that inevitably she wasn't going to be enough for him. For anyone. "I'm really sorry."

"It's alright, love, I know you're not ready for us–"

"I just want to be sure," she interrupted hastily. "About us. I want to be sure before we tell everyone and it... it gets ruined."

Her voice trailed off at the end, shyer in admitting that she was worried that things would turn out the way they had before. Ever since they had started hanging out again, she had been dreading the day the world found out and threw in their wicked opinions as if they knew all. And maybe that had been holding her back, and maybe she should've just said something.

Harry dipped his head closer to hers, brushing his nose affectionately against hers. "D'you want to be with me?"

"Yes," Taylor replied without hesitation.

"Then nothing'll ruin it," he told her with naïve confidence, as if they both hadn't experienced the effect of having a million eyes on their every move. The difference now was that they were older, could handle it better. Neither wanted to let it stand in their way.

He kissed her forehead tenderly, squeezing her tighter in his arms. "Can I make you breakfast?"

"This is my apartment."

"And you deserve someone who'll make you breakfast."

Taylor couldn't stop smiling as he pulled himself away and climbed out of bed, glancing around the floor for his underwear. None of their clothes had made it to her bedroom, though, discarded before their fun had travelled from the living room couch.

"I think they're on the coffee table," she helpfully supplied, despite quite enjoying seeing him walking around her place naked again.

"Classy," he deadpanned, flashing her a grin before wandering out the door.

While Harry made himself at home in the kitchen, Taylor took a shower and threw on a loose t-shirt and cotton shorts, almost feeling overdressed when she found Harry again. He'd hummed all through brewing coffee and throwing together eggs and buttered toast, wearing nothing but the navy underwear he had found on the coffee table, tossed half on top of the book she was currently reading, one her mother had passed on to her.

With their breakfast laid out carefully on the dining table, Harry's attention had shifted to one of the cats: Olivia, who was letting him stroke her with unmasked enthusiasm. Silently, Taylor watched on while she had the chance, smiling softly to herself as he stayed kneeling down, grinning at Olivia as he murmured to her. Almost, she took advantage of his unawareness of her presence, but it wouldn't have been fair. She gushed secrets to her cats all the time; it was his turn.

It was when he rested his hand over his heart, tilting his head upwards with such a joyous grin that he was actually here, that he noticed Taylor lingering nearby. Harry's cheeks flushed endearingly, and he quickly ran his hand through his messy hair, hoping she hadn't been standing there long. Really hoping she hadn't heard anything he'd said.

She hadn't needed to hear him, though. Just seeing him there, so in place in her life, she knew.

As she wandered over to him, Taylor held out a hand as he stood back up. He intertwined their fingers, and she squeezed his hand fondly. "There's this gallery exhibition I've been wanting to go to," she told him casually. "Would you... wanna go with me sometime?"

Their eyes locking, an understanding flickered between them.

Harry's dimples flashed adorably as he grinned at her. "I'd love to."