"We have a problem," Harry states as he comes in the room. Emma's heart nearly stops and she feels exposed. Not just because she is naked, though she is literally bare, but because he's just been downstairs to talk to the landlady and Emma is terrified of what the hell the problem could be.

He was just downstairs, while she was luxuriating in the sheets scented like them. What could he have encountered there that would lead to this deadpan voice and monotone face?

Emma's mind is good at this, at possibilities, it's why she's good at her studies and internships, she can run through lots of scenarios in her head and then plug in logistics and costs and benefits. She doesn't even need a spreadsheet unless you get beyond a handful of variables.

Variable one - she's gonna think of them as variables because problems are more nerve wracking - there are fans outside. They've heard from someone, through a grapevine or hedgerow, that Harry stays here a couple days each Christmas.

Emma can see a way out of this, though it requires sending Harry to be the sacrificial lamb. He will have to go to the altar and sign things, which is better than being beheaded, and take pictures and give hugs and lead them away. Then Emma can linger, maybe eat lunch in the pub garden and leave when the coast is well and truly clear. It's not how she wants to spend their last day this break together, but it gets them both out of here unexposed, if not totally unscathed.

This is the best case scenario.

Variable two - while he was downstairs Gemma texted. She's cottoned on. Well, Emma is totally afraid and halfway sure her friend can sense that she's sleeping with her little brother every chance she gets and hasn't been honest about it. Emma knows Harry has not been forthright either. The puzzle pieces can't be hard to put together. They've gotten lazy. No, the word is addicted. The fact that they both always disappeared and went dark for the same number of days was more than noticeable the first time, it wasn't a pattern yet thought. An easy to recognize and predict four three year old pattern. Emma is good at those too, patterns. So is Gemma, all those themes, all those books.

They'd talked about it, she and Harry, that second year, their first meet up with intent. Agreed they would be limited, controlled, discreet. They would meet late, after pub crawls, and only get together after Gemma went back to London.

She's not sure who they were fooling.

Because then, instead, they just holed up, skipped social events, turned up moments apart from one another and left the same way. Basically they'd ignored every one of their rules, the ones they'd designed to keep their secret. They couldn't help themselves, nor stay away. She had to sit on her hands and never look at him to keep from touching or kissing in public. Harry didn't even bother.

Last year, Gemma had made a few comments, about them flirting, about Harry peacocking around Emma, about them leaving at the same time. About his hands on her.

Emma remembered when they'd pulled themselves out of each other's arms, him to go home, her to a meet up with Gem and some others. He was definitely less stealthy, not sleeping at home and all, but he insisted on holding her while he fell asleep and waking up to her kisses. What was she supposed to do but melt?

Emma had been late, because of course she was, she'd almost been out the door when he'd asked to be kissed goodbye. "I just put on lipstick." She'd shaken her head, and then his face had taken on that impish hue and he'd kissed her lipstick and clothes off. The waiting Uber had left without her and she lost her perfect 5 star rating.

She'd come in, flushed apologizing and lying about her mother needing her to go to the shops. Gemma had pushed her a drink and given her a look. Like she knew, why Emma was late and Harry was sneaking out to sleep in a shitty pub bed. Then later, she'd said, "Harry's up to something, someone, he's been staying out all night again. My mum isn't that bothered, but I just want to know who." The look she'd turned on Emma was nothing short of an invitation.

Emma could have confessed. But it felt like a final chapter, a bookend she wasn't ready for, so she'd shrugged and suggested maybe he had a girl in Manchester, or a boy. It had been a joke, but Gemma hadn't blinked, and Emma wasn't surprised either, so that seemed interesting. Luckily the conversation flowed beyond that when a new old friend arrived.

Gemma kept giving her looks though.

Emma did feel like she was wearing a scarlet H.

And she'd come to the party with it two days ago. The letter may not have been apparent on her sweater, the kinda ugly but also perfect Christmas sweater she'd found at the thrift store one day. It was red, the threads of it shot through with silver, like it was made of tinsel. And it was big, she was wearing it as a dress. The expediency of last year's dress fed her lunacy this year. They should definitely control themselves this time. Thank god the door had been locked.

The big H over the heart of her sweater cum dress was probably only visible to her.

And possibly to Harry, from the way he had zeroed in on her. He'd greeted her when she came in the kitchen door with a lingering kiss on her cheek. She was totally breathless just from seeing him. He had grown. He was a bit taller and seemed to have slimmed down. And his hair was brushing his shoulders in this way that could only be described as princley. She was waiting and hoping for true love's kiss.

That was probably why, when he looked around naughtily and scooted her over 5 steps to be under the mistletoe, she hadn't even been able to find an eye roll of protest. The kiss had tasted like home, because he was the best thing about Christmas and coming home to Holmes Chapel. He was what she longed for on days that literally didn't end in Iceland, cozy nights with him, under the blankets near a fire. It lingered, his lips on hers, the slick of his Christmas cookie scented tongue. He held her a moment later, the hug lasted too long as well.

"Oooh, Harry get off!" Gemma had harrumphed.

Emma had been sure her face was bright red, but Harry had just rolled with it, pointed to the mistletoe, and said, "Seemed more appropriate than a full make out!" He'd pulled back and tossed that comment over his shoulder but winked at her as his hands dropped. It had seemed to satisfy for that moment. That was before Emma had ignored rules and definitely fallen into her pattern. The Boar's Head on Boxing Day and maybe a few more. Hell, even the landlady recognized them and told them she'd saved their preferred room for them. Gemma was quick, sharp as a knife blade and could cut like one too, when hurt.

Maybe Gemma had gotten sick of the unexplained sober night disappearing acts and called him out.

Would they come clean? Did that mean this was over? Did that mean this was beginning?

Emma wasn't even sure what she wanted. This was the worst case scenario, that those they loved and were deceiving knew.

Or, maybe they knew for an even worse reason.

Variable three - it had gotten out to the press. Someone had snapped a photo of them kissing before the "we were just hugging" excuse. Or got them together here in a more salacious situation. Going to a room together - no - that can't be right. They meet here, behind closed doors, no one can get to them here, it's like their fortress. Nobody knows. Would the landlady sell them out?

Emma takes a deep breath, she's just given herself some very rapid fire and escalating worst case scenarios. She needs more data. "What's wrong?" Her voice is steady.

Maybe not steady enough, he looks up with his brow quirked and his mouth a bit drawn.

He reads her, she feels him open her up like the spine of a book. She hopes he doesn't ask. How long would it take to explain the crazy journey her mind just took? Instead he just tilts his head and gives her a naughty smile. "We're stuck!" His eyebrows raise like he's just told her he found a stash of herbs that act like viagra.

"Huh?" For as quick a thinker as she is, she feels really behind. May have been that smile's promise, or that his news is simple, innocuous, not full of consequences.

"Come look." His head motions to the window he is standing in front of. He puts her in front of him immediately and hooks his chin over her shoulder. "We're snowed in!" He's gleeful.

"You'll miss your flight." She sounds worried. This would stress her out.

"I will, but I won't miss out on you! And I can't get my ass chewed because this is an act of God!"

"An act of God to get you laid!" She laughs. She's joking.

He doesn't look amused. "I already got laid." He tries for a playful eye roll, it doesn't land, like when you jump off a swing and miss, tumble over, twist an ankle. "I'm excited, how cozy is this! We get to hang out for at least another day. We can order food in and stay in bed and watch movies! Everyone else will be snowbound too so we won't have to put on real clothes or anything at all and go to the pub or family dinner or anything. Just us two with no obligations!"

He looks gleeful to have extra time off. She shouldn't begrudge him, he works hard and so does she. "What movie do you want to watch?" He's already digging for his laptop and sweats, he's down to a tee, tossing her the one she slept in.

There's a part of Emma that thinks she should bring up all the winding trails her mind just ran, instead, she smiles and catches the love bug he's infected with. "You pick, baby." Baby, wow, she thought she only said that in her head, or when she's under him. She'd be happy if he doesn't notice. He does, and the way he looks over it makes her happier.

Hours later, after he calls down for shepherds pie and tea he says, "We should get pints'"

"I don't like beer."

"Then wine!"

"Ok, wine." They usually only had tipsy tumbles at the party. This was intentional; on her part at least, she liked to remember their limited time together so she could live off it all year. "I feel like I need to warn you, wine makes me feel sexy."

"Oh, oh no, what will I do?" He put his hand to his heart then to his head and reclined in an arch that belied his 'I don't dance' claims. Maybe not yet, but one day he'd be a dancer. "I know you will launch an assault on my virtue!" He stuck his tongue to the cover of his smirking mouth. She'd take that invitation.

"Yeah. I should make a start on that job now!" She advances on him with all the moves she put into being the best footballer in sixth form. Harry runs from her, but the room is small and cozy and cluttered, so he quickly tumbles over. He groans from the floor.

"Oh, are you hurt babe?" She's on her knees looking his perfect face over for forming bruises when he laughs and pulls her down on top of him.

"Nope, fine and dandy!"

"Dandy is right!" She secretly loved his evolving look. But had to take him down a few pegs regularly.

"Heeey! I had to call a foul, you are way faster than you look!"

"How does one look fast?" She's talking, he's kissing.

"When you look like you have moves," he moved his eyebrows in illustration, "and I'm like a newborn gazelle."

"Bullshit, I think you just get distracted."

He blinked and just stared for a moment. "Nobody's ever said that but my mum." Emma wasn't sure what that meant, but it meant something. The deep kiss and eye contact said so. As did his downshift.

They'd been on 4th gear headed to 5th when she'd started joking. Now he was back to third and decelerating.

"Cmon," he broke the kiss to say and came back like her lips were honey to his bee. It took him three lip locks to get to the next words. "Let's go get cozy and watch something."

She barely remembers the movie he put on. But she'll always remember him narrating it in her ear and his comment on the aesthetic.

"Do you like the costumes and set design or the actual plot?" She tilted her head back to ask and found her lips had the same magnets in them his had earlier. Must be contagious like his glee for snow days.

"Both, but I guess ideally they are equally great, but I'd say the latter in this case."

"You know, pop star, for a boy who left school early, you're awfully cerebral." She meant this as a compliment.

He blushed and gave her a shy smile. "Nah, I'm a lad."

There was something about the way he said it, like this was one of those beliefs everyone had about themselves that they didn't really share, but affected them.

Emma climbed up over him. "Hey, you're not allowed to put yourself down around me, ok?"

"Being a lad isn't necessarily a bad thing." That rang true, he believed that.

"Yeah, I agree with you. But you aren't just a lad Harry."

He looks askance for a second. "I mean, I'm not like, a genius or anything," he nudged her, "not like some people."

"I'm not a genius." He made a face. "I'm not. I'm smart, but more than that I'm dedicated, and you obviously are as well. You work really hard Harry, and you make people really happy. You make great music. You know that, right? That what you do has merit? That it matters?"

"I'm not saving the planet." He looked deeply at her.

"Neither am I." He scoffed. "No, really. I'm just trying to do what I can to make things a little better. And you are too."

"Yeah, but I want to do more, like more good."

"And you will, you do know you're like 21 right." Sometimes she needed this reminder too. He was even younger than her.

"Not quite."

"Stop reminding me I'm older than you." She ruffled his hair.

"Older and wiser."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Styles."

Harry reversed their positions, she was under him, looming blue and beautiful above her. "I dunno, I like my geography."

The kisses he was applying to her collarbone were pretty compelling.

"I guess I'd have to see a little more flattery," she sighed.

"I think you're the smartest girl I've ever met." That kiss was right below her ear.

She made an encouraging sound.

"I love the color of your eyes when there is soft light behind you." That kiss was to the same spot on the other side. It was also very specific.

"I miss you and the way you smell 11 months out of the year." That one was on the hollow at the base of her throat.

"If I could, I'd just follow you from Amsterdam to Iceland so that I got to wake up to you every morning." That one she felt required a follow up, but that kiss was on her mouth and escalated to all of the other positions his held.

It wasn't until the next morning, when they we're still snowbound, cozy, and together that she thought to say, "You know you could do anything you wanted, be anything you wanted. You're limitless, Harry."

She didn't tell him she'd also love if he chose to follow her between her school and her hoped for career. Just like she hoped he would never tell her he wanted her to follow him on tour. It was too limited.

She wished they were limitless together instead of on the divergent roads they'd chosen.