[H.S] Shots

not quite resolved:

Several weeks had passed since Y/N and Harry had held each other, hoping that by squeezing the other person close that they could erase the dreadful hurt of the night. Harry, equally grateful as surprised that the night didn’t end with her sending him on his way, allowed himself to be hopeful. Though only timidly. He hoped that by pulling her to his chest, he could chase away any lingering doubt in her mind.
Y/N in turn hoped that if she allowed herself to be held, the losing of trust would stop. She wanted to trust him. Believe what he said. Trusting and believing his words had always come so easily and natural to her during their time together. It was a hard conclusion to draw when she asked herself where exactly the root of her pain was coming from. She didn’t know how to rebuild their effortless believe in each other.
So she’d held onto him tighter, chuckled at his words of humour and hoped, truly and whole heartedly, that this would be enough.

To some degree this worked. Or to the very least, it looked like it did.

The next few weeks were noticeably different than before. The days were marked by the slight change in behaviour. Y/N was less touchy with him. Something Harry wasn’t embarrassed to admit he noticed the quickest, as well as this being the one thing that he found the hardest to ignore. They still kissed, they had sex. More so than before, actually. But the small things, like a lingering hand or kiss on the cheek just because she could - those small gestures of love and attention, they were gone. Instead Harry could see the wheels turning insider her head each time before she as much as slightly initiated that she would like to be physical with him. He watched her rethink every gesture, hesitate before touching him. Almost as if he didn’t belong to her. It pained him that his past mistakes had made her doubt her ownership over him.
The only times this seemed to be different was when they were in bed together. But those moments could barely make up for the loss of affection found in ordinary gestures.

Harry wasn’t quite the same with Y/N either. He would close the distance between them any chance he got, an overcompensation for her withdrawal. Y/N barely got to stand beside him without his arm heavily draped around her shoulders or his hand resting on her hip to pull er up against him. Even when they were around others and his attention was forced elsewhere, a hand would constantly touch Y/N. Her arm, her hand, her shoulder or her thigh. If physical touch had been his favourite way to show attention before, the need had grown tenfold since the truth of his intentions had come out.
The subtle change in his behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by her. At first she’d struggled to really put a finger on what exactly was different. Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t take her, their relationship and even the littlest of details for granted anymore.

Despite moving on from their conflict proving itself to be much harder than she’d anticipated, Y/N loved him. She loved him so much. Calling it quits and giving up was never considered, not after it briefly crossing her mind when she’d stared at herself in the bathroom mirror of that horrible bar she had never wanted to return to since. She wouldn’t be happy without him. She reminded herself of this every time.

her heart sank at the memory of his betrayal. And she ignored the tiny voice in her head, reminding her that she wasn’t really happy with him either.
So this is how several weeks passed. They hadn’t talked about what had happened again, nor did they address the clear changes in their relationship. Both were accepting and hoping. Harry hoped dearly that Y/N would find it in herself to move on if given enough time and proven repeatedly that he only wanted her. Y/N hoped that she would forget everything. And that she never had to see Lucy again.

She was denied both wishes.

It happened on a Tuseday. Y/N stood in line for coffee, in the same shop Harry and her had had their first date. The coffee place Lucy had always frequented in back when she’d been in town, a fact that had made her hesitate before entering, considering that the memory was unwelcome. But the coffee there was one of the best and she knew it would make Harry happy. Five minutes of standing in line, debating whether or not she should ask for extra vanilla flavour.