The Only Exception | W2S

TWENTY FIVE.

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THURSDAY.

"Hi," I say nervously, climbing into the passenger seat of his car. It was the first time I'd seen him properly since Rome, and like I'd promised George, and more importantly myself — I was going to actually try and communicate with him today.

"Hey," he spoke back to me, and his tone was gentle, no awkwardness or uncertainty surrounding it, as if his main priority was to help me feel as relaxed as possible.

"I'm sorry about last week. My family came up," I explained, feeling like I owed it to him to tell him the truth.

He perked up. "Oh, nice! First time they've visited you in London, right?" He asked, switching the engine back on, and driving out of my apartment car park.

"Yeah. It was about time, really. And they even turned up with Henry," I grin, leaning back into the seat. "My dog," I clarify, noticing the confused look on his face.

"Oh, yeah, I think you mentioned. He's a golden retriever, right?" He asks, and I don't miss the way my chest feels a little warm and fuzzy at the fact he knows that.

"Yeah," I confirm. "I've had him since I was a kid, but he's the family dog really."

He nods. "We have one back in Guernsey, called Herb. He's visited me in London a few times now, but he's getting a little old to do that now," he tells me, and it feels like it did before between us — no tension, no expectations, just enjoying each other's company.

"I think I've seen him on your Instagram, he's a little cutie, but he doesn't quite beat Henry."

"Ah, well, all dog owners have a bias. They're both cute," he says, and we settle on that together.

The drive feels quicker today, and the weather is quite nice. It's nearing the middle of June, and London is becoming sunnier by the day. I love the rain, but there's something about a sunny day in London, sitting in a pub garden, drinking with your friends.

Finally, the car pulls to a stop, as Harry parks up in our spot — the same exact spot, every week.

"Come on, then," he says, turning the engine off, and climbing out of his door. I follow him out, hooking my bag over my shoulder as I hear him lock the car.

It's a little busier today, considering that the weather is nicer, and I spot two dogs playing with each other — both of their owners stood talking to each other, laughing and smiling.

In another universe, I imagine that it's Harry and I — Henry and Herb running around, both of us laughing and — possibly even flirting, without a care in the world.

Our clearing is deserted, thankfully, and I take a seat on the trunk that is still propped upright, Harry sitting on the one adjacent, as he starts to roll both of our cigarettes.

"I have —"

"I wanted to —"

I laugh. Of course we both decided to talk at the same time. It was typical.

"You go first," he manages to squeeze in first, busying himself with the filters.

"Okay, fine. I was going to say that I wanted to apologise for how I handled things in Italy. At the airport. It wasn't my finest moment," I manage to say out loud, however daunting and terrifying it felt. Being so vulnerable, especially with Harry didn't come easy to me, but George's words stuck with me.

Would you really be living?

I wouldn't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt Harry again, especially considering it would hurt me too. Maybe the risk was worth it. It was at least worth finding out.