The Only Exception | W2S

THIRTY ONE.

I am so incredibly sorry. This actually hurt me to write (just know I am hurting alongside each and every one of you), but if it brings you any comfort whatsoever, just know that things won't stay this heartbreaking forever. Love you guys <3

I wasn't even sure when it had begun. Perhaps it had always been there, buried beneath everything else, waiting for the moment I'd finally notice. Or maybe it had crept up on me slowly, piece by piece, until it was too large, too consuming, to ignore.

Maybe that was what made this so much harder.

Because this wasn't just some silly infatuation, some passing attraction that would fade with time. It wasn't a fleeting I quite like him or a harmless crush I could brush aside.

It was more than that. So much more. And it wasn't until now—until the moment I knew I had to let him go—that I finally understood what it had always been.

Love.

It was love.

I loved Harry. I was in love with him. And that realisation didn't fill me with warmth or certainty—it shattered me. Because it was already too late. Because loving him only made what I had to do so much more unbearable.

"I can practically hear the thoughts whirring in your brain," Harry murmurs, his arm draped lazily over me, his lips brushing against the side of my neck as he speaks.

His voice is low, thick with sleep, the kind of warmth that should make me melt, but all it does is send another sharp twist through my gut.

We'd woken up together just hours after I'd selfishly wrapped myself up in him, knowing full well what was coming. What I had to do. But last night, I'd let myself be weak. I'd let myself have him, even though I knew it would only make this morning hurt more.

"I have a lot of thoughts. All the time," I reply simply, keeping my voice light, controlled. If I say too much, I'll break. And if I break, I won't be able to do this.

Harry hums against my skin, the sound vibrating through me. "You know, I like it when you tell me your thoughts. I could listen for hours."

It feels like he knows. Like he senses something shifting between us, something slipping from his grasp, and he's trying—God, he's trying—to hold it together.

But he can't. Neither of us can.

I barely even made the decision. It was like the moment the thought entered my mind, it latched on and refused to leave. I had to do this.

"You'd get bored," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.

Harry scoffs. "Of you? Unlikely." He sighs, shifting beside me. "Wanna have a morning smoke?"

I should say no. I should tell him we need to talk, that there's no point dragging this out any longer. But I'm scared. Of his reaction. Of how much this is going to hurt. Of what my life looks like after this moment.

"Yeah, alright," I agree instead. Just a little longer. Just one more cigarette. For him. For me. For us.

Because after today, he might never want to see me again.

By the time I step outside onto the balcony, Harry is already there, sitting back in one of the chairs, gazing out at the view like he has all the time in the world.

And then he looks at me.

And for a moment, it's as if nothing has changed. His eyes soften, his lips curl into the kind of easy smile that always makes my stomach flip, and he looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.