The Only Exception | W2S

FORTY THREE.

I wouldn't be coming back.

I wouldn't.

But as I pulled out of the car park, my heart still hammering in my chest, I already knew the truth.

"Fucking damnit!" I shouted, quickly pulling over to punch the steering wheel of my car.

It was instinct, really. Pressing his contact. Hearing the three rings before he picked up.

"Forgot something?" He drawled, and I could practically hear the amusement in his voice.

"I heavily dislike you," I say finally, after thinking for a few seconds straight as to what I was going to say.

"That's an improvement on hate, I suppose."

"It's not funny. I'm still so pissed at you," I reply back, staring at the car in front of me.

"I know," he says, his tone suddenly dropping all traces of amusement.

"All I want is for you to understand that what you did wasn't okay. And you can't understand that, and if you can't understand that, I'm scared you'll never truly understand me," I vent, my genuine, uncovered feelings now out in the open.

He doesn't reply to this. At least, not for a while.

And then, "I understand. What I did...was wrong, and I should've consulted you."

I want to punch him. "So you do understand."

"No — well, yeah, but — only just now. When you came round and — yeah. I — I get it now," he stammers.

Oh.

Oh.

"I'm sorry, Holly. I fucked up, and I don't want to fight with you anymore," he continues, and I just lean back in my seat as tears pool in my eyes.

"I never wanted to fight with you, Harry. I just wanted you to understand."

"Will you come back to my apartment? We can talk properly, and — maybe —"

"You have the mindset of a teenage boy," I laugh, wiping away my tears. "Fine, yes, I'll come back up."

The second I hang up, my stomach twists.

I should drive home. I should start the engine, take a deep breath, and force myself to put some distance between us. I should not be walking back into his flat like this, especially not after what just happened.

But my hands move before my brain catches up, unfastening my seatbelt and shoving my phone into my pocket. My heart is hammering against my ribs as I step out of the car and make my way back to the building, my body practically moving on autopilot.

Harry is already waiting at the door when I reach his floor. His expression is unreadable—like he's trying to figure out what version of himself he should be for me right now. The cocky bastard I left behind fifteen minutes ago? Or the remorseful boyfriend who's only just realised—finally—that he understands why I'm so hurt?

He lands somewhere in between, his lips twitching slightly as he steps aside to let me in. "That was quick."

"Shut up," I mutter, brushing past him.

The flat looks exactly the same as when I left, like time has frozen. My bag is still by the door, right where I dropped it in my rush to get my hands on him. My head throbs at the memory, my whole body still feeling the effects of it.

I sit down on the sofa, tucking my legs underneath me. Harry hesitates before sitting next to me—not too close, but close enough that I can feel his warmth, seeping into my skin despite everything.

Silence settles between us, thick with the weight of everything we haven't said.

Eventually, Harry sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look... I meant what I said on the phone."

I glance at him. "Which part?"

"The part where I said I fucked up," he mutters, his jaw tightening. "And the part where I said I'm sorry."

I let out a slow breath, my fingers twisting together in my lap. "You can't just—Harry, you can't just say you understand. I need to know that you do. I need to see it."

His gaze flickers to mine, something sharp behind his eyes. "I get it now," he says, and for the first time, I think he actually does. "I should've talked to you. I should've trusted you to handle it in your own way." He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "But I didn't, and now you're the one suffering for it."

I nod, my throat tight. "Yeah."

Harry shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. "I was just... so fucking angry, Holly. Seeing them twist things again, seeing people doubt you, knowing he was getting away with it—I couldn't take it. And instead of thinking about what you wanted, I did what I thought was best."

I watch him carefully, my nails pressing into my palms. This is the first time he's admitted that he didn't just do it for me—he did it for himself, too.

And that's what hurt the most.

I shake my head. "I understand that. But I needed you to put me first. Just this once. I needed to have a choice in how my own life was handled."

Harry finally looks at me, his eyes full of something I can't quite name. Regret? Guilt? Something else?

"You still love me," he says suddenly, his voice quieter now.

I blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You still love me." His head tilts slightly, like he's trying to read me, and my stomach twists. "I mean, you wouldn't be here if you didn't. Right?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Because of course I still love him. That was never the problem.

The problem is whether love is enough.

Harry leans in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I still love you, too."

I close my eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. "Harry..."

"I know," he murmurs, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing against mine. "I know I don't deserve it. I know I've got a lot to prove to you right now." He swallows. "But I swear to God, Holly, I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

My heart aches at the sincerity in his voice.

I should push him away. I should tell him that words mean nothing, that I need time, that I can't just fall back into this so easily.

But then he squeezes my fingers, gently, like he's grounding me.

And when I look up at him, I realise I don't want to push him away.

"I need you to prove it," I whisper.

Harry nods, his gaze locked onto mine. "I will."

And for now, that's enough.