"Love, Camille."
A tear slipped from her chin, staining the plain white in a droplet of wetness and Y/N couldn't find it in her to care about the ruined contraption despite seeing the liquid disperse evenly. What if he was considering this? Y/N's mind was conjuring up every point and dot of Harry's behavior-if he was acting even remotely distant or if she was just playing tricks on herself to confirm what she had yet to believe.
Was she jealous? Was she insecure? Of course, she was seeing as though she was nothing compared to his exes. But this situation also goes to show what she actually thought of Harry. He was definitely honest in everything he did, and Y/N knew that there was no reason for her to doubt him. So why was she so troubled about reading this letter from Camille?
She was left in the depths of the unknown-trying to work out why she was hurting so much. Sobbing on the floor to the point of extremity with the paper slightly fragmented in her palm-he was all she had. Y/N couldn't lose Harry because he was her world-he was everything to her. Y/N guesses that if they had something to talk about, Harry would have suggested speaking about it by now, but he hasn't.
Until then, Y/N was left to let her mind be injected with unwanted thoughts till' Harry takes it upon himself to spill what needed to be said. If there needed be.
Y/N's shoulders shook as her palms covered her wet sockets, tears slipping between her fingers as she re-read the whole letter-furthermore adding conclusion with no sufficient evidence into the mix. Surely, he was planning on getting back together with her. There was no other reason why he would leave the letter in his private box. Absolutely none.
"Y/N, I'm home!" Harry shouted from the floor below. She could hear the faint rustling of the paper bags that his large hands must've taken hold off before setting them on the countertop. Drawers and doors opened and closed while Harry sorted everything out in its proper place.
Y/N tried her best to stop her chest from heaving but the damage was already done. Her eyes were a twinge of red, nose a blush pink and snot was effortlessly dripping to her Cupid's bow. Her heart was torn just as she wished the letter was.
"I got you your favorite macarons," Harry called out before he appeared on the doorway of their bedroom.
He turned the corner, seeing Y/N sitting quietly on the floor-shoulders slouched that seemed to be pushed down by the tense atmosphere of the room. "What's wrong, lovie?"
His brows furrowed in concern, sock-clad feet rushing to where she situated with a rush. Broad arms wrapped around her, making her feel safe and comfortable. But not this time. It felt like she was being encompassed by a mass of lies and she couldn't help but shrug it off as quickly as he planted them.
"Hey," He asked with an almost offended tone. "Did I do something-oh," Harry trailed off when he caught sight of the letter clutched in Y/N's hand tightly. He closed his lids, shaking his head, moving his curls along with it.
"I-i though I threw that away," He mumbled. Fingers pointed to brush over his brows. Y/N was silent for a few seconds, deciding carefully in her next words.
"Well, you didn't." She pursed her lips, looking away from his emerald eyes.
There was a pregnant pause between them-neither of them knowing what to say to each other.
"I wasn't planning on getting back together with her," He sighed out, "Ever."
"Why did you keep the letter?" Y/N deteriorated. She wasn't going to take some excuse for this.
"I swear I thought I threw it out but-"
"But it's still here, Harry!" She cut him off, voice cracking near the end as tears developed once more in her eyes. "It must mean something to you,"
He shook his head quickly, eyes widening as his hands wavered to deny her conclusions. "It doesn't mean anything to me. Camille doesn't mean anything to me, Y/N."
She stared at him hard, trying to find any signs of deception in his face, in his stance-any visual part that she could see of him.
"She said she loves you.." Y/N cleared her throat, looking away uncomfortably.
"I don't love her," Harry took Y/N's shoulders in his hold, keeping her facing him. "I love you."
At that moment, Y/N could see the sincerity oozing from his pupils. The love he projected in his glassy eyes (because his emotions got the better of him) affected her in a good way. His lips set in a pout while the crease between his brows became prevalent because he was worrying that this would be the end of them. And he prayed that it wasn't.
"But she-," Y/N craned her neck, trying to look away to jab another point at him.
"She," Harry emphasizes. "Doesn't mean anything to me. You do." His voice diluted into a silent whisper, softly stroking each word with his tongue.
Instead of saying anything, Y/N wrapped her arms around his middle-hugging him close to her. His warmth was all she needed to calm all her absurd thoughts down.
Harry blinked sluggishly at her surprising action, before smiling down at his love-eyes welling in happiness at her actions. He kissed the top of her head tenderly, slightly sniffling the coconut shampoo she washed it with. She smells like home. With her, Harry is home.
"So you got me macarons?"
--
Letters to Harry
Start from the beginning
