Incandescent | H.S

Part Forty-Nine: Lost Leather & Love Letters

Hi my loves! Welcome to the longest thing I've ever written. It's 17k words so grab some snacks. There are bound to be typos so I apologise in advance. C.W: mentions of anxiety.

"Is this okay here?"

"Right there is perfect, thank you."

You took in the space in front of you, the smell of fresh paint overwhelming your senses. The scent, however, did little to dissipate all or any excitement that bounced in your chest. You stepped out onto the balcony, the glorious skyline of London stretched out before you.

It was just past midday, the sun fragmenting its reflection off the river Thames. While sunny, the typical chill of the wind forced you back inside, closing the sliding door with a brisk shiver.

This was a milestone you never thought you'd get to. Never thought you'd be able to solidify and encase your blooming success into a home. But here you were. A brand new apartment in the heart of central London, far more luxurious and spacious than your last one.

It was a fresh start for you. A new space for you to fully immerse in, and significantly closer to your work, which stemmed a lot of the appeal of your new home's location.

Five and a half months.

Five and a half months without him. Five and a half months of grieving and sad playlists and endless tubs of ice cream. Of regret and self-loathing. Wondering what-ifs and wondering how he was. His number was still logged into your phone but you didn't dare contact him. Even on those nights when you were especially sad or drunk. Mostly both.

For an ex you wanted to avoid, he was everywhere. On the radio, pretty much every social media site. You'd seen a few articles since your breakup, excited that the most desired British singer was single once again. You noticed that no one could see past their own selfish fantasies. It was a breakup, and people were over the moon, not the least bit concerned for any hearts that had been broken in the process.

His album had launched. Fine Line. You had stared at the song list for what felt like hours. Golden, Falling, Cherry. All titles that pierced through your heart. Little memories and moments and endearments. All liquified into songs for millions to hear.

You noted how many fans pointed out that there were intense underlying notes of heartache in the album, and how it had stemmed from your relationship. They prayed for mended hearts and hoped you were both okay. Aside from a few incidents that happened directly before your eyes, whether actual or on the screen of your phone, his fans loved you. Moreover, loved your aura and the fact that Harry had been happy with you. You could never escape the theories that were sure it was a stunt, but they seldom actually got to you.

It would take you months to finally build up the courage to listen to Fine Line. You had fully prepared yourself, too. You'd ensured a good and breezy workday so that you weren't stressed. And when you got home, you had a light dinner, a quick shower, and lit some candles on your balcony. You'd slipped your headphones on and sat there, wallowing in pain and adoration. An odd mix.

A man who had once been everything to you, now singing in your ear. You knew how hard he worked on that album. Having the final product of it flowing through your ears was surreal. You were proud. And through your sobs, you wished you could tell him just how proud you were. As painful as some lyrics were to stomach, you did it. Just the once. That was enough.

And while you could simply scroll past him on your phone, or change the radio station, he was everywhere in some of your favourite aspects of your life. In Greenwich park, your vinyl's, an oversized band t-shirt he used to borrow, sat at your work desk where he fucked you one time, bars you frequented with friends. Patches of flowers, the colour gold. His essence was everywhere.

You thought of him almost every second of every day, and so you'd finessed the art of distraction- by throwing yourself into your work.

It was almost as if you picked up from where you left off. Of course, your work had still thrived during your relationship with him, but you had been a little derailed and blissfully unaware of all the opportunities you missed out on.

You accepted a large variety of events. More galleries openings, fashion events, charity events. And so, your already booming reputation became adored. Your pay increased to an insane amount, and you were most pleased to give your employees a pay rise.

Your entire mindset changed. Not because of your newly increased finances, but because of the success. You enjoyed working more than you ever had before. You had found yourself, and loved who you'd grown into.

A couple of the men you'd hired to help move your stuff into your new home dropped off a couple more boxes per your instruction.

You thanked them profusely and checked the time again, knowing you had to head back to your apartment to continue packing.

Your small, modest apartment. It was bittersweet to leave it behind. It held a very special place in your heart. An array of memories that solidified who you were, who you had become. The person you'd grown into while living under that roof was someone you were proud of. You didn't even recognize your past self.

Most of it had been packed away, a majority of your clothes, all your kitchenware, bathroom clutter. Most of your books, your vinyls, the ridiculous amount of candles that you owned.

Your cherry heels already sat in your new closet in your new home.

However, you still had a lot to pack, and still had some goodbyes to express. And as you stood in your home, one you were leaving behind, a knock on your door pulled you from your mulling thoughts.

"Come in!"

You continued on your mission, grabbing various things and chucking them into a box labeled miscellaneous. The door opened and you peered back to see Max stepping inside.

"Hi."

"Hey," He greeted you with a soft hug and an even softer kiss on your cheek. "how's everything going?"

"Good, almost done now." You sighed, pulling away.

You and Max had been spending a lot of time together the past few months. After you'd stopped moping and let him in, once the pain had subsided only a small amount, allowing yourself to become open. Just a crack. But it was enough for him.

You got along well, had grown close through working together. And, to be honest, you were really fucking lonely and he was good at filling the void in your heart. While temporary, it numbed a fraction of the pain.

Movie dates, gallery viewings, fancy restaurants. Simple and mind-numbing. He knew you weren't interested in anything complicated or official. But simply enjoying each other's company was enough. He put a smile on your face and that was all he could ask for.

It wasn't necessarily romantic. You had shared a few kisses here and there. But you never let him stay over, never let his touch linger. Max was unique in the sense that he was happy to go along with what you were comfortable with.

You thought you were doing okay. Five months without him seemed to seep into an amount of time you'd thought you'd never get through. But you were doing it. For a time, it was easy to convince yourself that you were okay. That you were getting better. And after a while, the convincing turned into something that was actually real. You'd be okay, you realised.

But the ease of it was going to be stripped away today.

Max gave your apartment a once over, mostly boxes and organized piles and furniture yet to be moved. He peeked his head out of your bedroom window and spotted your little outdoor area that unlike the rest of your apartment, seemed untouched.

"Need help packing up out here?" He called out to you.

You stood in the doorframe with a soft smile, grateful that he was here helping you. Especially at the tail end of such a tedious and stressful task.

"I'm not taking any of that with me." You explained. "Was there when I moved in and the new place has nicer outdoor furniture."

Max laughed, nodding. "Fair enough."

You bumbled around, throwing things in their appropriate boxes. Donations, knick-knacks, extra linens. You cleaned as you went, wanting to power through today so you could relax. Your new bed was calling you, along with a box of pizza and a good few episodes of your favourite show.

Moving was exhausting. Especially when it was from a well-known comfort in your heart to a place where it was new and foreign. You were excited, but knew you'd mourn this little apartment.

Seemed you had a lot to mourn lately.

Unbeknownst to you, Max's curiosity got the best of him. He was intrigued to see what it was like in your little outdoor nirvana, secluded, yet offering the view of London and little lives that thrived in the expanse of it.

He took a seat on the sofa, grateful for the effective shelter of the light drizzle. He could picture you here. With a well-loved book, a glass of wine, or a steaming cup of tea.

And you could picture yourself out there, with a man you once loved more than you could fathom. A book of poetry, two cups of tea, a blanket wrapped around you while his arms hugged you close. You could picture it like you could visualize every memory you shared with him so easily. That's why you hadn't gone out there since.

Max shifted, feeling something beneath the cushion and frowning. He fumbled a hand beneath it and produced a worn leather journal, bound closed by a leather strap. He assumed it was yours and went back inside, approaching where you were in your lounge, placing a stack of books in a box.

"Hey, what's this?"

It felt like any and all hard work that you'd done to heal was deprecated. A relic of your old life, old relationship. You'd scooped it from his hands, looking at it as if it were about to bite you. You placed it a little too gently in the box with your other books, your hands shaking.

"It's not anything. Not anymore."

Noticing your withdrawal and shaking hands, Max raised a brow but he never asked you about it again.

That was something you were grateful for. He picked up on your moods so easily and could navigate every which one with ease. He was super intuitive, but never intrusive.

As for the leather journal, you didn't open it for a long time.

A part of you wasn't sure if you wanted to.

It was his property. And it would only reopen the wounds, slice them even more jagged and impossible to heal from.

Would he want it back? Was the rubble of your relationship rebuilding into a place where he could ask for it back? Did he leave it there on purpose? To cause more pain?

You stewed on those questions for weeks. The journal sat in your bedside drawer and you could feel the presence of it in those four walls of your new bedroom. It was like he'd left a part of him behind. Regardless of whether it was on purpose or intentional, it fucking hurt just the same.

And you knew looking in Its worn pages would wound even more. Because what little you'd seen from them had derived from vulnerable moments in your relationship with him. Scribbles of lyrics from his hurting soul, always jotted down when his mind was reeling too hard to deal with the thoughts in his head.

Settled into your blooming life, into your new apartment, was hard. You tried to pretend you weren't an empty shell of a person that was healing and forming into someone almost unrecognisable. In time, it would be for the better. Yes, life was bearable and overtime, you could get up in the mornings with ease and not long for him beside you until it was painful.

You became happier and happier with each passing day. As you knew you would. Five and a half months would soon melt into six, and then a year, and then two. You'd be fine. You had so much to focus on and you were grateful for the distraction.

You still missed him, you didn't think that would ever change. But it was manageable.

The journal remained untouched.

Harry had been far too distracted to notice its absence. Between the loss of you, and the launch of his album. He was grieving and overworked and riddled with nerves.

As if learning to live without you wasn't hard enough, he had to put on a brave face and promote his new album. He had to sit through meetings and interviews and pretend that he wasn't falling apart.

There was a black hole in his chest that destablised his functionality. It hurt to breathe, tears came easier than they used to. He struggled to adapt to life without you, and it was worse knowing that it was all his fault. He could never forgive himself for ruining it.

It was hard, trying to lessen the self-deprecation. He knew that if you were with him and knew how he felt about himself, you'd chastise him and cuddle him and tell him that he was being too cruel to himself.

By the time Fine Line launched, he was feeling overall better. Aside from the fact that most of the album were songs forged from memories of you and him. That was painful. Reliving blurbs of the happiest moments of his life, while going through one of the hardest. He wished you were with him. By his side, while he watched people's reactions to the album, kissing his cheek and telling him how proud you were.

Had you listened to the album?

Had you taken the time out of your day to press play? How did you feel, knowing he was pouring out his heart? Pouring out his love and anguish for millions of souls to dissect and speculate on.

While he really hoped that you had, he didn't blame you if you ignored anything to do with him altogether. It had been so fulfilling, what the two of you had. There was no way you didn't have resentment towards Harry for ruining it. God knows he had a lot of resentment for himself.

One of the most painful events he had to endure was a listening party to his album. It was intimate, fans were able to sit and listen to the album with him. Take it in, congratulate him, share their thoughts.

There was one couple in attendance that Harry kept watching. He was fascinated by how in sync they were, absentmindedly, too. Looking at each other at the same time, hearing sweet lyrics, and smiling at each other. Lost in his album but lost in it together.

That was when he felt most alone. Was when he had to pretend that he could feel the crowds around him when all he felt was empty.

No one knew him as you did. And it was effortless. It was you. It was how you picked up on his habits and his mannerisms and just got him. Understood him more than he ever could. The two of you just fit perfectly. Balanced each other out so fucking well. A love so open, consuming, and safe.

He chased after that feeling.

With the rose ring that you'd left on his side table as you left his home and his heart. It sat back on his finger but it didn't feel like it belonged to him. He thought about throwing it into the ocean, something to match how dramatic and lost he was. Crashing. Roaring. Tormenting and relentless.

He went back to Venice. Always chasing. He went back to the gallery where you chased each other through the halls and took cute pictures before indulging in sorbet.

Fuck, how do such happy memories become unbearable to harbor in the brain? It's not that he wanted to erase you. He wanted to erase the pain of not having you. When his chase for the feeling of you came up only with sadness, he truly gave up.

He'd been pushed to go on a few dates here and there, his friends setting him up with people they knew. They were all lovely, and he was polite enough to show up and have a nice time, chat and get to know them over a drink or some dinner. But he just wasn't ready to date. At least not seriously.

He couldn't shake you. He couldn't lie and say that anyone even came close to comparing to you. But no one did. You were effortless and dreamy and selfless. No. No one came fucking close.

After those first few months, he had stopped sulking. The looming pain became a part of him. Like he was carrying it, yet used to the weight. He was doing performances and gigs to promote his album, which had flown off the shelves, and the amount of streams blew his mind.

His fans loved the album, that much was clear. It was in the numbers, it was in the kind messages he logged in and saw. Above all, he noticed how they commented on you. On how good you'd been for him, regardless of how things had ended. They could see the influence you had. They had gotten to know you and how important you were to him. Many wished that you'd find your way back to him. That almost made up for the shitty behaviour some of them had deflected onto your relationship.

There wasn't a day in his life where he wasn't grateful for the support of his fans. He loved them to absolute bits. And they loved him right back. It was one giant family, really. A sanctum of acceptance and love. That's why it was so devastating to feel as alone as he did sometimes.

His family and friends were a great support system. They hated how things had been so perfect between you, only to crumble. They wished you the best, and they wished Harry the best. They knew his habits. They knew he struggled to deal with his anxiety and unfortunately, you had taken the lash of it.

However, they appreciated how patient and loving and you had been with Harry. He needed you, and as much as it sucked to see him struggle without you, he had learned a lot from you. Whether his lesson had sunk in yet or not, they didn't know. But it was inevitable. Once the surface pain had numbed and he had clarity.

And they were right. Harry saw how badly he treated you. How he projected every issue he had onto you. Every single thing that occurred and the aftermath of how it got to him- you took the hit. Every time. And you were so good to him. How the fuck did he take that for granted? He'd been so blinded by his own shit that he didn't see how hard you were trying.

Over time, he started to resent himself less and less. He knew that it wasn't healthy and that to move forward, he had to forgive himself. At the end of the day, he had to live with his mistakes and learn from them. He'd fucked up and he knew he'd regret it for the rest of his life. But he knew he couldn't wallow in it, so he didn't.

He began looking into ways of handling his anxiety. He found different tactics that worked wonders for his mind. He could feel the pangs of anxiety and know how to calm them down. He couldn't help but think about how different his life would be if he had these tactics all those months ago. Before his worries bled into the relationship and destroyed it.

He practiced what he would say to you if he ran into you. How he'd be calm, but inwardly freaking out over the fact that you actually did exist and weren't a mirage of a happier time in his life.

He'd tell you that he missed you. He'd tell you that you looked pretty because you always did. He'd tell you how he did you so fucking wrong. He'd tell you that he was so much better now. He'd thank you.

But that day never came. Your phone number sat stagnant in his contact list. He often read over your texts and felt the urge to text you. He knew he didn't deserve to contact you but the feeling was still there. The two of you had been so happy. So many jokes, I love you's, plan making, sweet messages.

"H?"

"Yep?"

"They're ready for you."

He shook out his jitters. Always the way before an interview. They'd ask about the album ad what inspired it. He'd always tell of how you influenced it but never in detail. He wanted to protect you, foremost. That was his main priority.

He was also sure that if he didn't give a well-practiced answer, that if he derailed even marginally, he'd get emotional. A blubbering mess that he only reserved for late at night when he was alone in his bed.

"What were some of the factors that led to the relationship ending? Was it a mutual decision or...?"

He'd answered this a few times before, to anyone who was brave enough to ask. And he gave the same textbook answer every time: scheduling issues. It was bullshit, of course. Everyone knew that. Everyone knew what you had endured with his fans and today seemed like the day that he would be a little more open. There was something about this interviewer that made him want to be more open. Maybe it was his early session with his therapist who encouraged him. Regardless, he was sick of lying about it.

"Uh, yeah." Harry adjusted in his seat, feeling the gaze of the interviewer on him. "There were a few different things for sure. I try to keep my fame separate from my personal life and sometimes it just kinda finds its way in and it becomes this thing. It got really hard, like she had coffee thrown on her, sent hate, had uncomfortable encounters. It was a lot for one person but she soldiered through. Think in the end I was the one that didn't handle it."

"Wait- someone threw coffee?"

Harry rubbed his brow with his thumb before clasping his hands together on his lap. "Yeah."

"Do fans make things more difficult when you're in a relationship?" The interviewer pressed.

Harry sighed. It was obvious that fans were an issue, there was no lying about that. But he'd never been brave enough to speak up about it. But it had been such a pressing issue, and he was sick of pretending that it didn't get to him and his relationships. It had since day one.

He cleared his throat. "It definitely puts a strain on things. I think people need to remember that we're all human. At the end of the day, we all want to be loved and accepted, you know? And I get so much love from my fans, I think it hurts the most when they have so much distaste for someone who makes me so happy. No one wants to feel hated just for being in love, and I really hate to see that person withdraw from me because of that stuff. It's so damaging for them in the long run- all the hate and bullying."

This was as much as he'd ever opened up in an interview, and no one was as surprised as he was. The interviewer was shocked, not expecting this to be the outcome of their question.

"I agree. If you're happy, then that's all that should matter. Not all this bullying nonsense. Because that's what it is, isn't it? It's bullying."

"Yeah, it's not a nice thing to go through at all. I'm on the receiving end of a lot of stuff but the last thing you want is to watch a loved one experience it. Especially for no reason."

He left that interview feeling like a completely new person. He was undiluted and unapologetic. He was unfiltered about how his fans treated those close to him for the first time. And it felt fucking good. He wondered where this fire was when you'd been together. He was such an idiot for trying to brush it all under the carpet as he had. He had so much to make up for, so much to prove. He hoped that if you happened to catch any one of the interviews, it was that one.

Regardless of his own personal turmoil slowly subsiding, his career was booming. He was up to his ears in opportunities and had the next few years of his life mapped out. He could see it clearly. The structure and stability of it. That was something calming, at least.

He wished he could plan every aspect out in that way. He felt like he was walking in the dark, completely unaware of his surroundings, unable to keep his footing. Yes, he was growing and changing. But the space you'd left was glaringly present every day that he woke up.

And, as much as he tried not to relate everything back to you. It was hard. You were golden and bright and clear. Safe. A haven. Everything that his life wasn't ever since you left it.

When he wasn't working- which it was a rarity when he wasn't- he was working hard to mend and solidify the relationships in his life. With his friends, with his family. He was pretty slack when it came to communicating, and he'd be the first to admit that.

He was determined to change for those around him, yes. But mostly for him. For the person you loved, for the person you wanted him to be, for himself.

He stayed out late most nights, hating the idea of spending time alone in his house. If he had to be there, he had friends over with him. He was trying to be as present and sociable as he could be. Making up for past mistakes by strengthening bonds.

You'd been the best thing to happen to him. And even if you were apart from now, he wanted to be better. The sways of you ruled how he navigated life, and he was so grateful for that. He hoped that he had the chance to tell you that one day.

It was a particularly rainy week in London. It rendered you feeling a little off, always so in tune with the weather. When the sun was out, you were bursting with love and light. When it was raining, you were vulnerable and felt as stormy as the sky outside.

Following a tough week, you really wanted to settle in for the weekend. You'd cleared your calendar so that you could have your own time to reflect and relax.

That meant a cheesy romantic comedy, a box of pizza, and a bottle of wine. You indulged whenever you wanted to. You'd been to the gym and eating healthier, but never refused yourself anything greasy or a drink.

About halfway through the movie, and halfway through the bottle of wine. Your doorbell rang incessantly. Someone downstairs pleading for entry, ruining your time to zone out. You sighed, untangling yourself from the mess of blankets you were in on your couch.

You pressed the answer button, "Hello?"

"Let me in, it's fucking freezing!"

It would be hard to mistake the voice on the other end. Your friend Evan. You obviously weren't expecting him and you allowed him up before looking around your apartment, making sure it was tidy enough for the visitor you didn't know you'd have.

Evan was eccentric as always and pretty tipsy as he came inside. You greeted him cheerfully, hugging him and offering him a drink. He turned down the water but accepted a glass of wine.

He took in the scene that was your Friday night: sat alone in your apartment watching romcoms and drinking wine.

"Oh, honey. This is sad."

Your jaw dropped. "It is not! I'm perfectly happy."

"It's Friday night and you're wearing sweatpants."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. Get off my case, I'm having a nice relaxing weekend in."

"No, this won't do. Come out with us."

"Us?"

"Us! Bunch of us just went to a gig and now we're headed to the club."

"Oh, a gig? That sounds fun. Anyone I know?"

Evan's expression sobered, his mind not sober enough to foresee the position he was about to put you in.

"Uh, yeah, actually. You... definitely know them."

Your stomach dropped. Clearly, you had mutual friends, and Evan was the one that you'd met through. You'd prepared for him to be mentioned, and you knew he'd come up in conversation one day. It was to be expected. But it was jarring and you felt fucking sick.

"Anyways, come out! I don't think he'll even be there, babe. If he is, we can ignore his ass."

"That's... yeah, I'll pass."

You knew it was a slim chance that you'd actually run into him ever again, and you weren't about to test fate by going out with a friend you shared. A friend who had just gone to one of his gigs, at that. No way.

Evan didn't stick around. He'd left his group of people downstairs, only coming to try and convince you to come out. He was drunk, you got that, but the fact that he even thought it was okay to ask was odd. He'd been at his gig and thought it fit to come to you straight after?

At the end of the day, he was your ex. Even if it were civil, it would just be awkward and you'd probably cry and embarrass yourself. You wished him well. You hoped the best for him. But just... from afar.

He'd been so close. What if you had gone? Seen him after all this time? Seen his devastatingly beautiful smile. Seen the person that you never stopped thinking about? It unnerved you just how fucking close he was.

You spiraled over it. Downed another glass of wine as if to quell the ball of anxiety that rolled in your stomach. You couldn't shake how bizarre the whole encounter was. Not overly out of character for Evan, but still pretty weird.

Had Evan been put up to it? No. He wouldn't do that. He was drunk and was simply asking you to come out. He'd passed your street and thought of you. That was it.

You could handle thinking about him. You could look away if he was in a magazine or on your social media feed. You could handle hearing him on the radio, it was easy to change the station. But it wasn't easy when the person who introduced you showed up on your doorstep and spoke of him. You couldn't escape that.

You collapsed on your bed, exhausted and drained from the whole situation. It had shredded something apart in you and you weren't sure what it was. Maybe your denial, perhaps your tolerance. Your eyes swept over to your bedside table, the second drawer down.

The leather journal. The one that belonged to him. The one he'd left behind.

You were already breaking all over again. Maybe a few lines written from the soul you missed so dearly would tip you over the edge quickly. That meant you could start healing all over again tomorrow. It was just a setback.

You opened it.

It was a surreal feeling. Like you could sense him in the pages. You fanned through them, spying doodles and rashly scribbles lines. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to the contents. Some seemed to be affirmations, album concepts, lyrics, and poetry.

There were a few pages, isolated from the rest towards the back of the book. A few pages of writing, too dense in content to be a song. You went to close it, feeling too overwhelmed. But then you saw it.

My angel.

You could almost hear him say it. You were his angel, and even if he retracted for you in those last weeks of your relationship, you always felt the endearment coming from his heart.

Sitting up in bed, you fully opened the page and felt your heart leap in your chest. It was a couple of pages at most and you pondered reading on. It wasn't necessarily addressed to you but it was regarding you. Right? Written thoughts that he'd put here when you were still together.

Your curiosity piqued, and maybe it was because you never truly understood him. Not the inner depths of his mind. He wasn't great at expressing it and here was a potential insight into what made him tick. You could picture him sitting down, his favourite pen spinning between his nimble fingers as he poured his heart out onto the pages, bleeding ink, written devotions.

Bracing yourself, ready to snap the journal closed just in case it got too much.

My angel.

I could write about how lucky I am for hours. I've been in love and been loved, I've had people come and go, I've seen it happen so many times and it never stops hurting no matter how soon I see it coming.

The first time I saw her at that gallery event, I felt this urge of desperation to get to know her. I remember seeing her in those cherry heels and her confidence and independence. I was terrified and intrigued, thinking she was far too out of my reach but we both knew I was too cocky to go down without a fight.

Hearing her voice for the first time melted me on the spot. I was genuinely in shock at how my body and mind were responding to her, how she caught me in a trance. I tried to find something smooth and charming to say but I was speechless. Probably for the best because I would have word-vomited and she would have thought I was a fool.

We got so comfortable so fast and that's rare for me. It takes me a long time to open up to someone but with her it was instantaneous and god, I feel like my old self. The little Harry from a small town just trying his best to impress a pretty girl but knowing he already had her as much as she had him. I haven't been that guy since my new life took off. I missed him.

She renewed me. Like the moment I met her, I was wrapped in the chrysalis of her. I became a completely new person.

My sweet cherry.

She told me once that we challenge each other, keep each other on our toes. And she's so right. She forces me to feel things I've never experienced and makes me question the meaning of it all.

I thought about marrying her in Paris. Thought about asking her to be mine. I see a life with her so clearly that it scares me.

Maybe that's crazy but I feel so fucking hard and so fucking fast. I jumped in too quick with her, I think. Before I was done fixing myself. I fuck up a lot but how much I want her overshadows that sometimes. I loved her before I knew how to love myself.

Through her, I've been learning how to love myself, to be kinder to myself, how important self-acceptance is. I'm still working on that last one.

I'll finish the album because of her. Because of her love and our adventures. I don't ever want to forget how I feel about her. There's pain and there's devotion in this album. How much we've done and achieved. I can't wait for more of life with her.

It's so perfect as it is, and all I can wonder is how it can get any better. But it's her. So it will.

There was a disruption here, the colour of the pen melting from black into blue. His favourite pen ran out. You could imagine him cussing, and you spotted a spot at the bottom of the page where he'd tried to get it working again. In the end, he'd started using another pen and it made you feel a type of way that you couldn't place. A rushed mind as he gathered another pen before the thoughts escaped him.

I told her that I'd write a list of reasons why I love her. Who knows if I'll ever be brave enough to share it with her. God knows I love everything about her, but I'll just list a few for now.

She's so caring. In every aspect. She always puts others first, always makes it her goal to make others happier in themselves.

She's open. She's adventurous and bold. She's willing to be daring and encourages me to be vulnerable. Through her love, I've learned that it's okay to be these things. I always thought I had that nailed down, but she's shown me so much more.

Everything with her is worth discovering. Body and mind. Nothing feels off-limits with her. There's nothing I wouldn't do with her, to her, for her.

It's like she only knows warmth. Generosity and sunshine. She's so understanding, always seeing every perspective as if nothing could get to her. I don't know how she does it.

She's all I think about. She's every one of my daydreams.

Running through the gallery in Venice.

Stealing her sorbet when I thought she wasn't looking.

We're so unpredictable. From making out in her kitchen to taking her against the fridge in a nanosecond.

Hot chocolate with those tiny marshmallows while we walked through the park.

Heavens on ceilings.

Purple flowers tucked behind ears.

Dancing in the streets of Montmartre.

Magic moments.

Angels wearing white lace.

Ordering each other's drinks the first night we met.

She steals my t-shirts while I pretend I don't notice when they go missing.

Teasing each other in that pub.

Her kissing me right before I went on stage.

Painting our nails when we were high.

Sunflower deliveries.

The day she sent me those sunflowers was the day I thought fuck, this girl has me. I saw how much she cared and appreciated me for the simplicity of who I am as a person. She doesn't make me feel flawed. She makes me feel whole.

My sunflower, sublime and bright and fiery.

Thank you for all these memories and sentiments.

Love,

Your Harry.

Your Harry. You tried to stop the tears, but they'd been falling from the second you opened the journal. Fuck, you knew how much he loved you. He told you so much. Every day, and whenever he could. But seeing it written out was too much. Clearly written when you were still together, relatively happy. Perhaps mere days before everything fully fell apart.

It hurt so bad. Especially because he wasn't your Harry anymore.

It felt as if you'd fallen in love all over again. And at the same time, like he'd been torn from your life for a second time.

Reading some of your most treasured memories, and seeing that they were some of his, too. It fucking shattered you. You shouldn't have read it. It broke your heart all over again. How would you survive this?

You held it close to you as you slept that night. As if the memory of him was preserved in the leather and would melt into you. And that set the tone for the rest of your weekend. Your friends called you, checking in on you and inviting you out. But you assured them that you were fine, you were just tired from a rough week and needed some alone time.

You read that letter over and over. As if repetition was the way to halt the pain. You tried to understand it. And it had been months since you had felt this. This... anger. Confusion. If he had felt this sure about you, how did he stand to let you walk away?

It was in the past. You tried to rationalise with yourself. This was in the past. He didn't think like this anymore. He'd written this when you were both so in love. A love past salvaging. This was your Harry. Not whatever one existed now.

So, you ran through the same cycle that you did when you first broke up. You grieved, and you threw yourself into your job as if it would fill the gaping hole in your heart. And just like last time, it kind of worked.

You were insanely busy the week following the weekend of the journal. That wasn't new, you were always busy. But you were grateful for the distraction and the way that your brain was working nonstop. You had events coming up next week that you were excited to attend. As the planner, it was key that you were there to make sure it all went perfectly. But you were also in charge of running the whole night and ensuring the event was smooth sailing. And with you, they always were.

Every night you dressed up, attending events you'd either planned or been invited to simply because of your status in the industry. They varied from charity events to fashion events, to art, to even some performing arts. It was fun, dressing up all fancy and socialising with some of the most influential people in your profession.

The Friday, an exact week since the letter, you had a fashion event in Athens. It was a short flight, almost four hours, and you arrived early enough to check into your hotel and get ready.

You wore a tight dress that was a similar tone to your skin, perfectly draped so that it looked as if it were carved from marble, complete with tall black heels. Your makeup was glowy and smoky, your hair in long waves down your back. It was a little different from your usual style, but you'd been professionally dressed and felt confident.

Max was also in attendance at the event, having connections with those in charge who adored his fashion sense. You agreed to go together, figuring why not, as you enjoyed each other's company. This wasn't an event you'd planned or were running, you'd simply been invited as a guest.

He picked you up at your hotel, always a gentleman, dressed in a suit, groomed to perfection. He complimented your outfit and kissed your cheek. He held the door open for your car that you'd ordered and even perfected any stray hairs and flaking mascara on the way.

It was held in the heart of the city, a large building that looked exquisite and old. It was higher up, overlooking the city once you were inside. It was impressive and pretty intimate given the location. A large ballroom that was fully catered, waiters serving bubbles, and the expanse of the designs on display through the room.

You mingled with guests, although there were far too many to count and there was no way of you talking to every single one. You made sure to introduce Max, although he was pretty well known. He didn't stick to your side all night, which you appreciated. There was nothing worse than a clingy man and he let you do your thing on your own.

After a while, you approached him. You'd sunk few glasses on champagne by that point, and so you felt warm and fuzzy. Still fully coherent, but the pit in your stomach was gone for the time being.

"First time I've been to Athens."  Max voiced as you both stood to admired the collection.

You raised a brow. "Really?"

"Mm. Been all over the world but I've never made it here."

"I'm glad you're here." You smiled.

"Quite high up, isn't it?" He nodded towards the view outside the window.

"Scared of heights, are you?"

"No." He scoffed.

"I was actually thinking we could zipline off the top after this-"

He pinched your side, amused. "You're not funny."

"Aw, you're shaking." You threw him a faux sympathetic pout. "Let's move away from the window."

Max could tell you were a lot more comfortable with him, a comfort that had grown these past few months. And banter like this was normal. He adored you. He thought you were sweet and funny and so strong. But he sensed something a little off, and it showed when you pushed your humour through it. It felt a little forced. As if you were trying to distract yourself. How did you tell him that you'd read a letter written by a past lover?

He took you to sit at a small table, facing out towards the view. The last thing on his mind was his mild fear of heights. He feared something was amiss with you and he didn't know how to go about bringing it up.

This wasn't on the cards for you and him. He was meant to treat you nice, escort you to events, take you on cute dates. But he never asked you about how you were past the easy stuff. He could ask how your day was, but anything that delved deep, like your relationship with Harry, was off-limits.

"You look stunning." He complimented softly, his arm resting on the back of the seat behind you. He toyed with your hair a little and for tonight, you allowed it. You felt lonely and needed to feel a little attention.

"Thank you. Don't hate seeing you in this suit."

"What about out of it?"

You smacked his shoulder, unamused. "In your dreams."

Max debated on telling you just how true that statement was. The event picked up, and another round of speeches was due to be given. You both stood, gathering in the crowd so you could watch the speech givers. Max tugged you into his side and you smiled up at him, grateful that he could be here with you.

"It's such an honour to have you all here with us tonight, we hope you've had a wonderful evening so far."

Given the fact that it was a fashion event, you were surprised when the speeches droned on and on. They strayed from the purpose and became life stories and you tried to keep awake.

"I was ten years old..." Another speech. You held back a yawn.

"It's funny, his whole spring collection looks like it was designed by a ten-year-old," Max commented, his lips brushing your ear.

You smirked and nudged him with your elbow. "Not all of us are born into our passions, Mr. Dynasty."

"You seem to get by quite fine."

"Only because I work my ass off."

"I admire that about you. I don't think I've met anyone with your kind of determination and passion."

"Aren't we meant to be paying attention to him right now?" You gestured to the man making the speech.

"Oh, but you're so much more interesting."

You giggled, feeling him press right up against your back. You leaned into him, grateful for his warmth. Grateful that he could sense that you needed a distraction. Events like this tended to be rather tedious and he could tell something was already off with you and wanted to make the night as pleasant for you as he could.

After a much-needed sip of bubbles, you angled your head back to look at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you turned your head forward again. Before your eye line went back to the little podium, they veered along the left of the crowd.

Your heart stopped. You had to blink a few times, just to make sure that your eyes weren't deceiving you. You felt like you'd been kicked in the chest, and an overwhelming sensation of both anxiety and confusion set it.

Harry was here. Standing in the crowd to your left. He was laughing, exchanging jokes with those next to him. As soon as you saw him, it's like the energy in the room was both being absorbed and emitted by him.

Harry was actually here. You felt ambushed, almost. How could you have known? It's not like you could have checked the guest list. These events were highly private. There was no way you could have known.

But here he was. Looking exquisite in a light pink suit, his hair wayward, a few of those delicious curls decorating his forehead. His fingers were clad in bulky rings. And his smile. His fucking smile. He smiled with his whole body. His eyes glistened with it, his aura warm as the sun and all the flares that bloomed from it.

He hadn't seen you, and you genuinely debating lowering onto your hands and knees and crawling away so you didn't have to face him. You were that panicked.

Feeling you tense up, Max wrapped his arm around your waist, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear. "You okay?"

And it was at that point that Harry looked up. His eyes met yours and it felt like you'd never been apart. He felt like home. Even in a city so far from London, in a crowd of people that you didn't know. He was here and it was like you were suddenly meant to be, too.

You stared at each other for what felt like ages. Both equally as shocked to be in each other's presence again. What were the chances that you'd both be at the same fashion event in a foreign city? You were shaking, and Max hummed questioningly in your ear.

Harry noticed Max's hold on you, how comfortable you seemed. It hurt to see, he wouldn't deny that. But in a way, he was glad that you weren't alone. He hoped that Max made you happy.

"W-What?" You snapped your attention back to Max, feeling uneasy.

"I asked if you were okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine." The speeches concluded and the crowd dispersed once more. Harry didn't move, and neither did you. "I'll be right back."

You pulled away from Max, and he didn't stop you. With how large the crowd was, he hadn't seen Harry. He was too focused on finding the waiter carrying around the little finger food dishes. The band started playing a piece of soft classical music, the ivory keys filling your mind as you tried to play it cool.

Harry flexed out his hand, feeling so fucking nervous and jittery. He took a sip of his drink, veering towards the side of the room next to a large potted plant. He recited some of his favourite little lists in his head to keep calm. But how could he be? You were here and you looked phenomenal and you were in another man's arms and you were... walking towards him.

You halted your steps, gingerly faltering as you neared him. Was this even a good idea? Did he want to see you? Talk to you? Were you ready for this?

"Hi."

Fuck. His voice. It was melting honey, a crackling fire, soft dreamy currents in a gentle stream. So calming yet electrifying and gooey. You'd missed it. Nothing was as good as hearing it from his lips to your ears directly. So smooth and sure.

And him. He looked well. His skin was clear and glowing. His curls were shiny, his eyes expressive. They showcased health, albeit a little confusion in that moment. You were sure yours did, too.

"Hi." You returned and you swore that you saw him exhale a sharp breath at it.

He'd missed you so much. He thought of you every second of every day. He had you committed to his memory. Your scent, your voice, your sweet laugh, how soft your body was. But his memory seemed clouded now. Hearing you before him was like nothing else. Angelic and endearing. So fucking beautiful.

"Fancy seeing you here." He said lamely, flexing his dimple.

You offered a laugh that had him hooked on you immediately. It was soft and wispy. "What are the chances, huh?"

"I hope you've been well?"

"I have, thank you." You clasped your hands together to try and hide how much they were shaking. "And you? H-Have you been well?"

He was melting under the intensity of you. Of your unrelenting gaze, how it was trained solely on him. Staring so deep into his eyes, it's like you could see right through him. You always were so good at that.

"Yeah, good. Thanks."

It was awkward, and rightfully so. This was the last place you had expected to run into each other. You looked so incredibly beautiful and he looked painfully handsome. You were both completely blind-sighted and it comforted your two souls, knowing that the other was feeling equally as displaced.

"Do you want to grab a drink?" You asked, gesturing to the bar behind you, unaware of the one in Harry's hand.

He quickly ditched his drink, glass and its contents, into the oversized potted plant beside him. He made sure it was obscured in the shrubbery before you turned back around. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity to spend more time with you.

"I could do with a drink." He nodded.

You both made your way over, slowly and with caution. You flickered your eyes over to him, blushing when he was already looking at you. He wanted to tell you how much he missed looking at you but bit his tongue. He didn't want to say anything that could freak you out, especially when you were here with another man.

"What can I get you?"

You leaned up on your tippy-toes to reach the bartender who had approached you. Harry let his eyes trail down your frame and wanted to fall to his knees in defeat. You were gorgeous, of course. That would never change. The dress hugged you perfectly, showcasing your curves while your heels made your legs look dangerously endearing. You were sensational. 

He barely heard you order a gin and tonic before you looked at him, waiting for him to order something. He was distracted by you momentarily, and not fussed about what drink he was about to have.

"Uh, just the same, thank you."

Drinks in hand, the two of you found a secluded love seat away from the hustle of the event. The music still reached you, effectively lulling an awkward silence you knew would be there without it.

"Do you know Abigail?" You pointed out one of the two event coordinators. You were curious as to who his connection to this event was.

"Demetri." He said, nodding towards the other coordinator.

"Oh."

He held his glass out to you. "Cheers."

"Cheers." You held eye contact, taking a hefty sip of your drink. It was needed. You weren't sure where this was about to lead but you were nervous as fuck and didn't want to do it completely sober.

"I take it work has been well?"

"Really well." You agreed, unable to hide your triumphant grin.

Harry was deep in thought, still baffled that you were even here. This was an extremely high-end event. It was very private, invites only extended to the elite. And it wasn't the type of gig you could bring a plus one to. It was exclusive. And you were here, a show of your own success.

"You're flourishing, aren't you?" He wondered aloud, his head tilted. "I can tell. I'm so happy for you. You deserve it."

You cleared your throat, overwhelmed by the intense sincerity in his tone. "Thank you, H. That means a lot to me."

The space between you was so wide yet so small. You were practically at opposite ends of the small loveseat and yet you felt crowded by him. He filled up whatever space he was in, and he'd retracted from the event the second he saw you. Now, his full attention was on you.

"What have you been up to?"

You weren't sure how to talk to him. You were nervous and not sure where you stood. There was no animosity, thankfully. But there was that odd sensation in which you weren't sure what you were meant to be feeling towards him. You didn't hold a single thing against him.

"Well, the album came out so, there's that."

You leaned in close, holding his eye contact. Your hand found his where it sat on his thigh, expressing how genuine you were. His skin was warm and for a second, you were lost in the touch. He always felt so safe and loving and that single touch reminded you of that.

"It's a beautiful album, Harry."

First, your hand was on his. He couldn't quite believe it and he wondered if you could see the shock on his face. You were touching him. And while the gesture could appear casual, it was so much more to him. It was you. Your warmth and your honesty. Even after all this time, you were still so tender with him. As if nothing had changed at all.

Second... you'd listened to the album. You'd heard his thoughts and his voice. Heard the influence you'd had on him. Heard his confessions and his heartbreak. And you told him that it was beautiful. Did you have a favourite song? Favourite line? Did you like the outfit he wore on the front?

"Wait- you listened-"

Max appeared next to you, smiling politely. "Hey, sorry to interrupt."

"Oh, that's okay." You assured, retracting your hand from Harry.

"Hey, man. How are you?" Max reached over, shaking Harry's hand in greeting.

He'd seen you and Harry sit down and wasn't sure how to feel. This man had clearly done a number on you and he was a bit peeved that he was here. Even more so that he had snagged you up. But he pushed his own annoyance aside for your sake. You were clearly okay with whatever the fuck this situation was. He had to leave you to it if that's what you wanted.

"Good, thanks. Yourself?"

"Yeah, good as well." He turned to you, his eyes kind. He wanted to check in with you, and give you an out if you potentially needed it. "The main event is pretty much done so we're headed to the restaurant. You coming?"

Harry braced himself, watching how close Max was to you. How his hand brushed down your arm. How his eyes were soft on your face as he waited for your response, just like he was. Would you leave him to go be with Max? Or would you want to delve deeper into this interaction? Were you just as intrigued as he was?

"I'll catch up with you guys later." You looked at Harry momentarily before looking back at the man next to you. "Is that okay, Max?"

Harry released a relieved breath. You were staying with him. Wanting to explore and run down each other on your lives apart. He was ecstatic.

"No worries, babe. Text me if you need anything." Max was happy to leave you to it, just as long as you were comfortable. He'd be there if you needed anything, and he tried very hard to dismiss the protective part of him that wanted you far away from Harry.

"Thank you, I will."

Max kissed your cheek, nodding his head towards Harry with a friendly smile. As soon as he left, Harry saw you visibly relax. It was an already awkward situation and having Max involved made it almost unbearable.

"Did you see a piece that you liked?" You gestured towards the collection.

"Quite liked the green pants, actually."

"I could see you in those."

It was nice to see that you weren't trying to hide your history with him. That simple statement showed that you were welcoming in your familiarity with him. It was a comforting thought for him.

"Yeah? Not too bright?"

You shot him a look. "You know you can pull off anything."

The fun banter that came naturally to the both of you was there, but only in a very sheer layer that hid boundless fear.

Harry took another drink, needing to do something with his mouth before he said something embarrassing. He felt like the same bumbling mess that he was when he first met you. The difference with you tonight was that he could sense your nerves, too.

You met his eyes, the worry in them softening. You tried to find a sense of peace but you were still mind-blown. And he looked so good. You couldn't help but stare. And he was thinking the exact same thing.

"You look breathtaking. If I'm allowed to say that."

Your cheeks heated and you broke eye contact with him, staring out at the view. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your wits.

"You are allowed."

Harry raised a brow. Had he imagined Max all over you just moments before? His arm around your waist, his lips at your ear. Or was it all affection that you allowed because you were simply lonely? Harry could see that he had derailed your entire evening and you had allowed it to happen. He wondered when would be the best time to ask who Max really was to you, but he knew it wasn't his place to. He didn't want to ruin this, he was just happy to be around you.

"Good. I mean it."

You breathed out a laugh at his serious expression before taking a sip of your drink. Were you suddenly a few inches closer to him? Was it you that unknowingly made the move, or him? Regardless, having him near was both terrifying and exciting all at once.

When you didn't say anything else, Harry felt the need to keep up the conversation. He was scared you'd get bored or close yourself off even more and he wasn't sure that he'd get this kind of opportunity again.

"So, you listened to it?"

That made you turn to face him again. "To what?"

He cleared his throat. "The uh, the album. You said it was beautiful."

There was a flash of something on your face. Lightning quick. Pain, of remembering memories. Maybe hurt of how much the album had said. Perhaps even longing.

"I did listen to it." You hummed. "It was very..."

"Exposing?"

"Raw." You corrected softly. "It was raw and it was honest. Beautiful, too. Like I said."

"Is there a song that really... resonated with you?" He felt like he was pushing his luck, talking about his album.

"I liked them all." You smiled but it fell quickly.

You were always so careful in your words, and this was a brush-off response. Harry got the message immediately: he'd pushed a little too far. He knew it straight away and was kicking himself.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You slipped into an old habit, I get it. We're just not who we were before."

You were right. You were two different people now. There was a second nature that came into play when you started talking and this was a prime example of it being outdated. There were bound to be moments that stung.

"Okay, catch me up on what you've been up to." He smiled, wanting to shift the vibe. It was heading somewhere that he wasn't sure either of you could handle. Not yet, at least.

You told him everything. From work endeavours to personal adventures. Your business was booming, you traveled somewhere new every week for events and meetings. You caught him up on your friends, having been to a wedding, he asked how Renee was, and your family.

He noticed that you didn't mention Max. He wasn't sure if it was because you were sparing him the heartache of hearing about your lover, or if there genuinely wasn't anything worth talking about.

Through the course of the conversation, you drew closer and closer to each other. It was unintentional, but almost as if the universe had brought you here to this event, and decided the air between you was too far still. Urging you together. Urging you to feel each other's warmth.

It was like you orbited each other, drawn in close and existing together seamlessly.

At some point, his arm went to the back of the sofa behind you. You were taken back to that night in the pub when he'd done just that before leaning in close and asking you to spread your legs for him.

He told you everything, and it was like he had been practicing it all this time. He was so excited for you to hear all of his achievements because, in a way, you were who he cared about sharing them with. He told you about the album, how much fun he had making it. Upcoming performances and music videos. How he'd been so raw, as you'd said, but also daring with this album.

You adored him, and overall you knew that would never change. You didn't hold anything against him, because the blame was on his anxiety- something he couldn't control at the time. You could sense his regret and you wanted nothing but the best for him.

You were proud of him. And it would be hard to miss the way his eyes lit up when you told him so.

Warm, golden and so accepting. As much as you'd grown since he last saw you, he was glad that at least hadn't changed. If anything, it had magnified.

You finished your drinks around the same time, feeling only slightly buzzed. Being around each other again was far more intoxicating.

The event had started to die down, a lot of the formalities passed. Many stayed to mingle and eye the collection and drink and chat. You'd already spoken to everyone you needed to earlier in the night, so you didn't feel bad about giving your attention to Harry.

He was so close to you. His body facing you, his arm behind you was so warm against your neck. You nestled into the touch. You'd always loved how he felt, and this was no different. It was your weakness, how affectionate he was and how you'd always crumble when he touched you.

You shuffled a little closer, and you were encased in the spicy vanilla scent he always wore. It was just as sweet as him. So cocooning and lovely. You were in a daze.

You missed him. He missed you. No matter how cloudy the situation was, at least that much was clear.

"When do I tell you that I'm sorry?"

His voice was a mere whisper, his eyes flickered between yours. The longing and regret in them pulled at something in your chest.

You picked up on his phrasing. When. He'd been thinking about it. His question meant that he had far more to say than a simple sorry, but was giving you the choice on if you'd hear it or not.

Your hand was shaking as you raised it to cup his cheek. He sighed softly at the affection. He didn't realise just how much he needed it. "I forgave you so long ago, Harry. Did you forgive yourself?"

"I don't know how. I couldn't let it go knowing how badly I hurt you."

"We were both hurting." You said softly. "It was hard to move on from but as I said, we're not who were back then. So much has changed. I've learned so much, and I know you have, too. The weight of a grudge is too heavy to carry when you're trying to grow. You have to learn to forgive."

How had you become even more peaceful and aware? He had never met anyone so smart, so in tune with themselves and others. You always knew the perfect thing to say, and for once, so did he.

"Seeing that you're okay makes self-forgiveness seem more possible. I learned so much from how I treated you. I've dissected my behaviour and I know how wrong I was. I see it all now, how badly I handled it."

"You couldn't help it." Your hand fell from his cheek and he caught it in his own. "No one can help their anxiety. There are ways to soothe it, but you were under a lot of pressure and life was getting thrown at us. None of it could have been helped. Maybe it needed to happen so that we could learn how to deal with situations that were thrown our way."

"Did we? Learn how to deal with it?"

"I did." You said surely. "Did you? You seem different. More confident and carefree."

The same could be said of you, Harry thought. "I'm doing heaps better. I'm really good at handling it now. Have heaps of tactics and affirmations to recite. Breathing exercises. Things like that."

Your hand squeezed his, your eyes insanely warm and gooey. "I'm so happy to hear that. I'm proud of you, you deserve to be able to handle it."

"Thank you. That really means a lot."

"Of course."

The silence that followed your kind words was a heavy one. Filled with intrigue and wonder. You weren't exposing ugly thoughts that you'd once had, you weren't chewing him out or making him feel like shit. As much as he deserved it, you were far too graceful for that. Hostility did not suit you. Honesty and acceptance did. Perhaps second chances did, too. It was too early to tell.

He was as close as he had been all night. You'd started on opposite ends of the couch and now you were both almost in the middle. He was so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, feel his breath fan you. You became lost in him. His eyes were searing with a yearning that surely mirrored yours. His hand squeezed yours where they rested on his lap. His chest was full of light and gratitude. Like the sun had finally shone in the vast darkness of it after six months. He shifted closer to you and it was as if you hadn't spent so long without him by your side like he was now.

You pulled away abruptly, feeling overwhelmed. Tonight was so much, and occurring at an alarming rate. You fell into a comfortable, aimless abyss with him like it was second nature. Words of encouragement and forgiveness. You weren't sure what was happening, but you knew there would be way more to talk about if there were to be any form of progression there.

"I need some air." You stood, needing to gain some distance between you before you lost all sense and direction.

"Yeah." Harry wiped his face with a ringed hand before stretching out his legs.

You'd been talking for so long and he'd been sat in the same position, only moving to get closer to you, as you had done. He assumed you needed some air away from him and he watched you gather your bag before turning to him.

"Coming?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm- yep." He fumbled over his words and his legs, scrambling to get up and follow you. You simply turned, trying to hide your smile at his enthusiasm. You thought it was sweet that he was giddy at the idea of spending more time with you.

You both said relaxed goodbyes to many attending the event. Many eyes watched as you left together and you tried to let it roll off your shoulders. It meant nothing. You were simply getting some fresh air with an old friend. Is that what you considered Harry? And old friend?

You felt like he'd been your friend before he was your lover, yet no less destined to be yours. Yours for a time, at least.

"Did you bring a coat or something?" He gestured to the coat check as you exited the venue.

You shook your head, grabbing his hand to pull him outside. The breeze was welcome, as was how private the event was. All of the photographers had left, and you were in the streets with locals and tourists.

Your hands disconnected as you found a rhythm, walking side by side. You both threw sly glances at each other, smirking when you were caught before looking away. You took a deep breath, staring up at the sky.

While you admired the stars, Harry admired you. You were a lot like the stars, he realised. Bright and wonderful. Too phenomenal to understand completely, but willing to cherish you all the same.

In your daze, you stumbled a little and he was quick to catch you, already paying attention. You giggled softly at your wrong footing.

"Tipsy girl." He smiled, holding your hands while you steadied yourself.

"It's these cobbled streets! Hard to navigate in heels this thin."

"Uh-huh. I think you're shitfaced."

"If I was shitfaced, would I be able to do this?" You stood still, patting the top of your head with one hand and rubbing your belly with the other. Harry threw his head back with a laugh. You were so cute and he'd missed how incredibly delightful you were to be around.

"Case closed." He smiled. You had a few drinks throughout the night, it's true. But you were far from drunk and you both knew it. He just wanted to tease you.

You were so dreamy. Dressed up in a tight dress and tall heels, twirling and giggling in a foreign city. You asked him silly questions, like if his favourite colour had changed (it was a soft pink now) and if he still favoured sunrises over sunsets.

Your hand brushed his often, and every time you both halted the conversation to gauge each other's reactions. Who would be the one to initiate it? To link your hands? Would it even happen?

Whatever this was- this calm and soft dynamic. It was as nice as it was confusing. You had much to discuss and he had much to prove. You weren't about to forget that.

The Acropolis soon came into view. It was glorious and magnificent. Perched on its hill, lit up so that it appeared to be glowing. You stopped to stare and marvel at it, and the stars in the sky that framed it. To think of how glorious it was in its prime and all the lives that saw it back then.

It was a reminder. The broken pillars and preserved remains. Life was so temporary and short. It was built with determination and love, worship and wonder. What truly stood the test of time was what it represented. The clarity and the memories.

This was why you had no ill thoughts for the man beside you. You wanted your love with him to be looked back on with love and growth. And day by day, you got over what he did. Not without ease or pain. And you'd share that with him at the right time- if such a thing existed or ever came to pass.

"It's gorgeous." You gasped, unable to take your eyes off the view.

Harry smiled at your expression, clearly in awe. He noticed you shiver and stripped his jacket off. "Here." He slipped it on your shoulders and it was like you were being wrapped in that spicy vanilla.

"Oh- Thank you." You were grateful, starting to feel a little chilly. He was always so thoughtful and you snuggled into his jacket, even putting your arms into the sleeves. It was comically large on you and he wanted to squeeze you.

The two of you continued walking and he let you lead the way. You were subconsciously going in the direction of where your hotel was. But you weren't sure what was written in the stars for you and Harry tonight.

Foreign cities were always so much more meaningful when you were with a lover. Whatever you were to Harry- an old lover, an old friend, or something entirely new, he was enjoying it. He babbled mindlessly, feeling at peace with you. He could say near on anything and you'd just get it. You always just got it.

He grabbed your hand to pull you close as you veered onto the street, and he span you around smoothly before pulling you in for a hug. You were shocked at first, from his hand encasing yours to his body being pressed against you. He felt fucking divine. Warm and open and kind.

You burrowed your head into his chest, feeling it hum as you wrapped your arms around him tightly. He held you for a time, and you seemed to melt together. There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell you that he missed you. That he had never felt so whole in the six months you'd been apart than he did right now.

But he didn't say anything. He was scared he'd ruin the moment, and he also wanted you to be the one to initiate anything deeper. You were the one who had taken on his intensity in your relationship, and he didn't think it would be fair of him to jump headfirst if you weren't on the same page.

You cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb over it. You noticed his eyes flicker to your lips and you stepped away marginally. Everything was happening so fast. And you weren't even sure what exactly was happening. But he was here and so confident and soft and what you'd needed him to be when he was yours. His guard was down for you and it was so evident.

Your hotel was just around the corner, you realised. You weren't sure where Harry was staying, obviously. But he'd been hot on your heels, letting you guide what happened. You didn't see your control letting up any time soon. He wouldn't let it just as much as you wouldn't.

Grabbing his hand once more, you walked towards your hotel. You tried to decipher what tonight meant. Could it lead to something more, or was it a final goodbye?

"This is me." You said softly, nodding your head towards the hotel.

And he could sense your uncertainty. He had plenty of his own.

"Right." He stared at his shoes before meeting your eyes again. "It was nice seeing you. As far as unexpected goes, tonight was pretty up there but I'm glad we could talk."

"I'm glad, too." You smiled. You shrugged off his suit jacket but he shook his head.

"Keep it."

"Oh, it's okay. I'm warm now." And you were planning on getting up to your room and taking a hot shower. You needed to curl up in bed and dissect all that had happened tonight. Evaluate all that had opened that you'd long since closed and neglected.

You handed his jacket back to him and he felt a pang of sadness at the warmth of it. He missed you and he knew that his jacket would smell faintly of you now. He wasn't sure how he could watch you go, he felt sick at the thought of it.

He grabbed your hand and stared deep into your eyes. "I hope you've been happy. Now and always."

Was it goodbye? He hoped for your happiness now and always. He hoped he could give it to you. Hoped you wouldn't push him away and kick him to the curb. You both wondered what tonight even was. A second chance? Or closure through a sweet end?

"There's nothing you deserve more than happiness, Harry. I'm proud of you for all the strides you've made towards it."

Fuck, he didn't want to leave you. Not again. You were somehow even more beautiful. Your soul and your tolerance. He'd worked hard to be the type of man that you deserved and he was stumped as to how he could watch you walk away.

But he did. He watched you turn and slowly walk towards the hotel entrance.

"Be well, angel."

Angel. It shot you right back to reading the letter, to being in his arms under your little heaven, to being wrapped up in his existence.

Hot tears welled in your eyes and you came to a stop. How could you walk away? Didn't you owe it to yourselves to explore this? It was a rare coincidence that you found an old lover in a new city. No. You couldn't walk away.

You turned back to look at him, seeing his eyes were just as wet as yours were. "Do you want to come up?"

It took him a second to register your words. Come up? To your room? With you? Fuck, was it even a question? He couldn't remember the last time he was so excited about anything.

"I'd like that if you're okay with it."

He didn't want to get his hopes up about what could happen. He knew you were so far from anything past holding his hand or hugging him. Regardless, he was just happy to spend time with you.

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't okay with it." You said softly.

To be fair, you had no clue what you were expecting by inviting him to your room. But you decided to trust your gut. If it became too much, you could ask him to leave, knowing he'd respect your decision.

You grabbed his hand again, doing that thing with your thumb where you rubbed the back of his hand. He actually got butterflies as you called the elevator and waited. The ride up to your floor was full of tension and anticipation. You didn't let go of his hand, and he didn't stop looking at you every few seconds. It was silent, but there was nothing to say.

"Get comfortable." You told him as you entered your room.

Your belongings were strewn everywhere, the soft décor allowing the touches of you to be seen. It smelled of your favourite perfume. He saw a few familiar things; your cherry heels, your favourite hairspray, your worn suitcase tucked into the corner. He stripped off his jacket, letting you hang it in the small wardrobe before he unbuttoned his shirt a little.

"Splashed out on the room, huh?" He wandered into the room gingerly, fully taking it in.

You were behind him somewhere, removing your heels and your heavy earrings. You slipped into the bathroom, exchanging your formal dress for one that was shorter yet far more comfortable. You flipped Max a text to let him know you were back at your hotel, safe and warm.

"Yeah, the room I was meant to be in was accidentally double-booked so I got upgraded."

"It's a very generous upgrade."

You snorted. "You're telling me."

Harry moved towards the vanity, wanting to check his appearance in the mirror. He brushed his hands through his hair a few times, huffing when that one persistent curl flopped right back over his forehead. His eyes explored the expanse of the vanity, looking at your makeup and jewelry.

The necklace he gave you. The one with the purple flower. A token of commitment of love.

You still had it. And clearly, judging by the way it was strewn onto the tabletop, you still wore it. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep himself from feeling too much.

"You okay?"

Was he? He was surprised for sure. And he'd been trying a new way of communicating. Old Harry would have shrugged it off. But the Harry in front of you didn't want to.

"You kept the necklace."

You moved towards him, your eyes gentle. You were shorter without your heels, and you'd removed your jewelry and fake lashes. Slowly stripping yourself away to be bare for him.

"Of course I kept it."

"Why?"

"Because of what it means to me. Back then and now. Mistakes are forgivable, and happy memories outshine the bad. That day in the meadow is one of my favourites."

Just like his letter. The memory of walks in the park with purple flowers, being shredded in half when he found it after breaking your heart. You were so forgiving back then, too.

"It's one of my favourites, too." He whispered. You knew it was, you read about it in the letter. It was weird to think about it now, while he was standing in front of you.

You felt overwhelmed. As if finally being alone with him was allowing the reality of the situation to set in. You had to make a decision of where you wanted this to go, if anywhere, and hope that he was just as willing.

Grabbing his hand, a touch you had grown comfortable with over the course of the night, you sat on the end of the bed and brought him with you.

"Will you... will you lie down with me?"

He sighed softly, waiting for you to lie down, scooting up the bed until your head met the pillow. You were both on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and imagining it was painted with the heaven he'd gifted you. He wanted to ask about it. Ask if you cherished it, or if you'd ripped it from its hinges. But he didn't. Instead, he just squeezed your hand. 

"Tell me about your methods." You requested softly. "For your anxiety."

He turned to look at you. "I use a few different ones. Depends on what I need and how bad it is." He admitted quietly, his eyes closing for a brief moment.

"Which one do you use the most?"

"I, um... I make lists in my head, you know? Memories, different colours and what they mean to me, different cereals. I was going to write them in my journal but I must have lost it somewhere."

The mention of his journal had your heart racing. You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. You'd wondered all that time if you should return it and you knew now that you were right. Harry noticed your frozen expression and frowned when your mouth opened to say something before snapping shut again.

"What?"

You took a beat. "I have a confession."

"Okay..." He narrowed his eyes. "Spill."

"I have your journal." You admitted. "I found it at my apartment a while ago. I... I didn't open it for ages, though. Not until I spiraled and thought of you and how much I missed you."

You got up, reaching into your suitcase for the journal. You didn't want to travel without it, for some reason. The universe had planned out this whole thing pretty well. You handed it to him, wondering if he would say anything. But he said nothing, simply looked at the journal before placing it on his chest. You got back into place beside him, taking his hand. You took his silence as a means to continue.

"I read it- the letter. It was... everything that I needed to hear, in a way. To remember the good parts. hope that I didn't totally invade your pr-"

"You read the letter?" His expression was unreadable and it was making you nervous.

"I did."

He was quiet for a time, and you squeezed his hand as you waited for a response. To be honest, he wasn't sure what to think. He'd all but said in the letter that he intended to give it to you one day. He was just petrified at the time because your relationship was going nowhere but south. His thoughts were put into ink, now absorbed into your brain.

He never got the chance to read it to you. But the universe had delivered it to you for him. It was clever like that, like it had been with tonight.

"Good."

"Good?"

"I'm happy that you read it."

"I didn't read anything else. I wasn't planning on reading anything at all, but I saw that you wrote angel and got nosy."

"You know..." He battled with the words in his head, his eyes leaving yours for a moment. "I meant every word."

"I know you did."

He nodded softly. "And I still mean it now."

I thought about marrying her in Paris. Thought about asking her to be mine. I see a life with her so clearly that it scares me.

Harry grabbed the journal, opening it, and sifting through. It hurt to see the letter now. After all, he'd written it when you were together and in love. Yes, he still felt these things. But it was different because he didn't have you anymore.

"Now?" You wondered shyly, his gaze returning to you.

"Especially now."

You both moved on your sides, wanting to fully face each other. He smiled as you shuffled closer.

"Thank you for not being upset that I read it."

He didn't reply; he didn't need to. You both knew that the letter was addressed to you, and it saved him from reading it to you. He'd probably mess up, cry or hide. Probably all three. It was meant to happen the way it did. 

"Did you really like the album?"

"I really did."

"I finished it because of you, just like I said I would in the letter. It's not what I initially envisioned but life never is and I'm proud of it. I had inklings of some songs when we were dating, and some completed ones, as you know. But you were the biggest influence behind a lot of them. I know it was probably verging on too personal but-"

He was rambling, and you could tell he was still so nervous about if you actually liked it.

"It's a phenomenal album. It was hard to listen to but you should be so so proud."

"Thank you."

There was another bout of silence as you both gathered yourselves, collecting your thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, almost as if he released the question wrapped in a breath.

"Sure."

"Are you..." He wasn't sure how to even ask. He tried again. "What is Max to you?"

To be honest, you were surprised it hadn't come up before now. You had no issue being upfront about it.

"He is... I'm not too sure what he is."

"You seem close."

"We are."

"Oh." He tried to hide his disappointment. He knew you were close, he'd seen it with his own eyes. But hearing you say it was like another pierce through the heart.

"I mean not like that." You assured though you weren't sure why you felt the need to. The two of you weren't together anymore and he'd hurt your feelings a million times over.

But he needed to know who he was dealing with. "Tell me about him."

You didn't hesitate. You had no need to. "Well... He's nice. We go out and do stuff together. Dinner, movies, events. Stuff like that. Uh, he's funny. He makes me laugh."

"That's good." He appreciated your honesty and the fact that as much as he wished it was him making you laugh, at least someone was.

"But..."

"But what?"

"But nothing, really. We enjoy each other's company and that's it."

"Is he like... your boyfriend? Or... lover? Best-"

You laughed and he was relieved. "No no, it's not like that. I mean, we hang out and we've kissed a few times but no, it's never been like that."

Harry was silent for a second, fully taking it all in. You'd kissed Max. That sucked to hear. But he wasn't your boyfriend, your lover, or anything else. He knew you respected him too much to label him a distraction but he was happy to. Whatever Max was to you, he clearly wasn't going to get in the way.

"I have a confession, too."

You smiled, happy to move on and glad that he wasn't upset about it. A clear sign of his growth. "Spill."

He took a deep breath. "I think about things that make me happy when I feel it coming it. The panic, I mean. I think of you. You and our sunshine and our daydreams. Our heaven. Miss being there with you."

"Harry..."

"I'm doing heaps better, angel. I am."

"I believe you. There's just so much that needs to be said. I know I said that I forgave you and I did but it isn't as simple as that."

"Tell me what I can do. I've worked so hard. For myself, for you, to be the partner you deserve. Tell me what to do and I'll do it. I'll prove to you that I'm so much better for you now."

"It's not just about being better for me, H. Yes, I need to know that you've acknowledged what went wrong and why. I need you to assure me you know how to handle that kind of thing moving forward but... you need to be better for yourself, too. Your anxiety got so bad at the end of our relationship and it was torture to watch."

"I've had six months to sit and stew over what happened. Every scenario played out in my head and I could see where it went to shit. Everything started with me. Or because of who I am. I never knew how to handle shit and you were the one who was patient and brought me back to Earth. You rationalise everything so perfectly and I think it just frustrated me that I couldn't. But I can now, and I have so many times. I can tell when my anxiety is controlling me and I can reign it in."

You sighed, seeing the drive behind his words. He was adamant to prove to you how much he'd grown. He was passionate about it. You could see the desperation in his eyes and you took it all in. He continued.

"Please, believe me. I've changed for you. For me. Being apart from you forced me to. I'm so glad it did, I learned so much through you and without you. But I can't... I can't pretend like seeing you again doesn't hurt. That as much as I've been dreaming for this moment, I'm not scared shitless. I missed you so much, and all I've wanted to do since we broke up was tell you how sorry I am. Because I am. I had your heart and was careless with it. I broke it. I'm so sorry- more than sorry. I meet with someone once a week. We talk and build up my mental strength. I handle this whole fame thing so much better, I've distanced myself from it a lot. He said I'm doing really really good and that I'm way healthier than I've ever been. I mean, who knows? Maybe we ended when we did so that I could be stronger, and then we could meet again."

You sniffled, not even fazed by the tears that streamed from your eyes. Harry's eyes became wet, too. And he reached up to wipe yours away, however, more came to replace them. He hated to see you cry, but in a way, it was a sign that he'd gotten to you.

"You've thought about this a lot, huh?" You smiled weakly, your cries not softening.

"Every day."

You shuffled closer to him, his hand coming to rest on your side. "I'm glad that you have someone to talk to. Someone who's equipped to give you the right tools that'll work for you." You took a deep, shaky breath. "Seeing you tonight was like... I could finally breathe after all these months. I was so fucking terrified of what would happen if we talked but I was even more terrified of what would happen if we didn't. That's how I knew I couldn't say goodbye to you. I missed you every single day we were apart. I thought about you a lot, too. I just wanted to pick up the phone and call you. Tell you that how badly you hurt me was nothing compared to life without you."

Harry was fully crying now, and you were, too. What started as a relaxing night stemmed into something so emotional. Something equally exhausting as it was exciting. Neither of you wanted to mess this up. Whatever this was. A reintroduction to a union of souls that had everything to do with fate.

"Can we try? Please? I promise I'll be careful with you this time."

"I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try." You whispered.

He sniffled. "I think so, too."

Your noses brushed and he fully wrapped his arm around you to bring you even closer to him. You gripped onto his shirt with desperate fingers, letting yourself melt into him. He softly nudged his nose against yours, hinting and pleading. Letting you take the lead.

You wanted to fall into him again. The plunge was always the scariest part. The weightlessness in your stomach as you fell, the sensation of not knowing when it would end, and if there was anything at the bottom to catch you when it did.

Just like when you first met, you fell. Only this time it was hard, faster, and so much more petrifying. The territory was familiar, but the essence of it had changed, somehow.

He was gentle at first when you pressed your lips to his. Gauging how far you were willing to go. He was also in shock- the best kind. When your whole body freezes up before your belly does flips, and your brain works overtime to catch up.

And you. You were so soft and sweet. So right for him. Delicate yet strong. Endlessly selfless and so sure of yourself. So in touch with your mind and your thoughts. With seeing a situation and deciphering what it entailed.

Your hand wound its way to the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him to you. His tongue met yours and you moaned so softly that he almost missed it. He melted into the sheets.

At once, you both needed air. So wrapped up in each other for so long. He didn't let you go far, just enough to regain air into your lungs. But he was still pressed against you from head to toe as if doing so would make up for the lost time.

"Thank you, angel. So so much. I'll be everything you need, I promise."

He was so thankful you were giving him this second chance. Hopefully the last one he'd need. He wanted to be yours, and he'd argue that he already was. He just needed to prove it to you.

"We have to take our time with this, okay? Snail's pace. I want our love back just as much as you, but we have to be careful and patient with each other. Do you understand?"

The word love threw his head into a spiral but he blinked to clear the love-thick fog. "I understand."

You held each other for hours. Stripped down to your underwear. Lips exploring old territory, reclaiming and relearning. He was determined to kiss and cherish every inch of you. He noted that you got shy once he veered south, so he didn't push you.

The two of you took turns. Babbling sweet nothings. Telling each other what you'd missed the most. You missed how vividly and animated he recalled dreams in the mornings, you missed how cuddly he was, how his jokes were so bad that you had to laugh. You missed tracing his tattoos and giving each of them your own little names, telling stories of the ink on his skin. You missed his dance moves, how he was always so unashamed of them no matter the setting. You missed when he read stories to you. You missed when he sang to you.

There was barely anything he didn't miss about you. Your hellishly hot showers, your ability to flip a somber feeling into a sappy one. How soft your skin was, he felt like he was dreaming every time he touched you. He missed how daring you were, how open you were to exploring and experimenting. He missed your eyes. How they always melted when you looked at him. He could always see how much you loved him through them. He missed your veil of safety and trust. He missed your laugh. He missed making you smile. So golden and surreal. Fuck, he couldn't believe he was this lucky to have you twice in his lifetime.

Because that was what it felt like; a fresh, shiny beginning. A chance to start a new with healed hearts and open minds.

"How much longer are you here?" Harry asked you. His hand was running through your hair, scratching your scalp, threatening to send you into a dreamy sleep. You were sprawled on top of him, your head against his chest.

You were both right where you belonged.

"I leave tomorrow night, have a few meetings tomorrow."

"Busy girl."

"Mm. What about you?"

"I, uh... I have to leave in the morning. Pretty early. Gotta get back home for a few days, then have to be in L.A for about a week, then I'm in New York."

"Damn, and you say I'm busy?"

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you purely because he could and he'd gone so long without them.

"I love your kisses." He whispered against your lips.

I love you.

"I love your kisses, too."

He gave you another one.

"Can I come and see you as soon as you're back in London?" He cringed at how needy his tone came out.

"It would be a shame if you didn't."

He smiled, squeezing you tightly. "Thank you, my angel. For trusting me."

You were both silent for a while and you met his gaze with an unreadable expression. "Will you read it to me? The letter?"

You wanted to hear it from his lips, in his deep soothing voice. Hear the emotion and passion behind every syllable. And he wanted to read it to you, having never gotten the chance to. He happily added parts that he'd had to dwell on, or promises and memories he'd missed or since thought were necessary.

He read it aloud to you, one hand holding the journal, the other on you. Varying between your hair, your back, your soft features.

"It's so perfect as it is, and all I can wonder is how it can get any better. But it's her. So it will."

And now you were both getting the chance to see just how much better you could be for each other. You stopped him, needing his lips on yours. You'd missed the softness of them, how every kiss of his was treasured.

The kiss depended, and the equilibrium that ensued with your entwined souls had been found once more.

-

LOVER ERA?????

This killed my brain to write, if you follow me on Twitter, most of my tweets lately have been about how long this chapter is and how my brain cells no longer exist.

The final chapter will be with you very soon. I hope you enjoyed this one <3

I love you, please make sure you vote!