Only Angel 2 [h.s] AU

Built to break

Harry's POV
New York.

I woke to the sound of her breathing.

Soft. Even. Real.

For a second, I didn't move. I just let my eyes adjust to the early dark — that hour of the morning when the world hadn't decided who it wanted to be yet. Everything was still. The street outside was quiet. The sky outside her bedroom window a deep, indifferent blue.

And her.

Beau was lying beside me, one arm tucked beneath her cheek, the sheet barely clinging to her hip. Her hair had slipped across her face, long and dark and curling against her lips. I watched her exhale, watched the strands lift with her breath, watched her jaw twitch ever so slightly like she was still working through something in a dream.

She didn't look peaceful.

Not entirely.

But she looked like her. And that was enough to make something ache.

There were freckles just beneath her eyes — faint and scattered like stars across the bridge of her nose, most people probably missed them unless they got close enough to see. But I saw them now. A constellation I hadn't looked at in years.

It hit me — quiet but hard — how much I'd missed.

Her, yes. But also this.

This softness. This proximity. This version of me that could even look at someone like this and not pull away.

And all of it fucking hurt.

Because I didn't know what came next.

How the hell was I supposed to wake up after last night and just go on like the ground beneath me hadn't shifted?

She'd touched me like she meant it. Held me when I couldn't hold myself. I'd dropped to my knees in front of her like something in me had shattered, and I let her see it. All of it.

And now?

Now I didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do with that.

I watched the curve of her shoulder rise and fall beneath the sheet, slow and steady. I could still feel the weight of her hands in my hair. The calm of her touch. Not urgent. Not transactional. Just there.

No one had ever touched me like that before. Like they weren't afraid of what they'd find. And I hated that it made me feel something I couldn't control.

Because now the questions came. Loud and spiraling in my chest, even in this silence.

What does she want from me?

What can I give her?

What do I want?

The answers all felt too dangerous to say out loud.

Because last night, for a few brief hours, I didn't have to figure it out. I just had to feel it.

And now I was alone with it.

Alone with the ache of it. The aftermath. The way her lashes brushed her cheeks in sleep and made my throat go tight for reasons I couldn't name.

My phone lit up on the nightstand — a faint glow against the dark.

Joseph.

Fucking hell.

The second ring pierced through the quiet. I grabbed the phone fast and silenced it, wincing as Beau shifted beside me. Her lips parted, but her eyes didn't open. She just turned slightly, unconsciously seeking the warmth I wasn't giving.