Even If It Hurts -H.S. AU

39

"Who would've thought you'd be the nervous flyer now?" Harry chuckles, watching me buckle my seatbelt across from him, even though the jet is still at least twenty minutes from departure.

"Don't think I didn't notice your hand shaking when we stepped onto the tarmac." I raise an eyebrow at him and he smiles, not bothering to argue. "I thought I would feel better on a private jet, instead of a commercial flight, but it's very strange."

"It takes some getting used to." He says as he pulls out a bottle of champagne from the mini fridge next to us. I exhale a laugh watching him and he glances up at me. "The first few times I used it, I was incredibly nervous."

"Traveling for work forced you to get over your fear of flying, huh?" I ask, smiling when he pops the cork. "Harry, it is nine in the morning." I giggle as he pours me a glass.

"It's my plane, there are no rules." He grins, his dimples popping in his cheeks. "Yes, I had no choice but to get over it, since I travel so much for work."

"What are we even celebrating?" I ask, picking up the glass he poured me.

"How about..." he trails off, picking up his own glass and holds it out towards me, to cheers. "To returning home... together."

My heart leaps at his words and I feel a lump threaten to rise in my throat. I clink my glass against his and whisper, "Together. How it should be."

His smile widens as he looks at me and we both take a sip of the very expensive bottle, that we definitely won't be finishing. He sets his glass down just as the pilot comes down the aisle to speak with him. I'm unable to force myself to listen to what they're saying, because I'm too busy taking in the sight of Harry before me.

Returning home has so many memories filling my head, and it's an absolute mind fuck. I rake my eyes down his body, taking in the black button up and black slacks he has on, all the way down to his shiny Gucci shoes. He's sitting incredibly comfortably in his seat on this jet- his company's jet- drinking a four hundred dollar bottle of champagne. Who is this man?

I suppose I have no room to talk. I'm wearing black slacks, a white blouse and I was so nervous about the flight this morning, I threw on a blazer because they make me feel powerful. I glance down at my red bottom heels and click them together. We are going home to Nowhere, South Carolina, dressed like members of the Kennedy family.

"What's so funny?" Harry asks when the pilot returns to the cockpit. He smiles widely at me as I giggle, his eyes bright.

"What do you think nineteen year old Harry and Violet would say if they could see us right now?" I ask through my laughter and he leans forward toward me, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I think they'd say..." he trails off, thinking about it, "who the fuck do we think we are?" He chuckles and I nod my head, laughing along with him. "Why are we dressed like this?" He asks, gesturing to my outfit and then down his own body.

"They would be mortified." I tell him and he nods his head. "We are so pretentious."

"You know what else I think they would say, though?" He asks lowly and I tilt my head at him curiously. "Thank God we're together." He breathes out and the air hitches in my throat as moisture pricks my eyes. "Oh- baby, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"No, no." I wave my hand in the air at him and set my champagne glass on the table next to me. "You didn't, I'm sorry, there's just a lot of emotions that come with going home."

He nods his head knowingly, and waits for me to continue, but I'm having trouble finding the words. Harry doesn't say anything else, just sits patiently, ready to listen.