Capture

Open Doors

It had been over a week since I gave Liam an ultimatum—love me or let me go—and the silence since then had been its own answer.

No knock on my door. No call. Not a single word.

He hadn't just walked away—he'd disappeared. I hadn't seen him in the building, not around town. He even stopped showing up at Capture with Zayn. Not even once. It was as if loving me, or even facing me, had been too much, and instead of stepping forward, he vanished. A part of me was furious. Another part was just... tired. Tired of waiting for someone who couldn't choose me.

But Harry did. Every day this week, he had, and it was starting to feel like the ache Liam left behind was being slowly soothed by the steady rhythm of something real—something kind.

Now, with my arm looped through Harry's, we strolled down the quiet sidewalk toward our flats, the last sliver of evening light giving way to night. A brisk wind blew through the streets, lifting the hem of my coat and brushing cold across my cheeks.

"Smells like snow," Harry murmured beside me, glancing up at the overcast sky.

"It's October," I said with a smirk.

He grinned. "You're in England now. Weather makes its own rules."

I laughed under my breath, leaning into his warmth. "Hot chocolate when we get inside?"

"Or," he said with a wink, "we could find a more hands-on way to stay warm."

I bumped him with my hip. "Of course you'd say that."

We stepped through the front doors of our building, the warmth inside wrapping around us like a blanket. The hallway lights hummed softly overhead as we made our way toward the mailboxes. I pulled out my keys while Harry's phone buzzed. He groaned and answered reluctantly.

"I can't talk about work right now," he said into the phone, already half-annoyed as he turned his back to give me space.

I crouched down, opening my small metal box. The usual: bills, junk, coupons I'd never use. Then my fingers paused on a yellowed envelope. No return address, just my name—Emma—scrawled across the front in uneven handwriting.

My heart jumped. I tore it open, fingers already trembling slightly, and unfolded a single piece of thick parchment.

Emma,
I'm safe.

- Louis

That was it.

I turned the page over, rechecked the envelope, like maybe I'd missed something, but no, just those three words. I tucked it back into the envelope quickly, swallowing the knot rising in my throat just as Harry turned around, ending his call.

"Anything interesting?" he asked, reaching for my hand again.

"Bills," I said with a tight smile. "The usual."

He didn't press. Just laced our fingers together and led us toward the elevator.

Our floor was quiet when we stepped out of the lift, the soft echo of our footsteps the only sound. I unlocked my door, and Harry kicked off his boots before collapsing dramatically onto the couch.

"Make yourself at home," I teased, already heading toward the kitchen.

"I live to serve," he called back, voice muffled by a pillow.

The apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon from the candle I'd left burning earlier. I grabbed a pot and started warming some milk on the stove, humming quietly to myself. Chocolate, a pinch of salt, and the familiar rhythm of stirring—it felt cozy. Normal. Something about this kind of domestic quiet with Harry made my chest ache in the best way.