Unlikely (H.S.)

twenty-five

~Harper~

Harry was puttering around my apartment, tidying up like he was trying to stay busy, but I could tell he was restless. He'd pick up one of his t-shirts, fold it half-heartedly, then place it back down, only to walk over and adjust the throw pillows on the couch. Every so often, I'd feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting for me to look up from my laptop.

I couldn't though— not right now. The guilt gnawed at my insides like a wild beast. How was I supposed to concentrate when Janet's messages kept popping up, making my stomach twist with anxiety?

Janet: Need an update on the piece, Harper

Let me know what you're planning for the personal angle

Have you considered giving your readers something a little juicier?

Something sexier?

I clenched my jaw, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. "Personal angle." She wasn't saying it outright, but I knew what she meant. She wanted me to write about Harry, to make him the centrepiece of the article, like he was some shiny new toy to dangle in front of the world. My chest tightened at the thought. There was no way I could do that to him.

I felt a pang of guilt as I glanced up at him, watching him move around my apartment like he belonged here. He was humming softly, his hands lingering on the stack of books he had brought over from his Airbnb, sorting through them aimlessly. He looked so relaxed, so completely at ease in my space, and yet here I was, hiding something huge from him.

I was lying to him.

Not outright, but by omission. And that felt almost worse.

Buzz.

Another ping from Slack made my heart jump.

Janet: Need a draft soon.

Let's discuss how we can shape this.

We can't miss out on the buzz.

What am I going to do?

I swallowed hard. Buzz. That's all this was to Janet. She didn't see Harry the way I did— as a real person with real feelings. To her, he was a headline, a story that would draw in clicks and comments. And here I was, caught in the middle, struggling to figure out how to protect him and still do my job.

Harry, completely unaware of the storm in my head, wandered over to the couch and sat down beside me, close enough that his knee pressed against mine. He leaned in, his chin resting on my shoulder as he peered at my screen. His hair tickled my cheek, and despite the guilt, I felt a warm flutter in my chest.

"What're you working on?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I quickly closed the laptop, hiding the messages from Janet, feeling my pulse quicken with the weight of my secret.

"Just... the article," I muttered, forcing a smile. "Trying to wrap it up."

Harry didn't seem to notice the tension in my voice. He just smiled, completely content, and leaned his head against my shoulder, sighing softly like he'd been waiting for this moment all day.

"You've been at it for hours," he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck in that affectionate, absent-minded way he always did when he wanted my attention. "You should take a break."

I glanced down at him, and the sight of his soft smile, his tousled hair, and those big, earnest eyes made my heart ache. He was so sweet, so good to me, and yet, I felt like the world's biggest fraud. Here he was, doting on me, and I was hiding this huge thing, a huge thing that could destroy what we were building. Something that I shouldn't have kept to myself for as long as I have. And now, I'm just in such a fucking shitting situation that I am not so sure what I can do to get out of it.