Unlikely (H.S.)

forty-one

~Harry~

I stared at the ceiling, my fingers absently twirling a damp strand of Harper's hair. It clung to my skin, soft curls twisting around my fingers as she breathed steadily against my chest. Her body was warm, tucked against mine like she belonged there, one leg hooked over my hip, her arm draped just beneath my ribs. If my mind weren't spinning, I might have let myself fall asleep with her, let myself sink into the quiet comfort of this moment. But my thoughts wouldn't let me rest.

It was too much.

All of it.

Mum showing up. The fight. The awful way I handled things, the way I pushed Harper away. The regret that felt like a brick lodged in my chest the second I walked out the door. And now this—her back in my bed, her body tangled with mine like nothing had happened. Like we hadn't just cracked open something raw and fragile between us.

I let out a slow breath, careful not to wake her, and traced my fingers down the curve of her spine. I didn't know how I'd gotten so lucky—how she could forgive me so easily. Or maybe it wasn't easy at all. Maybe she was choosing to, choosing to believe in me despite the way I'd fucked up. The thought made my chest tighten, a dull ache spreading through me. I didn't deserve that kind of grace, but I wanted to be the kind of person who did.

And we'd slept together again.

This time, it wasn't frantic or rushed. It wasn't about chasing a high or losing ourselves in the moment. It had been slow, deliberate—like we were putting each other back together, touch by touch. Like this was the only way we knew how to say the things we couldn't.

And fuck, I had missed her.

More than I'd realized. It hit me all at once, the way she felt beneath me, the way she whispered my name like it meant something.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, closing my eyes for a second. I could do this. I could handle it. The feelings, the uncertainty, the weight of it all. I just needed to take a breath and let myself have this. Let myself have her. I loved her in a way that was consuming. Finding her online and being a fucking wanker by posting her to millions of randoms, it was as if the universe was trying to draw me to her and force us to happen. I hadn't been so careless about something so private in a very long time, I was alway so cautious and careful. But it had been different in that café in New Zealand, and my fuck up had brought me to her.

Then I went and fucked it all up.

I can't go zero to motherfucking sixty anymore if I want this to work.

I will not fuck this up again.

I love this woman with all of me, and I want to make this work.

She came here for me, she told me about her shitty boss wanting her to exploit me. She came clean at a time where she knew I was already pissed, but she knew she couldn't keep anything from me, she wanted us to work and knew how important being honest was.

It could've blown us up.

But it didn't.

I respected her so much at that moment. So much on the line, and she knew it was necessary to lay it all out to me. I saw the anguish in her eyes, how much her boss' choices were eating at her. And at that moment, the love I felt for her swelled an infinite amount. But now I was laying here, in my bed, my head filled with thoughts of uncertainty and doubt. Yet, despite all the noise in my head, despite how fucking terrifying it was to feel this much, the one thing I knew for sure was that I didn't want to let her go.

I woke up to the soft glow of morning filtering through the curtains, Harper still curled into me, her body warm and familiar. For the first time in days, I felt light. Hopeful. The weight that had been pressing down on my chest had eased, replaced by something softer. Something good.