Pogue!sweetheart!reader Meeting Rafe For The First Time?

pogue!sweetheart!reader meeting rafe for the first time? 🍰

warnings: jealous rafe, topper calls you ‘doll’, a lil bit of flirting, slight fluff

“girl scout, two o’clock.” kelce cleared his throat, topper and rafe following his gaze. you stood at the receptionist desk, chatting with the director about your plans for the week. “is she really a girl scout?” rafe’s eyes trailed down the soft curls of your hair, stopping just above the neckline of your top.

“nah, we just call her that because she sells cookies and shit. ‘really good by the way, highly recommend.” kelce leaned back in his seat, forgetting all about the cards in his hands as you started making your way towards the three of them. rafe would be lying if he said the way his friends ogled you didn’t bother him.

“hey! what game are you guys playing?” you sat your basket down on the hardwood table, eyes flickering over to rafe. “just some solitaire.” topper shrugged, removing the cloth that covered your treats. “what do you got for us this week, doll?” if rafe was bothered earlier, he was even more so now.

you smiled, tilting the basket so they can all steal a peek. “shortbread and chocolate chip.” rafe didn’t care to look at anything else other than your face, his gaze sweeping over your features. “i’ve never seen you before.” he finally spoke up, his voice immediately drawing your attention.

“uhm, i don’t think i’ve seen you either..” you extended a hand, “what’s your name?” rafe didn’t hesitate to return your gesture, taking your hand in his. “rafe, and yours?” your heart skipped a beat when you felt his thumb stroke your skin. “y/-” kelce chimed in before you could answer his question.

“i’ll take two of each. and one of you.” rafe’s head shot in his friends direction, his grip on your wrist tightening. laughing nervously, you brushed off kelce’s remark. “actually, he’s not taking anything. i, however, would like the whole basket.” shaking your head, you waited for rafe to say he was kidding.

“oh! you’re serious-” rafe got up, taking the basket in his free hand as he led you two outside and away from his obnoxious buddies. “what the hell!” topper shouted. without protesting, you allowed rafe to take you to a more secluded space, your dainty heels clicking against the pavement.

“is everything okay? i-” rafe stopped in front of the country club’s garden. “do you have a boyfriend?” he blurted, making you stumble over your next few words. “uhm, well! no, but..” taking his wallet out of his pocket, rafe took a couple hundred dollar bills before cutting you off.. again.

“not that it matters if you do, cause i’ll just take his place.” the certainty in his voice made your face flush with a new profound sense of shyness. he placed the folded bills in your palm, a smile forming on his lips at your smitten expression. “how are you so sure that you’ll be my boyfriend?” you asked.

“because i always get what i want.”

Summer in Italy with Steve Harrington ⋆ ❀˖°⟡🐚⟡°˖ ❀ ⋆

Seashells in his pockets. His freckles coming out in the sun. His hair smelling like salt water and sunscreen. Soft early mornings in the kitchen making breakfast. Boat trips and hand holding down hidden streets. Mint chocolate ice cream and sticky kisses. Drawing patterns on his back. Making consultations out of his freckles. Thin bed sheets and cold showers. Him in shorts. Handmade jewellery to remember the vacation. Kisses that taste like freshly cut fruit. Condensation from his coke running down his hand.  A thousand polaroid's. Some innocent & some not. A 1989 meets folklore summer. Clothes drying in the garden. Crystal glasses filled with something that fizzes. Denim shorts on the bedroom floor. Him making lunch mid afternoon. Hot pavements and sweaty skin. Kisses & kisses & kisses.

can we have rafe try to grovel ?? :((((( shy reader deserves better !!! <3 https://www.tumblr.com/erwinsvow/751213087399510016/what-if-rafe-ever-hit-shy-reader-from-built-up?source=share

he will grovel!! side note i dont know how i feel about this its just for the sweet anon who wanted part two

the moment rafe shuts the door and traps you in the room, between his body and the wall, you know some part of you has just broken that you'll never fully be able to fix.

everything in your body tells you to look up at rafe and do something. slap him back, push him away, turn around and storm out of the room and try to at least show him you're just as mad as he is—but none of that actually happens.

hot tears keep spilling down your cheeks, and you stay frozen like that for what feels like forever, staring at the floor of rafe's bedroom. the sound of rafe's heavy breaths fills the space, though you can barely detect it over the way your heart is pounding in your ears.

you want to leave. but you don't know where you even would go. before the events of the last hour, there was no where you wanted to be more than wherever rafe was. and now, staring at the floor instead of up at the boy who you had gladly given your heart to only for him to snap it in half with his bare hands and deliver it back, you stay frozen, waiting for rafe. you are always waiting for rafe.

"kid, i-" you finally look up, through wet lashes and almost painful eyes fluttering slowly, and rafe stops talking the moment you do. you don't know why, but it doesn't take you long to figure it out. there's a mark on your cheek the size of his hand, probably an imprint from his ring too.

it's such a shame—you always loved that ring.

you snap out of your thoughts when rafe keeps talking, though there's still blooding rushing in your ears. he sounds muffled, his mouth moving and expression looking, you can only imagine, somewhat close to yours—sad and angry all blended together. you keep blinking slowly, listening but not really listening, waiting for him to finish so you can leave.

how stupid you must seem to him, and to yourself, you think pathetically. he just hit you, and you're waiting for him to finish, so you don't impolitely interrupt. you should drive straight from tannyhill to a therapist's office—though you think not even a licensed professional could help you figure out what exactly is wrong with you.

the thought makes you laugh, corners of your mouth turning up and a rush of air leaving your throat. half a laugh, half a sob. the gutting realization has just hit you—whatever was wrong with you, rafe was the only one in the world who seemed to understand you.

"baby?" rafe asks, and you actually snap out of it this time—looking up at your boyfriend, wondering if he knows you haven't heard a single thing he's said so far.

"i think i should go home," you reply, wondering where your keys are and where your wallet is. you don't keep track of these things anymore, usually since rafe drives you everywhere and pays for everything.

"okay. i'll bring you, just let me go get-"

"no, i-" you stop yourself—about to apologize again. everything running through your mind makes you choose your words carefully. "i'm gonna go home."

"you didn't drive here, kid. i picked you up, remember?" rafe looks back at you and you feel a fresh wave of tears take over. you hadn't remembered.

"oh."

"listen, kid, i'm so-"

"i'm going home," you repeat firmly, mostly to yourself. "i'll just-i'll walk."

"y'not walking. it's dark and-"

"rafe, stop." the way you say it, he actually listens. you don't sound like yourself, you can tell from the way he looks at you, rafe's face doused with concern and apprehension. you look away, turning to face the door. "i'll be fine. i need to go."

"c'mon, kid, don't go," he says, and every bone and muscle inside you wants to listen, to do what he says like you always do. you feel more hot tears coming up, stopping them seems impossible yet you know crying is useless. it already happened and the damage is already done.

you turn around from your position, knowing it's a mistake. rafe gets closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. he holds your face like he always does, except there's one big difference—you flinch the moment he starts moving.

"baby," rafe says quietly, and everything in you stops for a moment. brain lagging, breath catching, even the tears stop for a second while you look up at your boyfriend. "i'm so sorry. i am so sorry. i fucked up, okay? i know i did, but please don't go."

"rafe, i can't stay," it comes out just as quietly, a notch above a whisper. "you hurt me." it comes out wrangled in a sob. rafe wipes away some of your fresh tears with his hands.

"i-i know. and i'm gonna regret it forever, but-" rafe stops, and you stop too. you chew on your lip nervously, realizing it's going to bleed from how much you're biting down. "can-can i at least bring you home? please?"

"okay," you give in-but you shouldn't have.

you don't even know how you're gonna explain the mark on your face to your parents, or why you're home so early when you said you were sleeping over. every movement feels exhausting—grabbing some of your things and walking down the stairs to getting into rafe's truck. the drive to your place isn't very long, only ten minutes, and you stare out the window the whole time. it feels like hours with the way rafe looks at you at each red light.

rafe pulls into your driveway and you look up at him expectantly, though you're not sure why.

"can you-can you turn the headlights off? i don't want them waking up," you say, after what feels like ages of silence.

rafe turns the lights off but doesn't say anything. it's not until you reach for the doorhandle that he does—it's almost muscle memory for him. he leans over you to pull the handle and open the door for you, but you flinch so hard when he moves that he can't even get the door. instead he looks back at you while you stare up at him. without any words, you both know what the other is thinking.

"goodnight, rafe," you say, your own hand on the door now.

"wait, kid," he says, and you stop your movement immediately. even in this situation, you can't help but listen. "can i see you tomorrow? please?"

"i don't think that's a good idea."

"c'mon. we-we have to talk about this. i can't just.. not see you. i'm gonna go crazy."

"i need to go rafe." the second you say it, you start feeling bad about it. it's so engrained in you—trying to avoid hurting rafe in any and every way possible, that the very idea of not giving him what he wants makes your chest ache painfully. "i.. i have to think about it."

he leans over, slowly this time so you don't get scared again, opening the door for you like he always does. you climb out, getting your bag and trying to pretend everything's fine until you get inside your room.

"good night, kid. i'll talk to you tomorrow."

without replying, you walk inside. rafe's truck stays in your driveway until you lock the door, and he doesn't drive away until minutes after.

surprisingly, you make it to your room before you start crying. and you don't stop crying until the sun comes up.

You looked up from the cot you were changing the bedding on to see Daryl stepping into the clinic. Your brow furrowed. “Please don’t tell me you’re feeling sick too,” you said.

He shook his head and you breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good,” you sighed. You continued frantically cleaning up the area around you and stuffed the dirty bedding into a nearby basket. You were about to go and retrieve clean sheets but Daryl was suddenly there holding them out to you. “Thanks,” you murmured, grabbing them and getting back to work hurriedly.

He watched you flitting from task to task like a hummingbird. “How many is it so far?” he asked.

“Fifteen,” you said, your face tightening. You pulled off your gloves and tossed them into the bin. “But it’s only a matter of time before another walks in.

Daryl nodded grimly. He watched you pause for only a moment and you seemed to waver on your feet, passing a hand over your eyes. "Hey—why dun ya sit down. Ya look dead on your feet,” he drawled.

You shook your head and glanced at the clock hanging high on the wall. “I don’t have time. I need to check on Mr. and Mrs. Johnson again and sanitize more of the IV lines and containers and—”

Daryl gently grabbed your elbow and led you over to a chair. “Sit down. Ya ain’t gonna be any good to anybody if ya run yerself into the ground. Have ya eaten anythin’ today?”

You sank back into the chair and shook your head. As soon as you were off your feet, you noticed them aching. “No… the first wave came in at 4:30 this morning and—I don’t think I’ve stopped since then.”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. “Right… Sit here and dun move,” he said firmly. “Drink some water. I'mma go fix ya somethin’ to eat.”

You made to stand up. “You don’t have to do that. I can go to the pantry and—”

“Wasn’t a question,” he said gently but resolutely. “Ya gotta rest while ya can. I’ll go grab some more people to help ya in here. Ya shouldn'ta been doin’ this by yerself all day.”

“I wasn’t, but I sent Siddiq to get some rest,” you said.

Daryl smiled and let out a dry laugh. “Course ya did. Anybody can sterilize and clean. I’ll round some more people up and then I’ll come back and help ya myself. And yer gonna eat.”

You could see that there was no arguing and so you sank back down, letting the exhaustion settle over you heavily. “Okay. Thank you, Daryl. I mean it.”

He nodded. “S'nothin’.”

But it wasn’t. You knew this was Daryl’s way of telling you just how much he cared.

Prompt: “Have you eaten anything today?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tipsy kook!sweetheart!reader getting handsy with rafe and even though he likes her sm, he takes her home and makes sure she’s safe 🥺

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirting, reader is v handsy lol (rafe loves it though)

you were such a lightweight, you knew having another drink wasn’t the smartest choice. after one shot and downing a margarita like it was a slushy, you found yourself dancing with your girlfriends in the middle of topper’s living room. rafe watched you from afar, his tongue running across his teeth as your skirt rode up your thighs.

“when are you giving that poor man a chance?” your friend giggled in your ear, making your eyebrows knit in confusion. “who?” you looked around, immediately spotting rafe in the corner. it was like he was trying to tempt you with the way he was manspreading, the thin material of his t-shirt doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath it.

“i don’t know..” you smiled at him, heart fluttering in your chest when he sent you a wink before bringing his cup up to his lips. “i think i’m gonna go say hi-” your friend attempted to pull you back, but you were already well on your way. “hi, rafe.” you chirped, your skin flushed due to the alcohol in your system.

he gazed up at you, your eyes twinkling underneath the soft lighting. “hey, sweetheart. you look pretty.” you did a spin for him, adjusting the small purse on your shoulder. “is this seat taken?” rafe shook his head, motioning towards the empty spot next to him. instead of sitting on the couch, you got comfortable in his lap, making him curse under his breath.

“well this works too.” he laughed, draping an arm across your waist. you blinked slowly, resting your head on his chest as you stroked the underside of his jaw. “i like your arms,” you whispered, “and your face..” rafe hummed, taking your hand in his own. “yeah? i like your face, too.” he cooed, adjusting your skirt so no one else can see the color of your underwear.

“take me home.” rafe nodded. “of course, i wouldn’t want you getting in an uber like this.” he took a sip from his drink, nearly choking when he felt your fingertips tug at the belt loops of his jeans. “no. take me home, rafe.” at first he didn’t understand, but when he saw you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, it was a look he knew all too well.

“what did you have to drink?” desperate to divert your tipsy mind elsewhere, rafe moved your hand away from his lower half. of course, he failed, only making you peck his cheek instead. rafe’s sanity was hanging on by a thread. your lips were soft against his skin, your perfume smelled so sweet, and worst of all, your ass sat perfectly where he needed you most.

“umm- i can’t really remember..” you trailed off, shrugging before nuzzling your nose into his neck. “fuck.” he said through gritted teeth, deciding he better get you back to your place before anything escalated. “come on, let’s get you home.” he helped you up, holding onto you tightly as he lead you two out of topper’s house.

you were laughing the whole way to rafe’s truck, a squeal leaving your lips when he hoisted you up into the passenger’s seat. somehow during the duration of the ride to your house, you managed to kick your feet up on rafe’s lap, humming sweetly to the most disgusting lyrics playing out of his speakers.

once you two pulled into your driveway, you let him carry you over his shoulder, too tired to protest otherwise. “are your parents home?” he put you down momentarily to grab the key from under the welcome mat. “of course not.” you yawned, sighing in relief once he got the door open. rafe watched you kick your heels off, tiptoeing to the couch before face planting into the cushions.

eyes trailing down your body, he looked away when he got to the bottom of your ass cheeks shamelessly peeking out from underneath your skirt. grabbing the blanket closest to your sleeping figure, he covered you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. you stirred lightly, melting into his touch. the longer he stayed, the harder it was for him to leave.

“alright.” he groaned quietly, sparing you one more glance before locking the door behind him. he made a mental note to call you and check on you first thing in the morning.

NETFLIX SPECIAL | h. lewis

summary: an episode of the sidemen documentary follows harry around his day to day life with you. [12.3k words.]

pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)

notes: longly anticipated!! i’m so happy it’s done and i’m excited to share it with you!! (i’m so nervous and feel like it’s going to disappoint 😃) hopefully it lives up to your expectations!!!! it was so cute to write and soo long to edit i got a bit lazy so hopefully there isn’t too many mistakes. mentions breakup era. pleaseeee let me know what you think and let me know your favourite moments! much love, don’t forget to reblog! <333

TWO MONTHS.

Two months of lights, cameras, and lack of privacy, eight whole weeks of cameras following you, or in particular, your boyfriend, around.

The Sidemen documentary was coming . . . and you knew your boyfriend was dreading it.

“I don’t like this . . never catch a break from these . . bastard cameras,” you made eye-contact as he was mic’d up, your first official day of filming playing in front of you.

You laughed at his attitude, getting mic’d up yourself with cameras already rolling, you snapped the film clapper closed making him jump, “smile! you’re on camera baby!”

As far as you were aware, each of the boys were getting an episode each containing an hour and a half long of footage of them in their natural habitats, showing what they got up to off-camera, how they behaved off-camera, their home life with loved ones, hanging with friends, staying with family, and sometimes, getting up to no good.

Harry was someone who of course cherished his privacy greatly, dropping social media and cameras whenever he could outside work, he was a live-in-the-moment man with no desire to post everywhere he went and everything he did — so the boys agreeing to this idea was against his own will, and he had no choice but to agree to it when the other six signed the agreement, loving the idea of getting their own reality show, different from the last which just showed the making of the group.

For eight weeks, the boys all had their own camera crew, nothing too OTT as a big professional team most likely took away from the moment and made the whole ordeal less natural, so most camera footage came from ones placed around their homes, with just a couple days a week, a pair following them around if the occasion required them too. They’d then have extra footage to throw all together, jumping from one boy to the other to see what they got up to, already one episode complete with the amount of footage they’d gathered from them all working and hanging together in London.

You couldn’t lie, you were pretty stoked.

You felt like the Kardashians, hoping to get your moment and show everyone just how loveable you were, how you, dare say, could be funnier than your man, and more importantly, were not the heartless cow the little boys following them made you out to be.

You supposed you were excited because you got to show everyone why Harry picked you, why he liked you, and just how well you went together. You wanted to show them how much you loved him, and effortlessly.

Harry and the boys had spoken on how far they agreed to get into it, how deep they would dive into areas and share even more of their lives with the world, and according to him, they were willing to spill most, taking in the fact they didn’t have much . . dirty areas of their lives to uncover. Ethan may have some younger day recollections he may sugar coat, and JJ might not go too overboard on those first paycheck days but Harry felt like his was different than the rest – stuff he wasn’t sure about sharing fully that people probably knew about anyway, most revolving around you . . and the timeframe you split ways.

On one hand, he wanted to say fuck off, it’s nothing to do with anyone, but on the other, he felt like it was a dirty secret he’d have to live with forever, not knowing if telling everyone would make him feel lighter, and he felt like he owed it to you.

You did feel bad for him, but he was in control of what he wanted to share, and you wouldn’t dare say anything he didn’t want you sharing, so you didn’t get the point in it, “it’s your show, you show what you want to show,” you’d told him the day before, “you know I don’t care.”

Not that it mattered, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be in it much, it was Harry’s episode afterall, not yours.

“Do I share these?” he pulled out the massive photobook thrown carelessly in a box under his bed, busting with photos of just the two of you from 2014 to 2018.

The documentary was based around these boys from YouTube, from social media, of course there was gonna be hundreds of clips and photos imported. Just last night, JJ had sent in a snapchat from 2017 he’d said he’d sent to the crew to include on his episode, sending the boys into hysterics of laughter.

You also had the fun job of getting to pick what songs you wanted over some footage, Harry allowing you to do that job as he said you were best at picking songs that fit the moment, so you’d started a list already of 30 songs they could put over your fun, chill moments to add to the carefree vibe. You didn’t think there’d be much heavy songs for Harry’s segment. “Yeah . . just do it.”

I suppose you didn’t have issue with sharing those moments because they only worked in your favor, and it just showed Harry’s . . humane side, I suppose.

Plus, they were still only seeing a fraction of the memories you created together, but it was Harry’s call, and you just wanted to reassure him it wasn’t the biggest deal.

“Why? ‘Cause you look good in them and I don’t?”

“Shut up, man,” you’d rolled your eyes playfully, “you were the internet’s crush back then.”

A lot of footage had been captured back in London and although you appeared in scenes, mostly around the house, it was casual conversation and moments between you, nothing personal or intimate.

Today, you were back in Guernsey and Harry’s family were in the middle of saying their piece in the series:

“As his mother, can you tell us what he was like in school?”

“Did you ever think he’d end up in this type of career?”

“Do you think he’s good at what he does?”

Talking about his upbringing, what he was like as a kid, how he is as a brother, what they thought he’d grow up to be, they liked getting to have their say without Harry interjecting, sitting in a room without him barging in to tell them not to do him dirty with their stories. Big things that played a great part in his life, that made him . . him, of course they had to be discussed.

“Can you tell us what he’s like as a boyfriend, do you think he’s a good partner to y/n?”

Harry’s mum looked around to make sure he wasn’t about before continuing to speak, “—dying about her,” she breathed exaggeratedly, shaking her head, “absolutely dying about her.”

Cameras followed you a lot more than usual that week, capturing clips of you doing the most normal of things, standing by the sink, making a cup of tea, playing with Herb on the floor. It cut to you leaning on the counter, arms folded as you watched Harry faff about for something in his suitcase alongside his mother, watching him get worked up while you stood and watched humorously.

“He . .” she couldn’t explain it, “he honestly — i can’t imagine him with anyone else . . . i can’t visualise them with anyone other than each other, they just fit, I just . . .” she shook her head again, “i just can't imagine another girl sticking him that long - putting up with him the way she does. Nobody will compliment him as well as she does - in the way that she does.”

Everywhere began to play as your photos began to pop up, a small edit of a stack appearing on top of the other, photos from the year you got together until the most recent ones of this year, ones of you in different countries, different events, dressed casually on vacation or smart for a wedding.

“Think they began dating in 2014?” she guessed, “not that he was telling anybody, he was very hush hush as you can imagine . .” she rolled her eyes, more old pictures appearing of the two of you from that year, a fluffy-haired teenage Harry smiling in multiple pics with a fresh-faced girl, full of youth with her full rosy cheeks and bright eyes, wrinkle-free with her signature messy ponytail and frizzy flyaways. A lot of your photos were taken in secret places, from cars when you used to only go out at nights or his room during the day when no-one was home in his house, your aesthetics and styles extremely different from how they were now.

You’d forgotten Jack Wills existed until you saw those photos.

“Never used to let anyone even look at her, you weren’t allowed to speak to her when he brought her home,” Rosie said her bit from the seat in the sofa, “just used to rush up the stairs before we could get the chance to. And I hated him for that ‘cause I was the most excited, I was waiting for the day I got a girl in the family, you know?I wasn’t even 15, I was buzzing at the idea of this person being able to . . be like a big sister to me? I think most girls have that dream of being besties with your brother’s girlfriend, them treating you like you’re older than you are and treating you like a friend rather than a kid.”

It cut to a clip of you curling Rosie’s hair, then another taking pictures of her at the front door, and another of you laughing about something on your phone with glasses of rosé. You could say she got that sister dynamic she always wanted.

“ ♪ Feel the rain on your skin! No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in! No one else! No one else can speak the words on your lips!—”

You were driving and she was next to you, belting out the words alongside each other while the sun blazed down, dancing with your arms and hands. She was a friend for life.

“Your brother is being a massive dickhead right now, I’m going to kill him when I see him,” it cut to another of you being able to vent to her, biting your knuckle in the passenger seat as she drove you both in her car, nodding whilst checking her blind spot, “yeah, he’s a prick,” she agreed, not even knowing what wrong he’d done.

“—she’s known me since I was 14, she came into my life when I was at that age you kind of distance yourself from your family, you think you’re more grown up that you are and you’re going through changes and you feel alone - she is exactly what every young girl needs at that time, she was a very . . safe space for me and she’ll always be a safe place for me.”

Few images appeared of you both, a lot when Rosie was just a girl when you tagged along on their family holidays and she somehow managed to get Harry out of his room for you two to bond and mess about, taking pictures and helping her with her hair and makeup to take selfies on your phone that was much cooler than hers - not forgetting the trendy filters at the time.

“Harry is very . . .” Rosie struggled to explain her thought process, “he’s a good boyfriend to sum it up, he is very good to her as she is to him, they’re very settled together, but like . .” she was leaning back in the chair, playing with her ponytail in thought, considering she didn’t know a lot of sides of her brother, she could only base her knowledge on her experience around them, and him at certain points in his life, “I think if you knew Harry before y/n . . and when they weren’t together, you wouldn’t expect him to be the boyfriend type? Not in that sense, but like, my brother is so laid back and careless about . . a lot of things, including people.”

It cut to him walking around the kitchen, eating something from his hand as her voice played over, “he’s a dickhead a lot of the time. He can’t do dating. He can’t do high maintenance, granted - he does if y/n requires it,” she giggled, “but he hates people, hates socialisation and meeting new people, he can’t do it,” she almost laughed, not painting her brother the best, “he doesn’t care about stuff like that, he doesn’t have an opinion on marriage, he doesn’t care to have kids ‘til he’s like 40. I think he can be viewed as a very selfish person which I do get, like he wants to live his life and that’s it, which is why I think if you didn’t see him with y/n you would think . . he’d be awful to a girlfriend? Very self-absorbed, not very attentive . . doesn’t care what she gets up to . . . really only cares about himself, like, wouldn’t take a great lot of pride in an other half, like they’d kind of just be someone for him to have when he comes home like . . a convenience I guess?”

Him walking around his kitchen panned out to him approaching you by the island, looking down at the recipe you and his mum were going to make, he appeared behind you, violating your personal space, head almost in your neck as he peered down, still chewing on whatever, and your hand subconsciously slipped into his to take a bit of whatever he was eating as you both observed the page below you, chewing obnoxiously.

“But he worships her. He is a very different person when he’s not with her.”

“—What are you doing you donny?! ‘Av just - what you doin’!!!”

“What?!!!”

“Stop!!!” He pushed you away from the sink.

“I’m putting it in the sink!!!”

“No!! Don’t!!!”

“They are . . a very secure couple.”

It cut to you both standing amongst your friend group, standing the same, swaying side to side, and then smirking at the comment made by a friend before looking at each other knowingly.

“They just make it work.”

You both sat on the sofa, one at each end, your legs over him, his hand massaging your socked foot, your eyes glued to the movie on the TV while his stuck to his phone he had propped up on the arm of the chair to watch the football game. “Effortlessly.”

And then it was Harry in the chair, that look on his face that showed he was not nervous or angry to be doing this bit but . . had been putting it off. “So how did it start?”

He slowly broke out into a smile, eyes closing at the famous question.

The date ran back to 2014, footage showing the old school building and other places around Guernsey you could always be caught at growing up. “Basically we knew each other from school . . that’s where we knew of each other, nothing major. We didn’t speak or anything, just had classes or whatever . .” he sat with his fingers hooked, head low in thought as he sat with his legs spread, trying to think, “she didn’t even like me, she’ll tell you.”

Photos and videos of Harry in his school uniform appeared, of him in class and with friends and of course, that god-annoying video of him trying to be funny by running headfirst at a wall in a changing room. “I was an annoying kid. I was as I am today, probably worse,” he evidently cringed. “Y/n hated school as it was, all her friends left, she didn’t enjoy it very much, she was pretty . . Wednesday Adams coded,” he laughed taking the piss out of you and your heartless youth, “didn’t give a fuck if the person sat beside her in maths died, y’know—”

A pair of socks hit him as he shielded himself with his arms, laughing at your attack and scolding, “now take that back! That’s not true!—”

Photos of you appeared on the screen, taken by old friends who helped get you through the rest of school at the time, sat in class with always a nonchalant judgmental look on your face, an expressionless one in your shirt and tie or one of you sticking your middle fingers up by the front desk as your teacher had their back turnt, taking wayyy too long to find their glasses to read your paper. You were as pretty back then as you were now, having the flex of not having horrifically ugly photos from school, you’d always had your bold features and a natural face, hair always in a messy ponytail. Anyone who saw you knew you wouldn't have been the popular it girl at school, but you were unofficially crowned the prettiest girl in the school by everybody, you were just too . . scary to be the obvious highschool crush . . and as effeminate as her, I guess.

“So we did know of each other beforehand, never interacted though—”

“Did you fancy her?”

Harry dramatically sighed and groaned, rolling his eyes as he fell back in his chair, feeling like the piss was being taken out of him but he didn’t say no to the question. It cut to him sitting up and whispering after you’d gone, rushing a little, “i feel like everyone had this unspoken crush on y/n but we never acted on it ‘cause she had this weird vibe she didn’t give a shit about you, so . .” he quickly explained, “not that you’d tell her that ‘cause she could do without the ego boost, y’know?”

He explained how it basically started over a text he’d sent, not even officially shooting his shot but something that required you to come to his house after you’d spotted each other in a shop a year after you’d both left school. “I saw her when I was out with my mum . . and I think I text her on Instagram or Facebook for something — ‘cause I’d never text her on my own accord, I wasn’t that ballsy,” he cringed again, explaining smoothly, “was I what? Seventeen? NO! Wait! Y/n, weren't I 17?” He asked off camera.

“—16? Think we were 17 that year, no?”

“16?” He questioned, leaning back in his chair. “Fucking hell, was I 16?” He began to laugh, waiting for the crew to work it out, which was right, he wasn’t 17 until that November. “Fuck me, any wonder my mates thought I was a fuckin’ weirdo.”

Jeez.

“Anyway, shoppin’ – we got to talk for a bit and then . . I dunno, we just bumped into each other after that, we always saw each other on nights out and then . . I dunno, I somehow did get the balls to–to ask her to go out with me,” he looked oddly at the camera, “something like that, there’s no proper timeline, it just . . just felt like it happened. It did just happen,” he licked his lip in thought, “one minute she was this girl from school who hated everyone and definitely hated me . . and the next I–I was sat across from her at dinner and going to festivals over the summer and,” he scratched his nose, “ . . . and now I can’t get fucking rid of her!” he threw himself into the sofa in a fake cry, covering his eyes in a distressed manner.

Clips appeared, captured by friends and camera crew, of you both in your unusual couple state of hidden moments of affection and intimacy, like Faith who’d zoomed in on you both talking to each other in your tipsy manners, dressed elegantly for Vik’s wedding, Harry’s hand pulling you into him and not so discreetly dropping to your ass, his evidently drunk smile on his face, eyes creasing as you both snickered together over something funny — not forgetting the caption ‘GET OFF MY WIFE!!!!!!’

Another was a video from your snap memories, the pair of you in bed, Harry’s head under your arm while the other curled under his neck, cradling him at your chest with your thumb stroking downwards from his cheekbone while he, was evidently, rough from his night out, but clearly not suffering too bad with your touch.

And another was from Freezy when it was 2:00AM in Ibiza one year, and an 18-year-old Harry carried you up 5 flights of stairs bridal style in your bikini, after you’d conked out at an after-after-party.

“Most people at that age don’t really want a relationship but . .” he shrugged, “i did. With her.”

A snapchat of you both at 16, running down the paths of Guernsey to his house at 12:00AM in the dark featured, the camera flying around you could hardly hear anything, just laughing ‘cause you were partly scared, and he made it worse by screaming behind you to scare you, which did, ‘cause you screamed back.

And then another of you in his room at his first house, baby faces talking to the camera in his bed, the caption saying something about getting him to watch love island with you.

“—he surprised me, getting into a relationship that young and I did have my doubts . . you know, he’s your average lad, he’s young and he’s making more money than . . anyone at that age for a start,” his dad laughed from his seat, “but . . you know, these boys trips, parties, moving to a different city — they never changed his mind. He’s never been — I don’t even think he had a—a celebrity crush or . . .”

Videos from Christmas of you all sitting at the kitchen table at night, sipping over glasses of Bailey’s and munching on crisps and pretzels with a board game played on the screen. You and Harry were in partnership, and you were tucked right into his side, chewing on your crisps whilst you both drunkly observed the cards in your hands, and then you moved to the left to show his Nan, who hadn’t been playing the game but was helping you out more than Josh and his dad agreed with.

And then the next was another video in the club, quite a suffocating club you could remember, and in the world of the prettiest of girls with their killer bodies, dazzling wardrobes and sexy dance moves they were currently showing off - you were being filmed with your dweeb boyfriend and his chicken-neck dance moves with sunglasses on, your friends laughs, but you too, in your sexy little two piece were mimicking his dance moves, smiling idiotically at each other like you were the only two in the club, ignorant to everyone around you trying to intervene.

“Did you ever think you’d last this long?”

And then it was your turn.

You sat on the sofa, smiling at the lens and thought about your answer.

First, you had to introduce yourself in his story.

“I’ve been with Harry for almost 10 years, we went to the same school although I didn’t like him as much as I would have, had I got to know him . .”

“—perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover,” the camera zoomed out on you to fling to Harry interrupting, waving his finger at you.

“—well no because you were still really annoying,” you looked at him, fighting to roll your eyes. “We didn’t start going out until we’d left, I was seventeen? I think?”

My girl played over old pictures of a 16-year-old you, your old instagram selfies and school pics taken just before Harry entered your life - before London took over your feed and your social life went from 0 to 100.

The clip cut to you in your house, standing with Harry in the living room with your mum around the corner in the kitchen. Two suitcases lay on the floor, open and overflowing with clothes that needed sorting, trying to sacrifice what was coming home with you and what was staying.

“I’m getting flashbacks,” the woman started, circling the mess on her floor.

You snickered a little, knowing what she was getting at, and found it the perfect subject to focus on whilst the film crew were in your home. “What was that like, like did you not want to kill me.”

“Kill you?! I could’ve trailed you around this whole island and broke my frying pan across you head when you told me!”

Harry secretly laughed too, sharing a glance with you leaning on the fireplace. “I—to be fair, I’d have killed me too.”

“You didn’t get it at the time and you said you knew where I was coming from but you’ll never get where i’m coming from ‘til one day your teenage daughter tells you she’s moving to London —LONDON— with her boyfriend –BOYFRIEND OF BLOODY FIVE MONTHS!—”

“—six months.”

“–shut up,” she threw a t-shirt carelessly behind her to hit the boy, “either way, don’t come crying to me when your child pulls a stunt like that, goodness sake. The balls you had to tell me, not even ask, to tell me—”

You laughed at her, and she laughed too telling the story, but you knew at the time she did probably want to kill you all jokes aside. Call it your biggest rebellion move but hey . . it paid off.

“Were you just scared for me?”

“Of course I was scared but . . I was more scared you were,” she let out a huff, folding a pair of jeans, “diving head first, it was so fast. What if you were dropped sooner than expected and . . I don’t know. You just think of these things when your parent, you always assume the worst! I love you Harry but I had to be prepared incase you broke up with her and I had to fly over and beat you up for making a fool of her and embarrassing her like that!”

“— ♪ heartbreak is one thing, my ego’s another, I beg you don’t embarrass me, motherfucker,” you danced in the kitchen to the song, hand gripping your boy’s arm while the other hung around his neck, waving your finger warningly and poking his chest like there was some truth in the lyrics.

You sister stood in the back too, half-smirking at the discreet telling off you were giving although it seemed like a cutesy little joke.

No, there was truth in the lyrics.

“I wanted to kill you because you aren’t usually that stupid and thick, but you thought this was the brightest idea ever and your little plan sounded clever . . . you didn’t think ahead or take in any ‘what-ifs’, your mind was made up already! No point in arguing with you, you were going whether I said yes or no,” she ranted. “Can’t keep you apart for five minutes!”

“Did you think you’d ever last this long?”

You swayed on your chair, facing the lens in your face and made a face, “. . not at all, no.”

Videos of your first apartment in London began to play and it brought all the nostalgic feels: regular videos of you and Harry appearing in the back of Freezy’s recording or you giving a haul of clothes in your first bedroom; videos that Lux had taken of you passed out on the sofa by 9:00PM after a night out made you laugh but it was the view of the city lit up that stole the show. “Since I was young, I used to hate people my age getting into relationships because I knew it was a waste of time and they got really dramatic about it. When they were together barely a year and acting like a married couple it used to bore me. How do you not realise you are both 17 and are not going to end up together? It just doesn’t work, it’s a normal thing like you’re still so immature at that age and you shouldn’t really settle — so I didn’t count myself any different,” you explained. “I knew I loved Harry and I really did want it to last a long time but mentally I did give it a year in my head ‘til he fucked off and left me for someone else,” you shrugged, “th—that’s just how I thought, I knew he had money, he was young, he was good-looking and girls really fucking fancied him - I wouldn’t have blamed him for tapping out I mean yeah, I would have been heartbroken and I’d probably hate him but as well like, I was being honest with myself, I was 17, I knew it wasn’t that deep. I knew he might not be the one for me.”

Harry playing with Herb took the screen and you sat in the back, watching the dog get hyper, wagging his tail and scraping the floor with his nails.

“Especially with the friend group, like, they used to joke and say he was getting girls and all that in front of me to wind me up but deep down I genuinely expected something to come from them. I think 8 months into dating Harry it must have been like . . . Ayia Napa or Ibiza? He was on a proper lad’s holiday, and I had like, fully accepted my fate. He was going to cheat on me, he was going to break it off - I was fully prepared – I was ready. I was like ‘this is where it ends ‘cause if he’s going to cheat on me, it’s going to be on that holiday, in Ayia Napa, surrounded by his mates who will be egging him on—’”

“Are you home my darlin’?!” keys slid across the counter as Harry kicked the door closed, making eye-contact with the camera in their kitchen and immediately cringed, regretting the pet name.

“—yep! I’m in the room!”

“But he was the one,” you sighed dreamily, visibly warmed, but you did bang your head on the wall, leaning too far back and grabbed your head.

“Ok, see you later, love you.”

“See ya.”

“Love you.”

You continued to the door.

“LOVE YOU!”

“See you later?!”

“LOVE YOU!!!”

You opened the door and proceeded to close it, biting your tongue as you heard a thump of footsteps before Harry’s head poked out from the living room and look at you like you’d grown 20 heads. “Did you not hear me?!”

“What?!” You played dumb.

“I’VE SAID ‘LOVE YOU’ ABOUT 80 FUCKING TIMES!”

“Love you?!” You said back passive-aggressively, trying not to break, and it was even harder when his face fell and formed into a genuine offended and slightly irritated look.

“Are you fucking serious?”

You laughed then, not able to to stay serious as he walked over in his socks and messy hair, phone in hand, you had to lean on the door frame as you cackled. This was exactly how you expected him to go. “I’m joking!” you walked back to him.

“Are you?!” He sassed.

“Yes!” you chuckled, wrapping an arm around his neck, “I heard you, I was just doing it for the cameras,” you laughed, pointing to the one filming you in the hallway, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry,i love you,” you kissed him and his bitchy face, “i’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, just as well,” he grumbled.

“I’ve known Harry since he was a literal kid, bro. Just before he turned 18, we were hanging out, agreed to be roommates, ready to be his brother over in London town,” Calfreezy crossed his leg over the other in the sitting room of the apartment, fingers crossed in concentration, “I brought that guy to his first big nightclub, lads holiday, showed him all the big boy places he could spend his money – y/n if you’re watching, i am not to blame for his gambling habits,” he ruled out, “and he loves it man, it’s Harry bro, he loves a night out and a drink and a good time with friends — but my guy has no interest in girls. Not one inkling and I know it sounds silly ‘cause he’s been cuffed since forever but genuinely like — any other guy that age with that kinda money and attention from girls — he just had this thing – he’s — I mean he doesn’t fucking like anybody! Let us not forget! He doesn’t like people to begin with but . . I think as a longtime friend of his, I’ve seen him go through a lot of phases but the loyalty and . . I think the pure dedication and commitment — I mean this guy - the guy would almost make you think he’s disgusted in women who isn’t his mrs, you know?” he actually laughed, “and he’s always been like that. Any other guy would more than likely give that up and go through girls like a fuckin’ . . pack of cigs. We used to think he was a right twat like we wanted to shake him, he was like a 16-year-old acting like he was married, we were like be young bro! Enjoy life!! We just didn’t want him settling for the first one - no disrespect to y/n but at this time, we y’know, we didn’t know how great she was, we just assumed she was gonna take him from us, deprive us of a fun time with our boy. But I think he always knew it was special . . I think he just knew he found a best friend in it and would never, y’know, dick it up, so big up him for not listening to us.”

Videos of you three in the apartment played, laughing over something in the kitchen, hitting them on the arm. “I have seen the many different versions of that guy but he’s himself most when they’re together. He’s very chilled,” he noted. “I love y/n. I know exactly why Harry’s with her and why it’s worked for so long. She’s a part of our friend group, she’s good with the boys. She has a very loveable soul and they stay the best match I’ve ever encountered.”

Right Here played over a combination of funny snaps of you and the group, the funniest drunk memories caught between you both in clubs, on holiday, random streets of towns being the most unwise pairing, a right pair of dickheads. Falling off chairs, spilling drinks, dancing weirdly or running and swinging from things - there was no time for a backstory to all of them, but the clips alone were enough for viewers to rewind and replay, wishing they could be apart of your friendgroups.

“I’ve never seen two people so suited. It’s disgusting, man,” he finished.

“Don’t freak out . . but we have to get our bloods done next Thursday.”

“NO.”

“Yeah.”

“NO Y/N.”

“Harry, yeah, we have to—”

“NOOOOO—” his fingers gripped his hair before he shoved his face in a pillow, crumbling up into the sofa with a groan, “no, no y/n, I’m not—”

“Listen,” you held up the letter.

“GET THAT AWAY FROM ME, NO!”

“Harry—”

“I’M NOT GOING! YOU KNOW—”

“It’s just a needle, Harry, it takes 10 seconds—”

“NO!”

Cut to you both in the car on your way, Harry’s head leaning on the window, hand stressfully on his temple, silently hyperventilating in his seat while you were driving with a hand patting his thigh every now and then, holding in laughter whilst steering the wheel. “S’okay, don’t worry about it—”

“Please shut up.”

“Does your partner support your career?”

Harry pulled a confused face, itching his ankle in the chair. “Eh?”

“Right, bye, love you,” you kissed cheeks at the drop-off, watching him hop out for the building before indicating back onto the road, singing to yourself, “back home I go, lonely two hours ahead.”

“Oh man, she’s like . . it’s not even in question, obviously she does. It’s something I’ve taken for granted and still probably do at times,” he scratched his beard. “She just took to it as I sort of expected her to and . . yeah. I mean I-I don’t think my ‘lifestyle’” he air-quoted “involves much adaptation I mean, I’m not a fucking footballer, I’m not gone every day, left her with three kids to deal with, embarrass her with cheating rumours in a paper every week, y’know–” he grinned playfully, picking at the armrest, “but I-I understand it’s still not normal. These last couple years more than ever, I see it more as the channel grows and evolves into bigger things: it’s not just filming once a week on a fuckin’ – football pitch or at home in your bedroom anymore, we’re doing what we been doing: big videos, all the side channels, SidePlus now, products and just– fuckin’ everything – it’s a lot. I am gone more but I–I like to think I’ve done pretty well at – working things around us, though. No-one will understand that but trust–trust me! Arguments have been had! I have refused point blank at times ‘cause I’ve felt like I haven’t seen my mrs!” He awkwardly laughed, waving his finger. He felt like he didn’t see his front door sometimes, let alone his girl.

“Do you really want to bring that?” You screwed your face up slightly at a shirt in your hand he was just not going to wear - you knew he wasn’t, and as he stood in front of you, glancing between you both, he realised too because his smile began to grow, inching closer. You threw it in the case anyway with an eye roll, keeping him happy.

“Does it ever get in the way?”

He scratched his chin again, shaking his head, “nah, not that I can think of. We’ve never had an argument over it, I don’t think – which I think just proves her support and . . understanding. I mean I know it’s time consuming, it bores me at times so God knows how she really feels!”

“Has anything ever got in the way of you two?”

Harry’s expression slowly faltered and he paused, glancing to the camera tight-lipped, he visibly bit his tongue in his mouth as music faded.

Silence, and then a black cut.

A mix of old clips, snapchats, videos and vlogs that had since then been deleted began to play, all of which highlighting the bits that may have been small and unnoticeable, actually were part of a bigger, ongoing problem.

The first was a clip from Freezy’s deleted vlog, you and Harry both sat in the booth opposite him but a foot apart, drinks flowing at a bar in the airport, the boys already tipsy, but you’d been too focused on your phone while Cal was egging your man on with some joke. Cal said something, and anyone watching knew he shouldn’t have said it, because the way Harry’s eyes shot to the left to look at you from his seat, yours shot right to look at him, and silent stare down filled the air before Freezy’s laughter cut in. It was the kind of joke you didn’t make around your mrs, but there was more to it that only you and Harry knew about, and anyone watching could tell there was a warning in your eyes.

‘That why you didn’t want me helping with your suitcase’ you’d started a ‘petty’ argument with him just before your flight, your fault that already put a downer on the trip.

You remembered the comments bashed you for that one 10 second clip, how you were a ‘classic woman’, a bitch-faced spoilsport for leaving the table and unable to take a joke — not that it bothered you.

Another was a snap from one for the boys accounts, videoing Harry so far gone, he was unrecognizable with how outward he was being - the center of attention, sunglasses on, ‘dancing’ obnoxiously but it had the group in hysterics, accidentally knocking glasses down and bumping into people just asking for a fight. Joe had recorded your reaction which was funniest of all, standing there clearly not pleased, not enjoying yourself, arms folded with an untouched drink, you forced a smile so you didn’t get slaughtered again online.

You were pretty sure you tried to take Harry to A&E that night because he’d completely fucked up his face with his antics, scared he’d hit his head a certain way, you remembered the blood everywhere, you’d spent ages washing it out of his hair the next morning.

But he wouldn’t let you, warning you not to, that it wasn’t an option and you weren’t allowed to take him. You didn’t understand at first but Freezy had tried to reassure him, telling him ‘it’s fine! It’s fine! Just say you were spiked?!’ — and then it made sense – and Harry wished he’d hit his head harder to knock himself out instead of having to deal with you when you dropped his hand and walked off.

That clip was also there, the boys laughing around Harry on the ground while you walked off, again, painting you as the joykill you were.

The rest were taken from youtube videos, any drug-related comment or innuendo made about him or from him montaging for a minute, finishing with your clip on a podcast about your attitude towards it, “i don’t find any of those . . drug joke as funny moments, funny, I really don’t. You won’t catch me laughing.”

“Get them the fuck—” you threw the mini weighing scales out of your kitchen drawer to fish for the scissors, wondering why you hadn’t thrown them out yet. Actually, you did know why: Harry refused to because they were Supreme, and it was a funny gag gift.

Harry currently sat in the armchair clueless as what to say, scratching his head as he debated where to go with it.

He didn’t want to touch on the topic but . . he felt like he kind of owed it to you . .

“Weee . . . did . . break up for a bit.”

“VIK! FUCK OFF!”

“You’re all fucking me off, I’m actually quitting tomorrow – Simon shUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Ay— HARRY! You just fucking broke that throwing it at the wall you fucking moron! Get fucked! Move! You’re not even fucking funny!”

Videos of his rotten attitude montaged, his foul behavior seeming different this time around when viewers would now realise he was being genuine and not just messing about.

“I was a massive knob.”

He shared his memories he’d sent to friends of him ripping any photos of you off the walls and facing photo frames down, done as a laugh. Other clips of him throwing your things in the bin when he was moving apartments, makeup wipes and bottles of tan, saluting a good riddance for the camera when really he’d get all deep in his head when he’d first found them and taken an hour to make a move.

“I literally was insufferable, wasn’t I?” He watched his mum who had joined him, squeezing in beside him.

“Oh yes. Oh Jesus Christ,” she mumbled the more she began to think about it.

“Nobody wanted him near, he was a — a literal monster,” she got to say when he left. “Genuinely. The fights in this house — there’s no arguing in any of my kids, they all get along; don’t get me wrong, they’re brothers and sister, they have their moments, but all in all they’re close. They back each other and they get on. At that time—”

Rosie had the most videos from those years when she’d secretly film her brother being a spoiled little twat who argued with anyone going. It was the funniest thing in the world for them to watch back, seeing his bitchy self start an argument with the dog at that point.

She’d zoom in on his oh-so-punchable face and record him have a hissy fit in his dressing gown with their younger brother, Josh, who turned to shoot a look at Rosie at the time to see if she was witnessing that moment then.

“I was kept out of that whole thing, I never got any details but Harry was open and did say it was more so on his part or he he was a dick or something, which, personally, to me sounds about right if it’s between him and y/n,” she shrugged, not wanting to get into it too much either. “I did have my suspicions but to be honest, i’ve never really wanted to know, and even then, there was no asking anyway or you got blown up in your fuckin’ face,” she made a face at the camera.

“When we broke up, my life genuinely flipped, I was so lost on what to do, I literally did not know where I went from there. I forgot who I was for a moment,” you sat in the chair all cozy. “I think I went through multiple identity crises, became an alcoholic, gave my whole family PTSD and spent a million pound on holidays and holiday insurance,” you listed with your fingers. “I transformed into a different person.”

And then Escapism played, and your photos and videos began to play, your hot pics on one of many vacations and recorded memories from friends capturing you in your single era, singing, dancing, living life up as a freed woman.

“If you look at my socials, you’ll think I look like I’m living my best life - like I escaped a horrendous marriage. My media is the definition of a hot girl summer all year around. I made amazing memories and reconnected with so many friends and saw so many different places together and it was the best time, I did find the light at that time, but . . I’m given more credit that I’m due because I was really not that girl all the time. I was really weak and struggled to adjust to my new normal for a long time. I cried a lot,” the camera panned in on your face for your blunt fact, likely to become a relatable meme, “‘n yeah, I was not as I appeared after those holidays ended, I was sad and I missed him. A lot.”

Your own personal videos began to play, ones from your saves, some from your sister as she had hellaaa videos of you during this time as she’d seen it as the biggest pisstake ever. She was like Rosie, secretly recording you starting arguments but more likely - crying to your mum in the midst of an argument ‘cause you were easily set off.

Most were the ones from home as you’d moved back, and everywhere you went, no matter what you were doing, your aura was negative. Always looking lonely. Dress fittings for your cousin's wedding or sitting at your Nan’s 75th birthday, you could tell you were trying to not dampen the mood but you could tell even surrounded by your loving family members, you were still blue and missing a piece of yourself. When you pointed out you were going through a breakup, it was easy to spot in photos and videos.

The funny ones were when you picked your sister up from school, and she always filmed herself singing your breakup bangers together.

“It was a hard timeframe . . and I didn’t ever think we’d ever get back together. like, if we did, it’d fizzle out quickly after, probably worse. It’s a tricky thing to explain because it didn’t end on bad terms but it did in some ways . . and it wasn’t immediate either but it was . . ? I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It was a little messy and it still doesn’t make sense in some areas but . . we got over it and that’s what matters, but it was a big grey area in my life. It’s like falling out with your best mate. I really had to like, rebrand my life,” you raised your brows at the camera. “But there was no . . bad blood between us. I was angry for reasons but I never ever hated him. I never talked bad about him or the boys in general, my side of the street was kept clean. I still cared about him and worried a lot about him, actually.”

Much happier songs played over memories from when you got back to your London life, enjoying the bottomless brunches on balconies and going on runs with your girls under the bridge, you did show the brighter side to it. “Eventually I did get over it, I guess. Still, I thought about him the odd time but I was done being sad. I think we were broke up like . . almost 2 years or som—”

“–were like a year and a half, not even—”

“Ok, a year and a half,” you rolled your eyes back.

Jamming to more songs in the car, more girls holidays, more clubs, more drinking and more new people. “I think it was good to have that time apart and see what life was like when living it entirely for yourself. A lot of issues can come from getting into a relationship quite young and people often forget who they are but I think it was more just finding that again and taking that leap whilst you have no restrictions or responsibilities, y’know? I had no rent to pay for a bit, was out of work for a while, I took that time to spend money and make memories and be on my own for a bit, just as Harry did. We can laugh about it now . . I think.”

When you’re drunk and soppy, maybe it’s the latter.

It cut to a snapchat of the very blond laid on his sofa, hungover and hanging out his arse, contemplating his life choices with his hand on his head whilst Freezy sat and recorded him from the other sofa, laughing his head off at his mate’s contemplation. “I hate being single, I hate hate HATE it. I fucking hate drinking, i’m not going out again, ever in my fucking life . . . what am I even doing? Why did I do that? You can — please fucking shoot me the next time I suggest that, I want you to kill me before that. Never bring me outdoors again, I’m never leaving this room again.”

“Doesn’t matter what we did in that timeframe apart, I think we’ve filled each other in on every little second we lived apart, there’s no secrets, no bitterness — we know all the girls holidays, lads holidays, the stories just get told naturally.”

“AH! Don’t add that photo!” You squealed, unplugging your phone from the laptop downloading your data.

“How did you guys end up talking again?”

“I used to play this when I was broke up with your brother,” you and Rosie jammed to I’ll Be Thinking Bout You on your way back from the store, dancing like that banger like it was just released.

“We basically got to talking and . . met up. Talked. A lot of talking,” Harry explained with his leg crossed, “it wasn’t like we got straight back together, it was a longgg process. I didn’t even think it would happen, as much as I wanted that to happen — I didn’t actually think it would. I didn’t even think she’d agree to meet up.”

About You played over the scenery of London around the area you and Harry had met up at a little over four years ago, after you, did in fact, hold on and hope that you found your way back in the end. “I realllly didn’t want to go, I was a bundle of ner— I actually— this is funny, because I thought at the time, right, I was just gonna run into him and talk and be very mature and hear him out and then . . go home and get on with life and be normal like it was nothing. I was thinking it was gonna be like a job interview,” you were really laughing at this point, “mate, when I tell you,” you were crying from laughter but also maybe because of the bittersweet memory that pulled at your heart, “I had game face on, ready to be all professional and then — it’s like you’re just sucked back to the beginning like the walls come crumbling down . . I was 17 again. Literally lovestruck. I literally got a kick in the face of these feelings I thought I’d never have again. It was like everything was erased and I was just looking at him like . .”

“♪ And the love kickstarts again,” Harry sang from the kitchen.

Little photos from your rekindling era played next and it was sweet to see. Taken in 2020, just before Lockdown, when you started talking again and going for coffees . . and then it was games and activities . . and then it was games and activities with dinner and drinks — and then you were back to square one.

The photos were mostly selfies of you both in dark places as you were still keeping things on the DL and the thought do your friends or family coming across them was terrifying. “I enjoyed Lockdown given the circumstances, it feels like it was yesterday but I feel like we got back together . . 10 years ago,” he chuckled, “it feels like we were never even apart, we spent Lockdown together and . .” he shrugged, “mate I fuckin’ loved Lockdown,” he chuckled, “it was perfect like -not perfect obviously- but I mean we got to be young again, living at home, no work to do – I know I shouldn’t say it so much but I really did love Lockdown.”

“Our normal came back while the rest of the world was all over the place,” you itched your ankle.

“Right, bend over,” you instructed, holding up a belt from your suitcase, “you know the drill.” He laughed, a clip of you both talking about the competition you had over who could take a whip better on a podcast playing afterward, giving context.

“She keeps you humbled, doesn’t she!” Harry’s Mum called.

He just looked at the camera without needing to say anything.

“I’ve never been so grateful for someone like that, she is very important to him and important to his . . growth? He moved out quite young as you know and we haven't always been there to maybe keep an eye on him, per say, ‘n keep him grounded but she has,” his mum ranted, “I’ve always loved the fact she’s kept a normal life and normal jobs and strived to keep that normality y'know? I admire her for that and her independence because she could have easily dropped and been a . . stay-at-home girlfriend,” she laughed, “he has no hold over her that way and it shows she doesn’t care what what he does and how much he makes, and I think it also subconsciously keeps Harry grounded, y’know, he always thinks twice about things he might do or say. . .”

“Yeah she influences my perspective,” Harry rubbed his eye, not really paying attention, “you can’t impress her with money, you can’t bribe her with anything, she’s–she’s someone I need around, yeah.”

“How do you think things would be if she maybe didn’t get along with your career / lifestyle?”

“Pffft,” Harry let out a breath, scratching behind his ear. “There’s–there’s a funny answer and there is the honest answer.”

It was a simple answer. It was the same one he’d had since before his first big cheque and the same since his latest one. He probably had it before he’d even joined the Sidemen.

“Oh he would.” His mum answered.

“Yes. Definitely,” Rosie agreed. “He’ll pretend he wouldn’t but definitely. Absolutely.”

“I think he’d pretend he wouldn’t but I think he would,” Josh fixed his hair.

Nobody would understand the depths to your relationship, how you’d been there for each other during the highs and lows, as a safety net and shoulder to cry on, stuff that would never hear the light of day on the internet. They’d never hear about getting through those hard days together when a loved one passed or when you were in the most manic meltdown over life in general - you had each other and that was all you needed. You’d sensed that pretty early on, but it showed the most on those long days, whether holding each other during a loved ones funeral or stroking their hair from a hospital bed - which most of the time had always been you lying in the bed, the last time being when your appendix had burst.

You never knew something like that could be life-threatening as it was until it happened to you.

The day before, you’d felt like shit, blaming it on the bug, you felt like you’d had a fever while also shaking with the cold; you felt sick and your stomach was in knots, hurting even when you coughed.

You’d brushed it off and gone to bed with painkillers, only to wake up the next morning in 10 times worse agony. You couldn’t even sit up, your stomach ached like never before, especially on the right side.

You had no clue what was wrong, but Harry remembered how you looked, how you trembled and had sweat dripping down your face, how you were breathless and burning up. He had to trail you to sit and stand from bed. When he watched you almost faint he wasted no time picking you up and driving you to the hospital, not trusting an ambulance to be able to find the house in time.

To cut a long story short, your appendix had burst, and as most know, a burst appendix left untreated can cause infection (like Peritonitis) and cause serious complications, and you can even die.

Your issue was . . you had caught Peritonitis.

It was slightly complicated because you had left it later than ideally and although complications were being dealt with, you were frightened for yourself in the long run - what if you got organ failure? What if your fertility was fucked? What if your life expectancy had 20 years chopped off?

You had surgery and it was all well and good now, but at the time - it was really fucking scary.

You felt out of the loop and confused what was happening. You were terrified, but if there was one person who managed to make your biggest worries sound stupidly minuscule - it was your Harry.

You were in pain days after your surgery and just wanted to cry all the time - you did cry all the time, and the many what if’s just made you stress more.

Harry had said he wanted to punch the doctor for running you through all the precautions and possibilities while you were sobbing tears as it was, but you knew he just had to tell you even if they didn’t all apply to you - he was just going over the depth of your situation and why he’d need to check up on your for the coming weeks after.

Really, it was more worries to fill your head with.

You remembered him saying about internal organs being damaged, organ failure being a thing, life expectancy wouldn’t be impacted, pain and bruising, fertility potentially being impacted if blocked fallopian tubes appear and a bunch of other stuff that just made you want to roll off that hospital bed.

“It’s so sore,” your eyes were painfully heavy from crying and your stomach only hurt more with the subtle jumps you gave between breaths.

You clung to Harry’s arm, wrapped around, cuddling it as he sat next to your bed, also tired, his anxiety just as bad as yours.

He’d never seen you in this state and he absolutely hated it. Your parents were on holiday, your mum not able to come comfort you, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you anyway. His heart broke the entire time and he begged he got the pain instead of you, physically and emotionally. “My head is so sore,” you whined more, hand covered your eyes. That was from the crying.

“I know, darlin’, I know, you need to calm down and just breathe, you’re alright now, you can’t do anymore, we just have to wait and see,” he used his other hand to stroke your head, swiping the hair from your face and soothe your thumping head.

“It’s so sore,” you felt disgusting in your body anyway at the thought of a dirty infection creeping through your system, but the pain in your abdomen was still fresh.

“Y/n, it’s only been a few hours, it is going to be sore,” Harry tried not to seem inattentive, tickling his thumb over your forehead and beginning to stroke your eyebrow. You tried to relax.

He passed you water, hoping it’d help with the headache, and took it back as you cuddled more into his arm, your sad frown not budging.

He didn’t want you to cry, but he didn’t like when you went quiet, either. “Stop thinking.”

“What if my tubes are impacted?”

His heart crushed at your tone, broken and hopeless, like you’d already accepted your fate.

“Y/n, as long as he didn’t say you have 10 days to live, I don’t really give a fuck about the rest.”

You knew Harry had an underlining of anger, whether it was because he was scared or for not going to hospital sooner. He’d told you to go the moment he saw you discolored and you refused, reassuring you’d be fine the next day. You’d always brushed off things like that, refused to phone in sick to work or get something checked out, although in fairness, you usually were always fine the next day or so, this time just had to do you wrong.

You didn’t mean to be annoying, but now you felt like you were putting your future at risk being so careless. “But what if they are . .”

The doctors told you they couldn’t see any issue with any of your organs during check-ups, including your reproductive system, but you always had that fear and what-if moments, although you never went to fully look into it to make sure.

It didn’t matter to Harry anyway, and overtime he effortlessly made you not care either - not in a careless manner but he’d proved to you that even if it was just the two of you forever - you’d be fine with that; that it was appealing anyway.

“You need to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you. I told you as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters. That’s my priority. I’m not leaving you if they had to take away all your toes, your eyes, if you had to be in a wheelchair for fuck sake. I told you if we can’t have them naturally then we’ll adopt but I’m not thinking about that right now, y/n. You should just be focusing on getting better and stop waiting for the worst. You’re just stressing yourself out for no reason.”

He was tough with you and you needed it. You’d be the same with him.

“You’re lucky you didn’t faint and hit your bloody head,” he breathed, replaying you losing your footing in the house and scraping the counter with your hand to try and catch yourself. He didn’t know what he’d do in that situation. He’d probably collapse right after you. “You’re so fucking lucky.”

You could feel your lip wobbling as he spoke to you, realising just how much you worried him.

And how much he loved you.

You squeezed his hand. “You make me sound like an ungrateful cow.”

“You are an ungrateful cow,” he said seriously, but then you felt his lips on your cheek, kissing you affectionately over and over again ‘til you gave a small giggle. You could feel his smile on your face too. “Never scare me again like that, you witch,” he’d said, before continuing.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You wrapped your arm around his head, pulling him as close as the bed allowed you, holding your boy who squeezed you (gently) back. “I love you so much Harry.”

“Not as much as I love you, girl,” he muffled in your hair, kissing you again and again.

“This was me just over a week after my appendix burst,” you held up your phone for the camera focus on, a stunning image of you standing at the stairwell of a club, dressed beautifully for the event in your shimmering short skirt and top, looking like a model posing for a magazine cover with your long crossed legs on display, “–when I nearly died. Well, I didn’t really nearly die but it was serious,” you scrolled through the next couple images, showing the one of you and Harry posing together at the bottom of the staircase, noses an inch apart and smiling wholeheartedly at each other. “Oop, this one’s too lovey dovey,” you said just as he threw himself down next to you on the sofa, throwing an arm over your shoulder, you laughed, “that’s our rule, if it’s too lovey dovey, it doesn’t get posted,” you snorted, leaning into his embrace.

And he’d been with you through recovery, just as he he’d been by your side when you had your wisdom teeth removed, broken your leg, broken your arm, had your kidney removed, gotten spiked, caught covid - he was always there to pick you up. Help you walk if you needed to, help cut your food up, to shower, drive you around or stop you from saying the craziest shit when you were doped up.

He had your back, and you had his, although, in this sense, he seemed to sound the more sensible one, which if you know Harry, is very fucking hard to believe.

Harry sighed in thought as he tried to tiptoe around the previously asked question, bouncing his leg annoyingly high, “i-it’s hard because I know I always sound like I don’t give a fuck about the boys and the channel and I’m overworked and I’m done with making videos – i-i am gratful I’m not gonna get into that but y’know,” great, waffle.

“If we agreed to end it now, I’d have no problem, like, I-I wouldn’t be mad about it. I’m old. I’m ready to, y’know, I’d move back here and think about what I want to do next with my life,” he scruffied his hair, “you can only do it for so long.”

“If you had to choose between the two though—”

“—fuuck sakee,” he groaned.

Why did they want him to be a simp so bad?

“I think . . if I knew . . my lady was getting fed up with my work, and feeling like it was getting in the way of things, or impacting my mood too much, because it does sometimes,” he gave a knowing look to the camera, recalling the many times he came home snarky and cold from a video that didn’t go his way or even filming too long, “I—I would agree to stop, yeah. I would know when to stop.”

You making the bed back home aired the screen, tidying it up and placing belongings on your bedside tables fans would be pointing out in fan account. Harry stood talking with you, discussing something about what he would wear to an upcoming wedding as you put your clean laundry in your drawers.

“Maybe that should be my excuse!” He laughed, the idea shining brightly in his head.

Plating your dinner in the kitchen, pouring a small amount of sauce over it, making it look all neat and presentable while steam was still coming off it had viewers wishing they had you to cook for them everyday.

“At the end of the day, an ideal life for me doesn’t involve work. If I missed it, I would go back to it but on my terms. I want to move out of London, move back to Guernsey. I want to raise my family there. I want to travel any time I want, spend time with my family and friends without a camera in my face all the time. I don’t look forward to coming home to work everyday, the channel doesn’t greet me home every day, it’s not gonna grow old with me and-and have a family with me!”

And more wholesome clips played of Harry’s life with you. Videoed moments at festivals, on vacation, riding jet skis and sleeping on planes together. Partying with friends, cheering him on at charity matches and overdoing every birthday, moments when Harry walked into your bedroom with a cake in one hand and Herb in the other, cards and gift bags on his wrist - purposely singing badly. Mauling a kebab after a night out, laughing at how messy you both are but not caring ‘cause you’re in your own house. Ones of you cracking smiles in hospital, shopping together in town and chilling in your family backyard, waiting on the barbecue. Harry trying to open a bottle of champagne over you on Valentines, shoving the last bit of food in your mouths from going out to dinner, being weird in the living room after sharing two bottles of wine and joining each other on Christmas Day after being with your own families.

“I can’t believe he’s getting married.”

“I know! I’m going to cry seeing them together—” you awed at the idea of Simon and Talia on their big day. You were packing for the airport, making sure you had everything, most importantly, your dress and Harry’s fit. You’d do the same 100 times for Vic and Ellie’s, packing back-ups so you didn’t embarrass them with your underdressed attire if accidents happened.

“Then The Big 123 next,” Harry chuckled, grabbing the jacket you tossed him. “WhO nExT?”

“Tell me about it,” you stuffed your makeup bag inside, “I mean a diamond on my finger wouldn’t hurt,” you bit your tongue to hide your snigger, the camera catching Harry’s amused but tired eye roll.

“No, but it’d hurt my wallet,” he threw your bra at your head.

“Well Boggy, clock’s tickin!”

“And what? You gonna piss off if you don’t get what you want?” He smirked, craning his neck in disbelief at you. You’d never been pushy for a ring but maybe it was all weddings going on you were getting FOMO.

You shrugged playfully, folding a shirt, “look, I know ten other guys who’d already have that rock around my finger.”

“Yeah well, I’ll get you both a rock and tie it to your necks and drop you in the ocean, how’s that sound?” He pranced over the piles of clothes to quickly leave you laughing by yourself in the room, no longer interested in the convo.

The next bit had your journey traveling to Italy to the Minter wedding, reunited with the boys and getting ready for the reception. The ceremony wasn’t filmed but the moments after when music was playing and drinks were flowing and laughs between friends were being shared, had been. Quick shots of you sat on Harry’s lap, dancing with Faith, somehow behind the DJ booth and getting loved up on Harry as he tickled your neck with kisses behind you, fingers interlocked over your shoulder.

. . and then ‘serenading’ him with your 7th glass of prosecco in hand . . . and him reciprocating.

“—♪ LISTEN BABY! AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH! AIN'T NO VALLEY LOW, AIN'T NO RIVER WIIIDE ENOUGH BABY!”

“♪ IF YOU NEED ME, CALL ME! NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE! NO MATTER HOW FAR!”

“–♪ DON'T WORRY BABY!”

“♪ JUST CALL MY NAME, I’LL BE THERE IN A HURRY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY!—”

“—♪ CUS BABY THERE AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH!”

It was entertainment for the guests, friends laughing and family members of the happy couple witnessing the reason for friendships. “—♪ TO KEEP ME FROM GETTING TO YOU, BABY!”

“I do want to get married . . .” Harry shot a look at the camera from the living room sofa, telling the camera he most definitely did not want to get married. “Y/n wants to get married,” he corrected. “I have no issue getting married, it’s nothing to do with assets or fear of commitment or–or any shit like that, it’s the actual wedding part.”

“Tell your son to propose to me already,” you picked at the dinner as it was to be dished, his mum copying you and smiling at the comment.

“Fuck off y/n!” He responded.

“Get a nice holiday booked and do it, love,” she told him casually.

“We’re just back from Italy and Dubai and doing Amaterdam next week! Give me a minute to breathe!”

“Did my best,” she looked at you.

“Where do you see yourself in five years time?”

“Where do I see myself in five year’s time? Hmph.”

The blond thought, trying not to deep it but it was quite a big question.

“I’m not gonna say about the channel being done ‘cause I’ve said that for ages and if we haven’t stopped after 10 years then I don’t know. I can see it slowing down, and I’d be ok with that. I wouldn’t mind doing the odd one every now and again but definitely slowed down with work.” He tried to calculate his age next. “I think I should be married by then . . maybe a kid, maybe.”

You and Harry at Simon and Talia’s wedding stood at the practice dinner, Olive in your arms, laughing away at you and Harry smothering her in attention. Effortlessly making her laugh and hide under your chin with cackles, Harry couldn’t believe a baby this young could be so pleasant. You both looked at her so lovingly and she was so happy being left with you both while Ethan and Faith got to mingle at the bar.

“Kids are so needy though, man,” he rubbed his eye, “mm, five years, yeah maybe one,” he gave in, “new house, maybe married, maybe a kid - I’m saying maybe in case it doesn’t happen. Would I like it to? I mean,” he looked up, shrugging, “not that i’d rush anything but yeah, I’d be happy. I am excited for that stage but I do still enjoy what’s left of my youth . . but I do want a family and I want to grow old with y/n and our kids on a farm . . with chickens and dogs . . and be done with work. If my life is like that in five years, I would not be complaining.”

Harry’s mum put away the dishes after you had washed them, joining your man on the couch after dinner, you threw yourself under his arm as he focused on the match, instinctively pulling you close as you began flicking on your phone. Your natural habitat.

“I’m happy with how things are at the minute though. I moan a lot but I wouldn’t change a thing for now. I’m happy,” he smiled, sending a genuine look to the lens. “Check-in in five years and see where I’m at.”