Archive of Our Own

Louis stood hesitantly at the entrance of the campus gym, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. In front of her was a wooden desk, likely the receptionist’s, and beside it, a glass door leading into the inside of the gym.

“Um, hi?” she greeted the girl behind the desk, who looked a year or two younger than her.

“Hello! Can I help you?” the girl asked with a friendly smile.

“Yeah, I was wondering how to sign up for a membership here?”

“Are you a student?”

“Yes,” Louis nodded.

“Great! All I need is your student ID to activate your membership. Once it's set up, you can just tap your ID on that card reader,” she pointed at the small scanner mounted on the wall next to the glass door, “and you're good to go.”

“Oh, okay. I read that you guys offer group classes?”

“Yes, that’s right! Besides open gym access, we offer group fitness classes. We have different options each day. There’s yoga, spin, HIIT, Zumba, and bodyjam—-it’s a dance class. Classes run at 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. For those, there’s an additional fee—$45 per semester or $10 per month if you prefer a monthly subscription. Are you interested in signing up?”

“Can I try a class first?”

“Of course! Which one are you interested in? We have spin class this evening, Zumba tomorrow morning, and yoga in the evening.”

“Spin class sounds good.”

“Great! Let me sign you up. Can I see your ID card?”

Louis pulled her student ID from her wallet and handed it over. While the receptionist typed on her computer and scanned the card, Louis wandered closer to the glass door, peeking inside the gym. The space was large and well-lit, filled with rows of treadmills and stationary bikes near the entrance. Further inside, the weightlifting area was buzzing with activity—some people were chatting and laughing between sets, while others were focused on their workouts.

A girl was lying on a bench press, gripping the barbell tightly, while a guy stood behind her, watching closely and counting as she lifted the heavy weight. Louis grimaced at the sight, imagining herself attempting the same thing, except in her version, she was crushed under the barbell. She shuddered at the thought and quickly stepped back toward the desk.

“All set!” The receptionist’s cheerful voice pulled her from her thoughts as she handed Louis back her ID. “If you decide to continue with the group classes after your trial, just come see me to sign up. Since you're joining mid-semester, we’d charge you through your credit card for a semester subscription. Next semester, we can add it to your tuition fee if you prefer. Monthly subscriptions are credit card only.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds good! Hope you have a great time,” the girl said brightly.

Louis nodded, gripping her ID tightly, and took a deep breath before stepping toward the glass door. She tapped her card against the scanner, and a green light flashed before the door slid open.

The moment she stepped inside, she was hit with a blast of cool air from the AC. The sounds of clanking weights, steady footfalls on treadmills, and muffled chatter became clearer. She hesitated for a second, feeling slightly lost. Joining a gym had never been part of her plan, but recent events had pushed her toward this decision.

Glancing up at the large digital clock on the wall, she saw that her spin class wouldn’t start for another ten minutes. With some time to spare, she decided to walk around and get a feel for the place.

She passed by the treadmills first, watching students running at different paces, some with music blasting through their headphones. Further inside, the weightlifting area was busy with people chatting between sets or focusing on their workouts. From a distance, Louis observed a guy effortlessly deadlifting what looked like an ungodly amount of weight. Her gaze dropped to her own arm, barely visible beneath the sleeve of her t-shirt, and she couldn’t help but sigh. Everyone around her seemed to fit right in, looking confident in their athletic wear, while she felt like an outsider.

Shaking off the thought, she made her way toward the spin class studio.

Inside, a few people had already arrived, chatting as they adjusted their bikes. Louis didn’t recognize anyone, so she quietly chose bike number eight near the wall. Unsure of what to do, she watched how the others adjusted their bikes and tried to mimic them.

Louis wasn’t an introvert by any means, but she was naturally shy, not the type to initiate conversations. Unfortunately, people often mistook her quietness for arrogance, leading to bad first impressions.

As she climbed onto the bike, she quickly realized the seat was too high—her feet dangled, barely touching the pedals. She frowned, shifting awkwardly to try and reach it.

“Hiii, people!” A familiar voice rang through the studio, followed by cheers from the others. Louis looked up and spotted Madeline, one of her classmates, grinning as she took the bike next to hers. “Oh, hey, Louis!” Madeline greeted her brightly before noticing her struggle. “Need help?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Louis admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. “I have no idea what the right settings are. Sorry.”

Madeline chuckled and motioned for her to get off the bike.

“No worries. I set it wrong my first time too.” She quickly adjusted the seat and handlebars to match Louis’ height. “There. That should be better.”

Louis climbed back on, testing the new setup. “Thanks.”

Madeline smiled before turning back to her other friends, easily slipping into conversation with them. Louis had shared a few classes with her, but they weren’t exactly close. Madeline ran in more popular circles—sorority girls, athletes, and the type of students who seemed to have college life all figured out. Louis, on the other hand, was just another student. But from the times they interacted with each other, Madeline was nice, not the stereotypical sorority mean girl type.

The instructor entered the room, greeting everyone before pausing to acknowledge Louis as a new face. She gave her a quick rundown of spinning terms and how the class would flow before stepping onto her own bike at the front.

Moments later, the music started, and they began pedaling at a slow, steady pace. Within minutes, Louis’ breath grew short, and she cursed herself for forgetting to bring water when everyone else had theirs.

The pace picked up, the instructor calling out commands to increase the resistance and stand while pedaling, mimicking an uphill climb. Louis swore she was going to die.

By the time the one hour class ended, she was completely out of breath, her legs trembling as she followed along with the cooldown stretches. The dizziness hit her the moment she stepped out of the studio, growing worse with every step. She barely had time to register it before her knees buckled—

Strong arms caught her just in time.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice asked, calm and steady. Louis blinked, her vision blurring. She couldn’t make out the face. “You should sit down.” The person guided her toward the nearest bench. Louis sank onto it, shaking her head to clear the haze. “Here. Drink this.”

A pink water bottle appeared in front of her. She took it with shaky hands and sipped slowly, relief washing over her as the cold water soothed her throat. The dizziness gradually faded.

“Thanks,” Louis rasped, handing back the water bottle. That’s when she noticed it was covered in stickers, some peeling at the edges.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” She nodded weakly. “Probably just dehydrated.”

“Could be. I saw you in spin class. That’s intense.”

Louis chuckled, finally looking up. It was the same girl she had seen earlier in the weightlifting area.

“Not as intense as what you were doing,” Louis remarked, nodding toward the weight section.

The girl smirked. “Checking me out, were you?”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“H, you—oh, hi, Lou! You okay?”

Madeline suddenly appeared in front of them, her expression shifting from surprise to concern.

“Yeah. Just exhausted and forgot to bring water,” Louis admitted.

“Happens to the best of us.” Madeline smiled warmly, reaching out to stroke Louis’ arm in comfort. Louis barely noticed, but the girl beside her did. Her expression darkened, subtle but unmistakable. “Oh! This is Harry, my sister, unfortunately,” Madeline added with a playful roll of her eyes.

Harry rolled hers right back before extending a hand. “Hi, I’m Harry.”

“I’m Louis.”

“I know.” Harry’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “I’ve seen you in her class a few times.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, mirroring Harry’s words from earlier. “Checking me out, were you?” she teased, a grin tugging at her lips.

Harry let out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

“Harry and I are heading to dinner with some friends. Want to come?” Madeline offered, glancing briefly at her sister.

Louis hesitated. “Um, I think I’ll pass. Maybe next time.”

She pushed herself up, but the moment she did, a wave of lightheadedness made her stumble. Harry caught her hand, steadying her without hesitation.

“Take it easy,” she murmured.

Louis exhaled slowly. “I think I just need sleep.”

“Probably a good idea.” Harry’s grip lingered for a second before she let go. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Louis nodded, offering a small, tired smile. “Mmh.”

Madeline gave her arm another reassuring squeeze before heading off with Harry. As they walked away, Louis caught the sound of their bickering, though she couldn’t make out what it was about. She watched them go, a pang of something unidentifiable settling in her chest.

She wished she wasn’t an only child, wished she had someone to rely on like that.

Once she felt stable enough to move, Louis left the gym. The sun had begun to set with hues of orange and pink, making her paused at the top of the stairs, taking in the view.

For the first time in weeks, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

Even if she had just survived the worst breakup of her life.

***

Louis met Alex, her beloved ex, during her first year. Alex was a jumior at the time, a member of the Zeta Alpha Rho fraternity, and the captain of their university’s basketball team. Louis had never been close to boys before, but the moment she saw his hazel eyes at a student mixer, she was hooked. When Alex introduced himself, flashing that easy smile, she was done for.

Call her naive, but Alex broke through her walls effortlessly. Within two months, they were dating. It was a good relationship—healthy, even—except for one thing: Alex rarely showed her off.

If there was a party, he never invited her. In fact, he forbade her from going. He said university boys were pigs, and he’d rather die than watch them drool over her. Louis had thought it was romantic at the time and it was his way of being protective. Then there were his basketball games. Of course, she went to support him, sitting in the bleachers like any devoted girlfriend would, but Alex never let her wear his jersey. Never let her hold a sign. Never gave her a VIP seat like the other players did for their partners. It was fine, Louis told herself. She wasn’t into sports anyway. Watching him from afar and cheering quietly should have been enough.

She had asked him about it once. She asked why he kept their relationship so private. Alex had said he didn’t want to deal with campus gossip, that he hated people watching his every move. Louis accepted it. She always accepted it.

But the thing about being a secret was that you really are a secret. No one knew who she was. No one knew Alex had a girlfriend. Louis had to sit and watch as cheerleaders openly flirted with him, or worse, as he passed by, stopping to chat with girls who touched him in ways that were far from friendly.

Still, Louis loved him. More than anything. So she took what she could get.

And maybe that was the real problem.

Since she had been with Alex from her freshman year up until the end of year—she had no real close friends. She had classmates, sure, but Alex had been her entire world. Her only friend.

So when Louis found out, over break, that Alex had been in a relationship with his long-distance high school sweetheart the entire time they were together—she lost everything.

She lost him.

She lost herself.

She lost the foundation she had built her life on.

And she had no idea how to start over.

***

During the first semester of her sophomore year, Louis let herself go.

She stopped dressing up, stopped caring about how she looked. She ate whatever she wanted—because why the hell not? For years, Alex had told her she was too fat, that she needed to “tone it down.” Now that he was out of her life, she could do as she pleased.

She cried every night.

She barely attended class, her grades slipping so badly that her professors pulled her aside for a concerned talk about her attendance and plummeting scores. She moved through campus like a ghost, an empty shell of the girl she used to be.

And the worst part? Alex seemed fine.

He was in his final year now, and unlike Louis, he had no time to wallow. As much as it hurt to admit, he wasn’t the one who had lost everything.

She was.

Alex had just stepped down from his frat presidency. He’d led the university’s basketball team to a championship win, earning himself an early scout from the Chicago Bulls. And, of course, his sweet, oblivious girlfriend was still by his side, completely unaware of his infidelity.

Alex had everything he wanted.

And Louis?

Louis had an extra twenty pounds and nothing to show for it.

And now, here she was—fourth semester, back on the treadmill, trying to burn it all off while imagining the chocolate cake she’d passed on her way to the gym. She shook her head, forcing the image away. She needed to lose weight, to feel like herself again.

She hadn’t eaten anything except for a bowl of salad that morning. Glancing at the treadmill monitor, she saw she’d already walked three miles. One more to go. She kept her pace steady, even as a wave of dizziness crept in. Shaking her head again, she increased the incline, trying to focus.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

A dull ache stung her stomach—hunger, but she needed to stay in control. 

Keep going. 

Push through. 

Then, suddenly, the ache sharpened, and a splitting pain struck her head, like she’d been hit with something. The room tilted and she started to lose her footing. She yelped, bracing for impact. But before she could fall, a strong arm caught her around the waist, steadying her. One arm held her upright while the other reached out to turn off the treadmill.

Blinking, still dazed, Louis looked up—right into Harry’s frowning face.

Harry’s eyes flicked from her to the treadmill monitor, then back again. “Hey, you okay?” Louis could only blink. “Let’s get you sitting down.” Harry guided her to the nearest bench, lowering her gently. She disappeared for a moment and returned within seconds, holding out a pink water bottle with the cap already off. “Here. Drink.” Louis took it with shaky hands and sipped slowly. “You scared the shit out of me. What happened?”

Louis swallowed. “Um… got kinda dizzy.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled—loudly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh… breakfast?”

“Louis, what the fuck? It’s seven p.m.”

Louis winced. “Um.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, her hands gripping Louis’ thighs as she shook her head. Louis dropped her gaze, feeling embarrassed. Stupid.

“Wait here,” Harry muttered, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze before walking off. Louis sat still, head bowed, wishing she could disappear. Two minutes later, Harry returned, her gym bag slung over one shoulder. “Where’s your bag?”

“In the locker.”

“Anything important in there?” Louis shook her head weakly. “‘Kay, we’ll grab it tomorrow. Come on.”

Harry took her hand, helping her to her feet, steadying her as they made their way toward the exit. Louis was still lightheaded, but her eyes widened as they approached a sleek black Porsche sitting prettily in the parking lot.

Harry then opened the passenger door and helped her inside, even going as far as fastening her seatbelt before shutting the door and circling to the driver’s side.

The ride was quiet, and none of that was uncomfortable even though Harry was visibly upset by the way her hands gripped the steering wheel the entire time. She didn’t turn on the radio, didn’t hum along to a song, didn’t do anything except stare straight ahead, jaw tight.

Louis swallowed. Guilt settled in her stomach like a stone.

She was such a burden. Useless. Even to new friends who owed her nothing. So she turned her face toward the window, watching the city blur past, feeling small and exhausted.

After a few minutes, Harry pulled into the parking lot of a diner not far from campus. Without a word, she shut off the engine, got out, and walked around to Louis’ side. Before Louis could even unbuckle herself, Harry opened the door for her.

They stepped inside, the warm scent of coffee and grease filling the air welcomed them and it made Louis' stomach churned.

She didn’t have a problem with food—she really didn’t. But after barely eating properly since winter break, the heavy smell of grease made her nauseous.

Harry guided her to a booth near the window, gesturing for her to sit. Louis slid in stiffly, keeping her eyes down.

A waitress appeared with menus, but Louis barely glanced at hers.

“What do you want to eat?” Harry asked, scanning the menu.

“Um… salad?” Louis mumbled.

Harry’s gaze flicked up, unimpressed. “I bet you had salad this morning.” Louis kept her eyes on the menu, pretending to be busy. Harry exhaled sharply. “I don’t want to overstep or be an asshole who orders for you, but, Louis, you really need to eat.”

Louis hesitated. “A sandwich is fine.”

Harry gave a small nod, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “Roast beef sandwich for her, and my usual. Thanks,” she said, handing the menu back to the waitress.

As the waitress walked away, Harry leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. Her eyes stayed fixed on Louis, steady and unreadable. Louis shifted under the weight of it, instinctively curling in on herself, as if making herself smaller would make her invisible.

“So,” Harry said, voice soft as she reached for the salt shaker, rolling it between her fingers, “what’s going on with you?”

Louis blinked. “Um… what do you mean?”

Harry kept her eyes on the shaker, turning it absently. “I noticed it, you know.”

“Noticed what?”

Harry exhaled, setting the shaker down with a soft clink. “You showed up at the gym looking like you were one second away from passing out. Then you signed up for every single class.” She met Louis’ gaze. “I know the signs.”

Louis’ stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry sighed, drumming her fingers against the table. “There’s a healthy way to lose weight, you know. Not that you need to.”

Louis let out a sharp, humorless laugh. Then another, bitter and hollow. When she looked up again, Harry was watching her with something that looked too close to pity. It made Louis’ skin itch. She didn’t want to be pitied. She just wanted to disappear.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered, shaking her head, blinking hard so she wouldn’t cry.

Harry wouldn’t understand because Harry was perfect. Her hair was long and thick, always tied up or tucked under a backward cap when she trained, but after a shower, she let it down, the curls tumbling effortlessly. And her body—tall, lean, toned in all the right places, like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. No excessive fat, no flaws. Even her dimples, the way they peeked out when she smiled, felt unfair.

So no, Harry wouldn’t understand.

Harry studied her for a beat, then said, “Maybe I wouldn’t. But talking helps.” Her voice was quiet but certain.

Louis swallowed, staring down at the table. Harry was right. She’d tried everything to get over the breakup—everything except talking. Maybe because she had no one to talk to.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a second. Harry could be a friend. Or maybe this would backfire. Either way, Louis had nothing to lose.

“I broke up with my boyfriend—I mean, my ex,” she finally admitted. The words felt strange on her tongue, foreign and heavy. “And I didn’t have the best coping mechanism. I gained weight, and now everytime I see myself in the mirror, I hate it.” Her voice wavered, but she kept going. “So I signed up for the gym, went to all the classes, walked on the treadmill every day, but nothing changed. So I cut my meals.”

Harry was silent for a moment. Then, she shook her head. “First of all, you're perfect. Second, your ex is an asshole. I just know the breakup wasn’t your fault. And third,” she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, “there’s no instant way to be healthy. Starving yourself isn’t the answer.”

Louis scoffed, more out of habit than anything. “And what, you have all the answers?”

“Maybe not all of them,” Harry admitted, lips twitching. “But I do know how to help.”

Louis frowned. “Help me how?”

Harry smiled widely. “I’ll train you. We’ll do this right. No more skipping meals. I’ll help you figure out how to balance everything properly.”

Louis narrowed her eyes. “You’d do that?”

Harry shrugged like it was obvious. “Sure.”

Something loosened in Louis’ chest, a tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“Thanks, Harry.” She smiled, small but real. “Thanks for not judging me.”

Harry winked just as their food arrived.

The waitress placed the roast beef sandwich in front of Louis and set down a steaming plate of aglio olio with tuna chunks in front of Harry. Without hesitation, Harry dug into her pasta while Louis stared at her sandwich like it might bite first.

“Just eat half,” Harry said between bites. “At least get something in your stomach.”

Louis hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the sandwich, her stomach twisting in protest.

But Harry was watching her. Not in an overbearing way, not pushing, but present. So, Louis picked it up and took a small bite.

Harry grinned, twirling her fork into her pasta. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Louis chewed slowly, nodding. It wasn’t bad at all.

They ate in easy silence, the tension between them settling. The warmth of the diner, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of utensils against plates—it was grounding in a way Louis hadn’t expected.

Halfway through her sandwich, she set it down, nudging the plate away.

Harry arched an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her water, took a sip, and said, “So, tell me about this ex of yours. I need to know who to glare at if I ever see him.”

And just like that, Louis laughed. Genuine. Unguarded.

Maybe life after break up wasn’t going to be bad after all.

***

Louis arrived at the gym the next day feeling both nervous and determined. The soreness from the spinning class yesterday hadn’t entirely faded.

She spotted Harry near the weights section, adjusting the plates on a barbell. Dressed in a black sports bra and high-waisted leggings, her toned arms and sculpted shoulders were on full display. Louis swallowed, suddenly aware of how average she must look in her oversized t-shirt and leggings.

“You came,” Harry said, flashing a dimpled grin as she leaned against the bar. “Wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up.”

Louis huffed, tossing her towel onto a nearby bench. “I said I would.”

Harry chuckled. “Fair enough. Alright, today we’re focusing on the back. It’s one of the quickest muscle groups to show when you train it right. Plus, a strong back helps with posture, metabolism, and overall strength.”

Louis nodded, trying to ignore the way Harry’s voice dipped into something almost hypnotic when she got into trainer mode.

“Let’s start with lat pulldowns,” Harry continued. She adjusted the seat and sat down before pulling down the bar. “Grip it a little wider than shoulder-width. Keep your core tight and pull down to your chest—squeeze your back—then release. Got it?"

She demonstrated the movement so easily and effortlessly and Louis couldn’t help but stare at her back muscle flexed as she pulled down the bar.

"Okay, your turn." Harry said as she got up from the seat, snapping Louis out from her staring.

Louis sat down hesitantly, grabbing the bar and tried her best to do as instructed, but the first rep was shaky and she barely could pull down the bar.

Harry stepped behind her, placing her hands lightly on Louis’ elbows. “Not bad, but engage your lats more. Think about pulling with your back, not just your arms. Feel the squeeze here.” Harry said as she trailed her fingers on her back.

Louis felt a shiver down her spine at the contact. It wasn’t intrusive, just… present. Firm. Grounding. She blamed the sudden warmth in her chest on the fact that, for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t running on an empty stomach.

By the third set, her arms were trembling, but she managed to finish. Harry grinned, nodding in approval. “Nice work. See? You’re stronger than you think.”

Louis wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “If this is just the beginning, I’m scared for what’s next.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re just getting started.”

The workout progressed to seated rows, then single-arm dumbbell rows. Harry guided her through each movement, correcting her form when needed, always staying close enough to offer support but never overwhelming.

During a break between sets, Louis took a sip from her water bottle, stealing a glance at Harry. “So, how come you know so much about this stuff?”

Harry leaned against the weight rack, wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead. “High school. I was on the lacrosse team, and we spent a lot of time in the gym as part of training. I just picked it up from there.”

“Oh, right.” Louis perked up, realization dawning. “You’re on the university team too, aren’t you?”

“Tell me you’ve at least watched one of our games.” Harry squinted her eyes in suspicion.

Louis winced playfully. “Is it bad if I say I’ve never watched lacrosse before?”

Harry let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest as if she’d been personally wounded. “Unbelievable. I am truly offended.”

Louis giggled, pressing a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“I’ll come to your next match,” she promised, still giggling.

Harry’s face lit up, her dimples making an appearance. “Good! First game’s next week. I’ll be looking for you in the crowd.”

Something warm settled in Louis' chest. It had been a while since someone genuinely wanted her around.

“I’ll be there,” she said softly, meaning it.

For a moment, they just sat there, catching their breath in the quiet hum of the gym. Then Harry clapped her hands together, shaking off the silence. “Alright, last exercise. Deadlifts.”

Louis groaned but followed Harry to the barbell setup.

“Form is the key here,” Harry instructed. “Feet hip-width apart, grip the bar outside your knees, and keep your back straight. Hinge at the hips, drive through your heels, and lift.” She demonstrated effortlessly, the bar moving smoothly.

Louis took her place, gripping the bar, but as she lifted, she felt herself wobble. Instantly, Harry stepped behind her, hands lightly brushing her waist to steady her.

“Engage your core,” Harry said as she pressed her hand on her stomach. “I’ve got you.” She murmured softly.

Louis’ breath hitched. The warmth of Harry’s hands, the steady presence at her back—it made something flutter deep in her stomach.

It had to be the meal from earlier. No other explanation made sense.

She exhaled, refocusing, and pulled the bar up in a clean motion. Harry grinned. “That’s it.”

As Louis put down the bar and straightened up, she found Harry still watching her, something unreadable in her eyes.

“See? You’re getting stronger already,” Harry said softly.

Louis smiled, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Maybe this wasn’t just about losing weight. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, she was actually enjoying herself.

***

Louis sat on the bench, her fingers wrapped around a cold soda cup as she watched the crowd filter into the stands. She hadn’t expected this many people. She barely even knew lacrosse was popular on campus, but the students’ energy said otherwise. They were decked out in maroon and white, chatting excitedly, holding up banners—some even had painted faces.

Alex was so full of shit.

She huffed, shaking her head. He’d always said men’s basketball was the only sport that mattered, that everything else was just for the sake of diversity. And yet, here she was, in a packed stadium, waiting for a women’s lacrosse match that seemed to be a big deal.

Louis shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling out of place. She didn’t recognize anyone well enough to join in on conversations, and the few familiar faces she spotted from her classes were already huddled with their friends. A small pang settled in her chest. She had no one.

Taking a slow sip of her soda, she let her gaze drift over the empty field, wallowing in her own loneliness—

Until someone plopped down beside her.

“Hiiii! Hope this seat’s not taken,” a familiar voice chirped.

Louis turned, immediately recognizing Madeline, and before she could respond, Madeline grinned and gestured to the other girl settling in next to her. “I brought company. This is Rebecca,” she pointed at a blonde girl with sharp eyes and a confident smile.

Louis quickly straightened up, offering a small smile. “Hi,” she greeted, shaking hands with Rebecca.

“Harry wasn’t lying when she said you’re gorgeous.” Rebecca said as soon as their hands parted, but then gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth like she’d just blurted out a major secret.

Louis frowned. “What?” Rebecca hesitated, eyes flicking to Madeline before mumbling, she blinked. “Harry said that?”

Madeline snickered. “Harry is a yapper. She yaps all the time. Don’t mind her,” she said. Then, nodding toward Rebecca, she added, “Or her.”

“But she’s right. You are gorgeous,” Rebecca said, without embarrassment this time. “I’d die to have your cheekbones.”

Louis felt warmth creep up her neck, but she smiled. “Thank you.”

The conversation quickly shifted as the trio launched into a discussion about last season’s matches, filling Louis in on everything she’d missed. She listened intently, absorbing their excitement, and that’s when she learned something she really hadn’t expected.

Harry wasn’t just on the team—she was the captain. And not just any captain. The first sophomore to be named captain in twenty years.

The position had always gone to juniors, but Harry had been so remarkable, so undeniably skilled, that the coach had made an exception. And it had paid off. Under Harry’s leadership, the team had broken a five-year losing streak, winning the championship for two consecutive years.

Louis turned her gaze to the field, where the players were beginning to emerge from the tunnel. She spotted Harry instantly, standing tall at the front, her jersey snug against her lean frame, her hair tied back beneath her helmet.

She looked so in her element. Confident. Commanding.

And for reasons Louis didn’t quite understand, she found herself unable to look away.

***

They were back at the gym, and today was chest and shoulder day. Louis could already feel the burn deep in her muscles, but oddly enough, it felt good. It was like proof she was actually doing something right.

Harry stood in front of her, demonstrating the next exercise. “This one’s called the dumbbell chest press,” she explained, effortlessly lifting the weights as she spoke. “It mainly targets your chest muscles, and for women, it helps firm up the breasts and build overall upper body strength.”

Louis nodded along, pretending to focus on the explanation, but her attention kept drifting. Specifically, to Harry’s chest.

Harry’s sports bra—baby blue, snug, and incredibly flattering—hugged her figure just right. Her muscles flexed slightly as she pressed the weights upward, and god, her boobs looked amazing. Perfectly round and firm, like—

The words were out before Louis could stop herself.

“And if I do that, will I get boobs like you?”

Silence.

Then, realization crashed down on her like a dumbbell to the face.

“Shit,” Louis blurted, eyes widening. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

Her entire face burned with embarrassment. She wanted to crawl into the nearest locker and never come out.

Harry, on the other hand, just laughed—soft and amused, like she found it endearing rather than offensive. “No problem,” she said, holding the weights like it was nothing. “Honestly, it’s good for my ego hearing you compliment me.”

Louis huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m literally the last person who should be boosting your ego.”

Harry just shook her head with a small, knowing smile. “Come on,” she said, nudging Louis toward the bench. “Let’s see if we can get you halfway to my level.”

Louis groaned but followed her lead and settled onto the bench, still mortified but trying to shake it off. Harry stood beside her, adjusting the dumbbells to a manageable weight.

“Alright,” Harry said, crouching slightly to meet Louis’ eyes. “Lie back, feet planted firmly on the floor. Keep your wrists straight, elbows at a 90-degree angle when you lower the weights.”

Louis did as she was told, gripping the dumbbells tightly. Her arms trembled slightly as she lowered them, but before she could struggle, Harry placed her hands gently under Louis’ elbows, offering support.

She felt a weird flutter in her stomach. Probably because of the tacos she had for lunch. Definitely because of that.

“Push up, slowly,” Harry instructed, her voice calm and encouraging. “Good. Keep it controlled.”

Louis exhaled, pressing the weights upward. Her muscles burned, but she felt a rush of pride when Harry nodded approvingly.

“Not bad,” Harry said. “Two more.”

Louis gritted her teeth, focusing. But by the third rep, her arms wobbled, and she almost lost control of the weights. Before she could panic, Harry’s hands were there again, steadying her.

“Got you,” Harry murmured, her voice close to Louis’ ear.

Louis swallowed hard. Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the lunch thing.

Somehow, Louis managed to finish the last rep. As soon as she set the weights down, she exhaled in relief, flopping back against the bench.

Harry chuckled. “See? You didn’t die.”

“Barely,” Louis muttered, rubbing her arms. It hurt and burnt at the same time.

Harry tapped her shoulder. “Come on, up. We still have shoulder presses.”

Louis groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.”

The curly girl only smirked. “No, I’m trying to give you great boobs.”

“Oh my god. I knew you wouldn’t let that go.” Louis accused as she couldn’t hide her flushed cheeks.

Harry only laughed, tossing her a water bottle. “Hurry up, princess. We’ve got training to do.”

***

If you had told Louis at the start of the semester that she would be sitting at a table at a wing joint, happily munching on chicken wings with friends, barely sparing a thought for her jerk of an ex, she would’ve laughed in your face. And then cried, telling you how delusional you were.

But it wasn’t a delusion.

It was Thursday night and Louis had been doing nothing in her room when Harry texted, asking if she wanted to come with her and the others to eat chicken wings.

And now, sitting here, surrounded by laughter and easy conversation, Louis was glad she had come. She was happy.

Madeline and Rebecca were deep in discussion about their sorority’s upcoming party, which coincided with Harry’s birthday. They had decided on a Dua Lipa theme since she was a die-hard fan.

Louis half-listened because her attention kept drifting. Across the restaurant, Harry stood at the counter, talking to someone. The girl was tall, blonde, and way too handsy. Every so often, she touched Harry’s arm, toyed with one of her curls, and laughed like Harry had just delivered the funniest joke known to mankind.

Louis frowned. Harry’s funny, but she was not that funny.

“Idiot,” Madeline muttered, scowling.

Louis blinked, snapping back to reality. “Who?”

“Harry.”

Louis followed Madeline’s gaze back to Harry and the girl. They were still laughing. “Oh. Why?”

Madeline huffed. “Because she’s being an idiot.”

Rebecca snorted. “Harry is an idiot. A lovable one, but still.”

Louis turned back to her wings, pretending not to care. “Is that Harry’s girlfriend?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

Rebecca snorted. “Harry doesn’t do relationships.” But then she slapped a hand over her mouth, like she had just let something slip.

“Oh,” Louis said, stirring her soda with her straw. “I mean, I’ve heard about her... activities. Once or twice.”

“You mean how she’s the biggest slut on campus?” Madeline asked, amused.

Louis nearly choked. “Um—”

“Don’t worry, she loves that title,” Madeline assured her. “Says she earned it honestly and proudly.”

“The only one who could rival her was actually Alex,” Rebecca added. “God, Harry and him were literally two sides of the same coin. I still wonder what caused them to drift apart.”

Louis’ stomach dropped. Alex?

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Alex? As in Alex Winters?”

“The one and only.” Rebecca shrugged.

Louis gripped her glass. “What do you mean he and Harry drifted apart? And—what do you mean he rivaled Harry in... sluttiness?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Harry is, like, the biggest player on campus if we’re talking about lesbians. If you want a hookup, you go to Harry Styles. Doesn’t matter if you’re out, closeted, or confused. She’s got you covered.”

Madeline nodded. “And Alex? He was her, but for straight girls. Same reputation, different demographic. And he and Harry were inseparable in high school. Then, poof, they came here and just... stopped being friends.”

Louis felt cold.

Alex was a player.

A famous one.

Louis had been his mistress for years, convinced that she was the only one, that she was his real love while he was in another relationship with his true girlfriend. But now she was learning that not only had she been a secret—she hadn’t even been the only secret.

She should’ve known. The signs had always been there. The way he was constantly on his phone, tilting the screen away from her view. The nights he’d cancel plans last-minute, claiming he had “study sessions.” The unfamiliar perfume lingering on his shirts, which he had always brushed off as “just a friend’s.”

And the worst part? Whenever she questioned him, he had made her feel like the crazy one. Like she was insecure, paranoid, needy.

Louis felt sick.

The restaurant suddenly felt too loud, too crowded. Her chest tightened, her breathing quickened. She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor, and rushed toward the exit.

She barely heard Madeline, Rebecca, or even Harry calling after her. Their voices blurred into static as her mind replayed every moment, every lie, every humiliation.

A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, but another followed. Then another. Then another, until she was full-on sobbing. Her feet kept moving, but she didn’t know where she was going. Her vision blurred, her breath hitched, and her whole body shook.

Her chest ached. It hurt. Everything hurt.

She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

She stumbled over uneven pavement, barely catching herself before she hit the ground—until strong hands gripped her elbow, steadying her.

“Hey,” a familiar voice murmured. “Lou, are you okay?”

Louis looked up, blinking through her tears. Harry’s face was soft with concern, her green eyes searching Louis’ frantically.

Louis shook her head. Then, all at once, the sobs overtook her. And Harry didn’t hesitate. She pulled Louis into her arms, holding her close.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered, one hand caressing Louis’ hair, the other rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles. “Let it out. I got you, baby.”

Louis clung to her, crying harder, her body racked with tremors.

“I got you,” Harry murmured again, softer this time, like a promise.

***

Louis woke up to a dull, throbbing ache in her head, her eyes puffy and heavy from crying the night before. She groaned softly, shifting slightly, only to realize she was warm—too warm. Something solid was pressed against her back, and an arm was draped securely around her waist.

Her body tensed as a wave of panic shot through her.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

She sucked in a breath. Please, tell me I didn’t do something stupid. Please tell me I didn’t crawl into bed with some random person—

Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head.

Harry.

It was Harry.

Relief flooded her system so quickly that she exhaled in one long breath, her body relaxing instantly. Of course, it was Harry. Not that Louis ever did reckless one-night stands, but for a moment there, her sleep-deprived brain had spiraled into a full-blown crisis.

She took in the scene properly now. They were in Harry’s room, not Louis’. She recognized the faint scent of lavender and the soft white sheets, different from her own. The curtains were still drawn, keeping the morning light dim, and the bedside clock read 8:42 AM and thank God she didn’t have morning class.

Harry was curled up behind her, arms clutching onto Louis like a damn koala. Her face was pressed against Louis’ shoulder, soft breaths fanning against her skin. One of her long legs had somehow hooked over Louis’, tangling them together.

Louis swallowed.

She should move.

She really should.

But then Harry murmured something in her sleep, her hold tightening like she knew Louis was thinking about slipping away.

Louis bit her lip, torn between amusement and... something else. Something softer.

Harry was so warm. And comfortable.

Maybe she could stay like this. Just for a little while.

Louis let out a quiet sigh, resigning herself to staying in Harry’s arms for just a bit longer. The warmth was comforting, and after the night she had, she figured she deserved at least this.

And whatever this was—she didn’t know. But she knew she didn’t want to let go.

She stared at the ceiling, her mind still groggy from sleep, slowly piecing together the events of last night. Eating chicken wings, laughing with Harry, Madeline, and Rebecca. Harry got up to go to the bathroom—only to return and stop at the counter, chatting with some random girl. Louis couldn’t explain why that had bothered her so much. She blamed it on her clinginess. She’d never had a close friend before, and Harry had quickly become a significant person in her life. Maybe she was just jealous—jealous that Harry had so many friends, so many people vying for her attention.

And then there was Alex. The full revelation of everything Louis had been too blind to see.

She had been so stupid. A complete idiot. No wonder Alex had played her so easily. She had practically handed him the opportunity on a silver platter. People had gossiped about him sleeping around, but Louis had dismissed it as just that—gossip. And it made sense, didn't it? Alex had insisted on keeping their relationship private, claiming he didn’t want to deal with rumors. So Louis had believed him. She had convinced herself that the whispers were just spiteful, wishful thinking from people who wanted a chance with her boyfriend.

But she should have known better. Gossip, more often than not, was a twisted version of the truth—exaggerated, yes, but always containing a grain of reality.

The thought made her sick. She wanted to slap Alex, to yell at him, to demand why he had strung her along like a fool. But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t.

She had seen him just three months ago, when the wound was still fresh—when she had gained weight and felt like a stranger in her own body. Alex had looked at her, and Louis had frozen, panicked. She had immediately turned around and bolted into the nearest bathroom, hiding until she could breathe again.

That had been humiliating.

Louis swallowed hard and slowly shifted onto her side. The moment she moved, Harry’s grip tightened around her fingers, as if sensing her restlessness even in sleep.

Her gaze landed on Harry’s peaceful face. Her perfect, stupidly pretty face. Even in sleep, she looked effortlessly beautiful—sharp jawline, full lips. And her hair—God, her hair. Long, thick curls that Louis had always admired from afar, never daring to reach out and touch.

Louis absentmindedly ran her fingers through her own hair. It wasn’t as long as Harry’s, but it was the longest she’d ever let it grow—shoulder-length now. She didn’t even like having long hair. But Alex loved it. So for a year, she had never cut it—only trimming the dead ends, keeping it exactly how he liked it.

She felt sick all over again.

Harry was different. Harry made her feel safe. Warm. Comfortable. And sometimes, Harry made her stomach feel... weird.

Louis had never been with girls before. Not that she had much experience with boys either. Alex had been her first everything. But she couldn’t deny that she loved looking at girls. They were pretty. And sometimes, Louis wasn’t sure if she wanted to be them or be with them.

But then there was Rebecca’s voice in her head, reminding her that Harry didn’t do relationships.

And Louis wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to hand over her heart, her body, her soul to someone who only wanted something casual.

Because Harry must be a wonderful lover. She’s attentive, kind, funny, supportive. Someone who just knew how to make you feel good about yourself.

Whoever got to be Harry’s girlfriend one day... God, they’d be so lucky.

A lump formed in Louis’ throat. She had only known Harry for short times, and already, she was getting attached. Clingy. Obsessed with her and the idea of her.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed the way Harry began to stir. There was a soft hum, a slight shift of her body, and then—

Harry let out a deep sigh, her grip tightening around Louis’ waist before she slowly blinked her eyes open. Her lashes fluttered as she adjusted to the morning light, her face still soft with sleep.

Louis froze, her breath catching in her throat. She had been staring—probably too much, for too long—but now Harry was awake, and there was no way to hide the way she had been watching her.

Harry’s lips curled into a lazy smile, her voice still thick with sleep. "Morning, starlight."

Louis felt her heart stutter in her chest. She needed to move away, needed to put space between them before she did something incredibly stupid like trace the freckles scattered across Harry’s nose or tuck a stray curl behind her ear or worse like kiss her.

Instead, she just cleared her throat. "Morning."

Harry stretched her arms above her head, her tank top riding up slightly, exposing more of her toned stomach. Louis forced herself to look away.

"Didn’t expect to wake up to you staring at me so intensely," Harry teased, her smirk widening. "Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

Louis rolled her eyes, feeling the heat creep up her neck. "You were cuddling my body like your life depended on it, actually. I was trying to figure out how to escape."

Harry hummed, unconvinced. "Sure, sure. You looked really eager to run."

Louis huffed, finally sitting up and rubbing her sore eyes. "Why am I here?"

"Because you had a rough night, and I wanted to make sure you were okay." Harry's voice was softer now, more sincere.

Louis bit her lip, trying not to let the warmth of those words settle too deeply into her chest. Harry was kind. And that scared her more than anything.

Harry sat up as well, stretching once more before nudging Louis' shoulder. "Come on, let’s get breakfast. You need to eat.”

Louis sighed, shaking her head but already standing up. "You act like I’m dying."

"You looked like you were last night." Harry gave her a pointed look before grinning. "Now, pancakes or waffles?"

Louis groaned. "Why are you like this?"

"Charming? Funny? Devastatingly attractive?"

Louis shoved her lightly, shaking her head. "Annoying."

Harry laughed, and Louis felt that funny feeling in her stomach again. Maybe she was in trouble.

***

Louis sat on the stool in the kitchen, watching as Harry poured pancake batter onto the pan.

And truthfully, the white tank top she was wearing and mind you, she wore it without a bra no less, was definitely not helping. The flimsy fabric did absolutely nothing to hide the perfect curve of her breasts, and Louis was doing her best not to stare. Or be jealous. Which she definitely wasn’t.

Not to mention, Harry was also wearing the shortest pajama bottoms Louis had ever seen, accentuating her long, toned legs.

Louis was definitely not staring.

She glanced down at herself instead. She was wearing one of Harry’s old black Metallica T-shirts, the print faded and cracked from years of wear. It was far too big, practically swallowing her whole, the neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose her collarbones. And, apparently, she’d decided against wearing pants last night. But considering how the shirt fell mid-thigh, it wasn’t an issue.

Her gaze drifted around the house as she took in the sorority-style décor. It had only hit her this morning, when they stepped out of Harry’s room, that Harry also lived in a sorority house.

Funny thing about stereotypes, Louis had never pictured Harry as the type of girl who’d be into Greek life.

“How come you’re in a sorority?” Louis asked, once again bypassing any sort of brain-to-mouth filter.

Harry laughed as she flipped a pancake. “Joined as a joke at the start of uni, but the girls were nice and fun to be around, so I stayed.”

“And Maddie?”

“Just following in her big sister’s footsteps,” Harry smirked, flipping another pancake.

“Must be nice to have a sister.” Louis toyed with the chocolate syrup bottle, mostly to keep her hands busy.

“Sometimes. But when I was a kid, I wanted to dump her on the street because she was annoying.”

“Oh, really?” Louis giggled.

“Yeah. Always followed me everywhere. Only wanted to play with the stuff I had my hands on.”

“Sounds like she admired you,” Louis mused. “Probably just wanted to be close to her big sister.”

“Now that I have a fully developed frontal lobe, that makes sense,” Harry said with a laugh. “But back then? I hated being followed around.” She finished stacking the pancakes onto a plate and handed it to Louis, who accepted it gratefully. “You don’t have siblings?” Harry asked.

Louis shook her head. “Only child.”

“Well, Grace could be your sister.”

“Grace?” Louis tilted her head.

“Oh—Mads, I meant. I call her Grace sometimes. It’s her middle name.”

“Oh. And you?” Louis said, smiling softly. “You could be my sister too.”

At that, Harry threw her head back and laughed like Louis just told a joke of the century, scrunching her nose. “Eat.”

Louis grinned and cut into her pancakes, taking a bite and immediately moaned. It was so good. Fluffy, warm, sweet but not overly so.

Harry smirked at her reaction but then leaned in slightly, her tone softer when she spoke. “So… want to tell me why you ran away and cried last night?”

Louis froze, her fork hovering mid-air. “Oh. That, um…”

Harry held up a hand. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. I just—” She hesitated, studying Louis carefully. “Just wanted to know what happened. And make sure you’re okay now. Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no, no.” Louis shook her head quickly. “Thank you for asking. And for taking care of me.” She exhaled, idly pushing her food around on the plate. “It’s just…” She trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Harry didn’t press. She simply offered a small, patient smile, waiting. Louis took another breath. “Remember my ex?”

Harry immediately frowned. “The asshole who made you miserable? Yeah, ringing a pretty loud bell in my head. What about him?”

Louis hesitated. “Well, when you were talking to that girl at the counter and looked all cozy—” she said, unable to keep the bite out of her voice, “Maddie called you an idiot.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Gee, thanks, Grace.”

“I didn’t understand why at first,” Louis continued, “but then she and Becs started talking about you and, um… your reputation.”

Harry groaned and rubbed her face. “Fucking hell.”

“I swear, I’m not judging,” Louis said quickly. “If I were you, and as beautiful as you, with that hair, that face, and those boobs—” she gestured vaguely toward Harry’s chest, “I’d be living my best life too.”

Harry snorted, reaching out to squeeze Louis’ hand. “You really think that?”

“That you’re beautiful? Yeah.”

Harry tilted her head, studying her. “No, I mean… that you’re not?” Louis shook her head and Harry scoffed. “Louis, you do realize you’re the most gorgeous person in this campus, right? I could name at least fifty people—boys, girls, non-binaries—who would kill just to be near you.”

Louis chuckled. “You are funnier in the morning.”

Harry smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Louis gulped and continued. “Anyway, while they were talking about you, my ex’s name came up. Apparently, he’s the only one who ever matched your… reputation.” She gave a dry laugh. “Oh, and you two were best friends, apparently.”

Harry blinked. “Huh? Who’s your ex? You never told me his name.”

“Alex.”

Harry visibly recoiled. “Wait—Winters?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “Alex fucking Winters was your ex?”

Louis winced. “Um… yeah.”

Harry was fuming now. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “But, Astra’s with him.”

Louis nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. I found out during the first year break. I went to New York to surprise him for his birthday and, well… turns out he’d had a girlfriend since high school.”

Harry let out a harsh breath. “Fucking hell. That asshole.”

Louis hesitated. “You know his girlfriend?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. We went to the same school. The three of us used to be in the same circle.”

Louis frowned. “What happened? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”

Harry hesitated, then sighed. “I found out he was sleeping around here while he and Astra were long-distance. Confronted him at the start of uni. We fought. I was done with him after that.”

“Did you tell her?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “I wanted to. But I’m not the right person to tell her.”

“Why not?”

Harry hesitated again, then shook her head. “Conflict of interest.” She pointed at Louis’ plate. “You finished?”

Louis knew that was the end of the conversation. She nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Harry took her plate and carried it to the sink, setting it down with a little too much force. She stood there, gripping the edge of the counter, her back to Louis.

And Louis could see it. Could see how upset she was. How tense her shoulders were.

And it hit her all at once.

Harry wasn’t just mad at Alex.

She was mad at her.

Because Louis… Louis had been the other woman in Astra’s relationship. No better than all the other girls Alex had strung along.

Louis swallowed hard. “Harry?” she called softly.

“Yeah?” Harry still didn’t turn around.

Louis bit her lip. “Thanks for the pancakes. And for letting me stay.” She hesitated. “I’ll grab my things and see myself out.”

Harry only nodded and Louis felt like she’d been punched in the chest.

The girl must be thinking the worst of her now. Probably regretting even letting her crash here. Probably already considering ending their friendship before it could really begin.

Because really, who would want to be friends with a mess like her?

Louis got up and quietly walked back upstairs to Harry’s room. She pulled on her jeans and grabbed her sweater, pausing when she reached for the t-shirt she was still wearing.

She decided to keep it.

It was comfortable and it smelled like Harry. And if Harry never spoke to her again, at least she’d still have this.

Louis sighed, grabbed her phone, and made her way downstairs. The kitchen was empty now when she passed it. 

And somehow, as she stepped out of the house and shut the door behind her, her heart cracked in a way it never had before.

Worse than when she found out Alex had a girlfriend.

Worse than when she realized he had cheated on her the whole time.

Because losing Alex had hurt.

But losing Harry—before she even really had her—felt unbearable.

***

It had been a week since Louis' last conversation with Harry. A week of radio silence. She hadn’t even spotted her at the gym, which was practically Harry’s second home. It put her in an absolutely shit mood. And it was not only because she missed her daily dose of Harry’s terrible jokes, but also because she now had to train alone, and she was still utterly clueless about what she was doing.

So instead of struggling with weights and machines, Louis had been attending BodyJam classes. It was basically dance practice, which was much easier on her brain and body. Plus, she loved dancing. And considering today was the first day of her period—complete with cramps that felt like they were actively trying to kill her—she definitely didn’t have the energy for anything.

Still, even in her favorite class, she couldn’t focus.

Her professor was explaining something at the front of the lecture hall, but Louis was only half-listening.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. The second class was dismissed, she bolted to the restroom to change her pad before heading straight to the nearest café. She’d been craving something sweet since yesterday, and at this point, she deserved a chocolate frappe.

Louis shuffled into the café, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. The line was short, but standing still made her more aware of the dull throb in her lower stomach and the faint headache creeping in.

When it was her turn, she ordered quickly and tapped her card to pay before moving to the next counter to wait for her drink.

She sighed and rested her head against the cool surface, just for a moment. One more class, and then she could finally go back to her dorm and curl up in bed with a heating pad.

“Chocolate frappe for Louis,” the barista called.

Dragging herself upright, Louis grabbed her drink, turned around—

And nearly crashed straight into him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Alex.”

There he was. The last person she wanted to see. Looking infuriatingly good and flashing her the same charming smile that used to make her stomach flip.

“Hey, Lou,” he said casually, like he wasn’t the worst fucking mistake of her life. “Bad day?”

Louis blinked, still thrown off by his sudden appearance. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward the drink in her hand. “Chocolate frappe. You always order that when you’re having a bad day.”

She glanced at her drink, frowning slightly. “Oh. You remember?”

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head. “I loved you, you know.”

Louis saw red.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.” Her grip tightened around her cup. “You lied to me. Made a fool of me. Played me like I was some fucking side quest in your perfect little double life.”

Alex’s face softened, his hazel eyes taking on that puppy dog look she used to fall for. “I really am sorry, Lou. I mean it. I was going to leave her, I swear. I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t know how. And then I met you, and I—fuck, Lou, you made me happiest.”

Louis let out a cold laugh. “Oh yeah? And what about the other girls? Did they make you happy too?” Alex flinched. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Louis rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice to something sharp and biting. “You’re a fucking terrible person, Alex Winters. I don’t know why I ever loved you in the first place.”

And with that, she shouldered past him—deliberately knocking into him hard enough to make him stumble.

She smirked to herself and silently thanked Harry for training her right so she could do that to her sad excuse of ex.

The triumph lasted only a moment before her mood soured again.

Harry.

Where was she? Why had she disappeared? Did she really think less of Louis now?

Louis clenched her jaw and took a long sip of her frappe, deciding she didn’t care.

Fuck Harry.

Fuck Alex.

Fuck everyone.

It was just her and her chocolate frappe against the world now.

***

Her stomach was still in pain due to her period, and today was the third day and Louis didn’t know when the pain would subside. But, she had enough of wallowing inside her dorms, recalling every conversation she had with Harry in her kitchen that would warrant this kind of silent treatment. Louis could always ask Madeline, but her pride was getting the best of her.

Louis sighed as she reached the gym entrance door, and sighed even louder as she stepped inside.

“Morning, Louis.” Chrys, the nice receptionist who was also a student in their university, greeted her with a bright smile. “Surprise to see you this early.”

“Yeah, my class today is cancelled. The professor has a seminar in another city.”

“Ah. Well, hope you have a good day.”

Louis smiled softly at her. “Thank you, babe. You too.”

Chrys waved her hand before Louis entered the training area through the glass door. It was only 9 in the morning, and not many students were filling out the gym.

Louis went to the locker to drop her bag. She stared at the 204 locker number which was Harry's favorite locker and sighed. She grabbed her baby blue tumbler and locked her locker and walked outside to the free weight area.

She decided to ditch the weight training altogether and headed straight for the dance studio. Her body was already sore from the past few days, and honestly, she just wanted to move in a way that felt natural.

The studio was mostly empty, except for four other students who had also shown up for the early class. The instructor, a lively woman named Jenna, greeted them with an easy smile before starting the warm-up.

For the next hour, Louis lost herself in the music. The choreography wasn’t too complex—just enough to make her sweat, just enough to feel the burn in her muscles. She had always loved dancing. It was one of the few things that made her feel entirely in control of her body, like every movement had a purpose.

By the time class ended, her breathing was heavy, and her shirt clung to her skin. She wiped the sweat from her brow as the other students bid their goodbyes.

“See you next time, Louis!” one of them called.

“Yeah, see you,” Louis replied with a small wave, before turning toward the exit.

And then she saw her.

Harry.

And she was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, watching her.

Louis’ breath caught in her throat. Harry looked good. Too good. Dressed in a white shirt with the two top buttons unbuttoned and dark jeans, her hair pushed back with a headband, eyes sharp and unreadable.

How long had she been standing there?

Louis swallowed, gripping her water bottle a little tighter. “What are you doing here?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer until there was barely a foot between them.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Harry said, voice low. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Louis lifted her chin. “Well, I am.”

A beat of silence. Harry’s gaze flickered over her face, something unreadable in her expression.

“You looked good in there.”

It was a simple statement, but it made something hot coil in Louis’ stomach. She refused to let it show.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing past Harry and walking toward the locker room.

She didn’t look back. But she could feel Harry’s eyes on her the entire way.

"Louis." She stopped mid-step, turning to find Harry striding toward her with purpose. She crossed her arms and waited, watching as the curly-haired girl came to a stop in front of her. "Here." Harry held out a black envelope.

Louis glanced at it before taking it cautiously. "What’s this?"

"A birthday invitation." Louis furrowed her brows. "My birthday invitation," Harry clarified.

Louis stared at her, expression unreadable, then opened the envelope. A near chuckle slipped out when she saw the invitation inside—glittery and obnoxiously flashy.

"It was Becs' idea," Harry muttered, as if reading her mind. "The glitter."

"It's... nice," Louis said, skimming over the details. The party was next week at the Kappa Theta house, and the dress code was Dua Lipa theme. She snorted. "Thanks." She tucked the card back into the envelope. "But why am I invited?"

Harry shifted on her feet. "Because you're my—" She cleared her throat. "You're my friend."

Louis arched an unimpressed brow. "Am I?"

"Of course."

Louis let out a humorless laugh. "Good to know you treat your friends like crap." Before Harry could react, Louis shoved the envelope against her chest. Harry instinctively caught both it and Louis' hand, and Louis definitely didn't notice how large her hands were or how warm her touch felt. She really didn't. "Thanks for the invite," Louis said coolly, pulling her hand away. "But I don’t think I’ll come. Have a nice birthday, Harry."

She turned on her heel and walked straight to the locker room, ignoring the heavy weight settling in her chest.

Louis exhaled sharply as she yanked open her locker, shoving her things inside with more force than necessary. She had planned to take a shower here, maybe grab breakfast at her favorite café, but seeing Harry had soured her mood beyond repair.

So, instead, she grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and slammed her locker shut—only to nearly jump out of her skin when she found Harry standing next to her.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Louis clutched her chest, her heart racing. "What the fuck, Harry?"

Harry didn’t flinch. "Are you mad at me?" Louis scoffed and rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore her as she stepped around Harry’s broad frame and made her way toward the exit.

"Louis," Harry called.

She kept walking.

"Louis."

Nope.

"Louis, I swear to God—"

Louis should have remembered that her steps were significantly smaller than Harry’s, because before she could take another step, Harry caught up to her in two strides.

And then, suddenly, there was an arm around her waist, stopping her mid-motion. Before she could even react, Harry turned her around like she weighed nothing—like she was just some ragdoll.

Louis huffed, glaring up at her. "You cannot just—"

"Are you mad at me?" Harry repeated, softer this time, her grip loosening but not quite letting go.

Louis clenched her jaw. "What do you think?!"

Harry exhaled, her fingers flexing against Louis' waist before she finally released her. “Talk to me.” She pleaded softly.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “You’re mad.”

“No shit,” Louis snapped, yanking herself out of Harry’s grasp. “You ghost me for almost two weeks, and now you act like everything’s fine?”

Harry let out a sigh. “I didn’t ghost you.”

“Oh? Then what do you call completely ignoring someone for two weeks?”

Harry opened her mouth, then closed it.

Louis let out a dry laugh. “Right. That’s what I thought.” She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and stepped back. “Enjoy your party, Harry.”

Then, she turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the locker room.

***

Mr. Johnson was deep in discussion about the elements of human behavior He paced at the front of the lecture hall, explaining enthusiastically to the students.

Louis, however, wasn’t paying attention. She was too busy scrolling through Pinterest, completely detached from the lecture. Her screen was filled with pictures of Dua Lipa—specifically, a glittery dress from the Levitating music video. She could already imagine how stunning it would look on her, and if she asked Steve, her tailor, and promised to pay extra, she was sure he could have it ready by the weekend.

It was a completely ridiculous train of thought, considering she had no intention of going to Harry’s party in the first place. But still… thinking about how fun it would be, how pretty everyone would look, wasn’t exactly a crime. Right?

The sudden scraping of chairs against the floor snapped her out of her trance. Louis blinked and looked around, realizing the class was already over. Students were packing up, and Mr. Johnson was nowhere in sight.

She sighed, shutting her laptop and slipping it into her backpack. So much for paying attention. She had just wasted an entire lecture thinking about Harry Styles and her stupid birthday party.

With her classes done for the day, Louis planned to head straight to her dorm, curl up in bed, and watch whatever Netflix recommended. But before she could leave the building, someone tapped her shoulder.

She turned around, eyebrows furrowing when she saw a girl she didn’t recognize smiling at her.

"Hi?" Louis asked, confused.

"Here." The girl handed her a bouquet of daffodils.

Louis blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—thanks?" she said, but the girl was already walking away without another word.

She looked down at the flowers, turning them over in her hands, fingers grazing the soft petals of her favorite flowers. The bouquet was simple yet beautiful, bright yellow daffodils tied together with a delicate white ribbon. There was no note, no indication of who had sent them or why. Just the quiet mystery of an unexpected gift.

Louis furrowed her brows, tilting her head slightly as she studied the flowers. Was this some kind of prank? But there was nothing odd about them—no hidden message, no ridiculous note taped to the stems. Just fresh, sweet-smelling daffodils.

She hesitated for a moment before leaning in, inhaling the scent. The fragrance was light but warm, like spring mornings and open fields. It instantly eased something in her chest, softening the frustration she’d carried all day. A small, involuntary smile curled her lips.

She didn’t know who had sent them, but for some reason, the gesture touched her more than she wanted to admit.

Louis wasn’t the kind of girl who got flowers. No one had ever given her any before—not on a date, not after a performance, not even as an apology. Flowers were something delicate, something romantic. They belonged in movies and fairy tales, not in her hands on a random Tuesday in the middle of her campus hallway.

Yet here they were.

Her chest tightened slightly at the thought.

Whoever had sent them—whether it was a joke or a genuine gesture—had unknowingly made her entire day.

***

It was Wednesday, and instead of attending her classes, Louis was hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach for what felt like the hundredth time.

Last night, after their study group, Noah had suggested getting Thai food, and everyone had agreed without hesitation. It had seemed like a great idea at the time. Louis had been craving something warm, so she’d ordered tom yum soup, thinking it would be comforting. What she hadn’t accounted for was just how spicy it would be—or how little her stomach could actually handle.

Now, she was paying the price.

After the fourth round of vomiting in just thirty minutes, Louis felt utterly drained. Her limbs were heavy, her stomach twisted in knots, and her throat burned from the acidity. She barely had the strength to shuffle back to her bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan. She just needed sleep—just a little bit of rest—and maybe, when she woke up, the world wouldn’t feel like it was punishing her for her poor life choices.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but she was startled awake by a soft knock on her door.

Louis groaned, disoriented and groggy, her body protesting as she tried to sit up. The knock came again, more insistent this time. She squeezed her eyes shut and mumbled, “Hold on,” before forcing herself to stand.

When she opened the door, there was no one there.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she looked around the empty hallway. Then, her gaze dropped to the floor.

A brown paper bag sat neatly in front of her door, with a single sprig of rose resting on top.

Louis hesitated for a moment before bending down to pick it up, closing the door behind her as she brought the items inside. She placed them on her desk, eyeing the rose curiously. It was small but delicate, its soft petals a muted pink.

Setting the flower aside, she opened the bag and found a warm container inside, along with a small packet of tablets. Louis pulled the container out and gasped at the heat radiating from it—it was still warm. She peeled off the lid, and the scent of wonton soup immediately filled her senses.

Her stomach, which had been in complete rebellion all morning, suddenly welcomed the idea of food.

She picked up the medicine, turning it over in her hand. There was a small, handwritten note tucked inside.

"Get well soon."

Louis stared at the words for a long moment, her heart giving a little, unexpected flutter. It was just a simple note—three short words written in slightly uneven handwriting—but somehow, it felt heavier than it should.

She traced her thumb over the paper, as if the ink itself held answers, as if she could feel the intent behind the gesture.

Who had left this?

Her mind raced through possibilities. Noah? Maybe, but he had been the one who suggested Thai food in the first place, and he’d probably just laugh and tell her it was a lesson learned. Madeline? She would’ve stayed to make sure Louis actually ate the soup instead of just leaving it outside the door.

Harry?

Louis sucked in a breath, quickly shaking the thought away. No. That didn’t make sense. He and Harry hadn’t talked after their last conversation, and Louis had made it painfully clear she wasn’t interested in going to her birthday party. Would she really—?

No.

She exhaled slowly, pressing the note between her fingers. Whoever it was, they had thought about her. They had gone out of their way to get her something warm, something gentle for her wrecked stomach. They had left medicine—medicine for God’s sake—as if they knew she wouldn’t have any.

The realization settled over her like a blanket, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

It had been a long, miserable morning, and she still felt weak, her body aching from all the vomiting. But somehow, just knowing that someone had cared enough to do this for her… it made her feel a whole lot better—without them even saying a word.

***

Louis had to admit—Harry had impeccable taste in music. She’d spent the past hour listening to Dua Lipa’s entire discography, and now, she finally understood why the curly-haired girl was borderline obsessed. Dua’s voice was incredible, her performances electric, and every song made Louis want to get up and dance, even though she was currently stuck in the library, hunched over her laptop, attempting to finish an essay.

It wasn’t due until next week, but with her usual evening training sessions with Harry no longer a part of her schedule, Louis had an unexpected amount of free time. And honestly, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She tapped her pen against the table before sighing and opening Pinterest—again. Her saved folder of Dua Lipa pictures stared back at her, taunting her with endless images of confidence and glamour. She lingered on the glittery dress. It was stunning, effortlessly cool, and completely out of reach—unless she called Steve.

That would be crazy, right?

Her finger hovered over her phone screen.

It wasn’t like she was actually planning to go to Harry’s birthday party. She had made that very clear. But… having a gorgeous dress on standby? That wasn’t a crime.

Before she could overthink it, she grabbed her phone and dialed Steve’s number.

Just as she pressed the call button, something caught her attention—a small, neatly wrapped box sitting beside her laptop. Louis frowned. Had that been there before? She was sure it hadn’t.

Carefully, she picked it up. The box was dark brown, tied with a thin gold ribbon. No note, no name, just a tiny, elegantly wrapped gift. Curiosity piqued, she pulled the ribbon loose and opened the lid.

Inside, nestled in gold paper, was a selection of gourmet chocolates.

Louis blinked. What the hell?

She looked around the library, but no one was paying her any attention. Had someone left this for her?

Her stomach growled, effectively ending her internal debate. Free chocolate was free chocolate.

She popped one into her mouth just as Steve’s voice came through the phone.

“Louis!” he greeted dramatically. “To what do I owe the honor?”

She hummed in delight as the chocolate melted on her tongue. Whoever had picked these knew what they were doing.

“I need a dress,” she finally said, still savoring the taste.

“Ooooh,” he drawled. “For what occasion?”

Louis hesitated. “No occasion.”

A beat of silence. Then, he gasped dramatically. “Is this about a boy?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not about a boy.”

“So, a girl then?”

Louis groaned. “Steve.”

He laughed but didn’t push. “Alright, alright. Send me the details. If it’s for you, babe, I’ll make sure you look like the most gorgeous girl in the room.”

Louis bit her lip, hesitating. She glanced down at the box of chocolates, rolling one between her fingers. “Yeah, um…” she trailed off, her stomach twisting—not from the chocolate.

“What is it?” Steve asked, his tone immediately softer.

“I don’t know…” Louis exhaled, tilting her head back against the chair. “I’ve gained a lot of weight this past year, and—”

“And you still look hot as hell,” Steve cut in without hesitation. “What’s your point?”

Louis huffed. “Steve, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His voice was firm. “Bodies change. It’s normal. You’re still stunning, and if anyone disagrees, they can fight me.” A small smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at the chocolate in her hand, suddenly feeling conflicted. She wanted to enjoy it, but a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered that she shouldn’t. Steve, as if sensing her hesitation, sighed. “Are you eating something right now?”

Louis rolled her eyes. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I can hear you overthinking. What is it?”

She hesitated before mumbling, “Chocolate.”

Steve let out a delighted gasp. “Oooh, lucky! Who gave it to you?”

Louis glanced around the library again, still unsure. “No idea. It was just… here.”

“Secret admirer?”

She snorted. “Doubt it.”

“Well, mystery or not, you better be enjoying that chocolate. And I don’t want to hear one more word about weight gain. You’re gorgeous, and this dress? It’s gonna make you feel like a damn goddess.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Louis let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Alright. Just… I don’t know, make sure the dress fits me right? I don’t want to feel uncomfortable the whole night.”

Steve scoffed. “Babe, I always make sure you look and feel like a million bucks. Trust me, okay?”

Louis chuckled, some of her anxiety melting away. “Okay.”

They exchanged a few more words before she hung up, placing her phone back on the table with a soft thud.

Louis stared at the chocolates again, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the box.

Who had left them for her?

The thought gnawed at her, a quiet curiosity curling in her chest. It was small, but warm—something gentle in the way the chocolates had just appeared, as if someone had been thinking about her. Someone who knew her well enough to know she’d been having a rough week, that she needed something sweet, something comforting.

Her mind flickered, unbidden, to a certain curly-haired girl.

Harry.

Louis swallowed.

No. It couldn’t be Harry.

Could it?

She leaned back in her chair, chewing the inside of her cheek, but the thought wouldn’t let go. Harry would do something like this—silent gestures, things left unsaid, her way of apologizing without ever actually saying the words. Louis had seen her do it before, just not for her.

It made something in her chest ache.

Because if it was Harry… then what?

Louis had spent the past week convincing herself that she didn’t miss her. That she was fine. That she didn’t need Harry and her stupid charming smile, her music recommendations, her terrible jokes, her lingering presence that had somehow wrapped itself into Louis’ life like she belonged there.

But the truth was… Louis did miss her.

She missed their routine. The way Harry would roll her eyes every time Louis complained about training but would still go easy on her when she saw her struggling. She missed the way Harry always carried extra protein bars and tossed her one without asking. The way she’d show up at her dorm at odd hours with some new song Louis had to hear, rambling on with that sparkle in her eyes.

She missed all of it.

And it was stupid, because they weren’t even that close. At least, not the way Harry was with her real friends.

Louis let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand down her face.

Maybe it wasn’t Harry. Maybe she was just reading into things, seeing what she wanted to see.

But as she picked up another chocolate, letting it melt on her tongue, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever had left them—whoever had been thinking of her—knew her well enough to care.

And Louis didn’t know what to do with that.

***

Louis sat at her desk, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, completely engrossed in The Partner by John Grisham. Even though she had read it more times than she could count, the plot twist still made her stomach drop.

She sighed, flipping the page, but her mind wasn’t as focused as she wanted it to be.

That morning, she had run into Madeline in class. The girl had casually asked if Louis would be at Harry’s match later, and Louis had lied. She had mumbled something about having too much homework, but the way Madeline tilted her head told her she wasn’t fooling anyone.

Madeline knew Louis didn’t have that much work. They shared multiple classes. And Louis knew she knew something had happened between her and Harry, but she appreciated that the other girl respected her enough not to pry.

Louis exhaled through her nose and turned another page, pretending to concentrate.

Then, suddenly—knock, knock.

She blinked, startled by the sound.

Frowning, she grabbed a receipt paper from lunch, marked her page, adjusted her glasses, and made her way to the door.

The moment she swung it open, she froze.

Harry was standing there, still in her jersey, chest rising and falling with every deep breath—like she had literally sprinted here from the field without stopping. Her skin glowed under the dim hallway lights, her cheeks flushed from exertion, and her curls were a mess, sticking to her forehead in damp, wild ringlets.

Louis’ stomach twisted at the sight of her.

She had seen Harry after games before, had watched her run across the field with effortless grace, commanding attention without even trying. But this—seeing her like this, standing at her doorstep, panting, with wide green eyes searching hers like she was the only thing that mattered—felt different. It sent a sharp, unfamiliar ache through her chest.

Her gaze unwillingly flickered to Harry’s mouth—parted slightly, her lips red and bitten, like she had been nervously chewing on them the whole way here.

Louis forced herself to look away, to snap out of whatever this was. So she swallowed hard, pushing down the sudden rush of warmth creeping up her neck.

Get it together.

"Can I come in?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

Louis hesitated for just a second before stepping aside. "Um, yeah. Sure."

Harry walked in, immediately dropping her duffle bag with a heavy thud. She ran a hand through her messy curls, fidgeting—playing with her bottom lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Louis leaned against the door, arms behind her body, watching her closely.

"Can I help you?" she finally asked, her voice neutral. Because she needed to understand why Harry was suddenly here, invading her space, after weeks of acting like she didn’t exist.

Harry exhaled sharply, like she had been holding something in for too long. And then, quietly, she said—

"I like you. A lot." Louis' breath hitched. She blinked at her, heart pounding, but said nothing. Harry licked her lips, glancing down before continuing, her voice raw. "I had feelings for Astra since we were kids, but she chose Alex. Which—" she let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head, "—was fair. I mean, she’s straight and I can’t force someone to like me back." Louis didn’t move and she barely breathed. "I thought coming here would change things. That the feelings would disappear, but they didn’t. So, I distracted myself with other people. It worked—until I met you."

Louis' chest tightened.

"I don’t understand," she whispered, afraid to believe what she was hearing.

Harry stepped closer, her green eyes burning with sincerity.

Louis could still hear the echo of Harry’s words in her head, circling around and around, refusing to settle.

I like you. A lot.

She could feel them pressing against her ribs, tightening something in her chest, making it hard to breathe. It was ridiculous, really—how three simple words could carry so much weight. But they did. And Louis wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

So she did what she did best. She ignored it.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as she forced herself to focus on something else—anything else. She took in the details of the room instead, the familiar mess of her desk, the book she had been reading before Harry knocked, the mysterious daffodils in a vase. She looked at the way Harry’s duffle bag was discarded on her floor like it had always belonged there, the way Harry herself stood just a few steps away, fidgeting slightly, shifting her weight like she wasn’t quite sure if she was welcome.

Louis wanted to say something—anything—but the words sat heavy on her tongue, refusing to come out. Instead, she took a deep breath and swallowed down everything she was feeling, forcing herself to stay steady.

"It hurt, you know," she finally said, her voice quieter than she intended. She wasn’t sure if she meant for Harry to hear it, but she did, and the way Harry’s face shifted—guilt flickering across her features—told Louis that it had landed exactly the way she wanted it to.

Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck like she didn’t know what to do with herself. "I know," she admitted, and her voice was so full of regret that Louis almost believed it. Almost.

Louis shook her head, looking down at her feet. "I thought you didn’t want to be my… friend anymore," she murmured, and that was the real truth of it, the thing that had been gnawing at her for weeks. It wasn’t just the avoidance, the coldness—it was the fear. The fear that she had lost something before she even fully understood what it was.

She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping her own sweater until she felt the warmth of the curly girl stepping closer.

Harry let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh—one full of self-loathing. "I must’ve been dropped on my head as a baby if I ever thought that."

Louis looked up, startled by how close Harry had gotten. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, something shifted in the space between them. They were lined up so perfectly now, their bodies just inches apart, like two puzzle pieces that had been scattered but were finally finding their way back. It would’ve been easy—too easy—to lean in, to let herself fall into whatever this was.

But Louis had never been good at easy.

She knew she should acknowledge it—should address the fact that Harry had just confessed to liking her, had run straight from the field to her room instead of celebrating with her team. And the fact that it was Harry meant they had definitely won, yet here she was, sweaty and breathless, standing in front of Louis like this was the only place she wanted to be.

It should’ve meant something.

But Louis had spent years doubting people’s intentions, picking apart their words, convincing herself that good things weren’t meant for her.

She used to believe in love—real love. The kind that made you feel safe, that made you trust without hesitation. And then Alex happened.

Alex, with his easy lies and practiced apologies. Alex, who had known exactly what to say to make Louis feel special, only to turn around and use those same words on someone else. Who had whispered promises in the dark, kissed her slowly like he meant it, only to treat her like an afterthought in the daylight.

Louis had spent a whole year loving Alex, trusting him, choosing him, only to be made to feel like she was never enough. And worse, like she was crazy for even thinking she deserved more.

Because Alex didn’t just hurt her. He ruined her.

He made Louis doubt her own instincts, made her question every good thing that came her way. Because if Alex could pretend to love her, if he could lie so effortlessly, then what stopped anyone else from doing the same?

So Louis had learned. She learned to be cautious. To read between the lines, to expect the worst. To never trust the way someone looked at her, because looks could be deceiving. To never believe in pretty words, because people said things they didn’t mean all the time.

And Harry—Harry, with her ridiculous charm and her impossible beauty, with her long limbs and easy confidence, with her history—she couldn’t just like Louis. Not after knowing her only for a few weeks and not after spending years hung up on her childhood crush.

It didn’t make sense. And if there was one thing Louis knew, it was that things that didn’t make sense usually weren’t real.

So she did what she did best. She buried it. Swept it under the rug before it could take root inside her.

Louis tilted her chin up, forcing a smirk she didn’t quite feel. "So, what? You ran all the way here just to tell me that?" Her voice was light, teasing, as if she wasn’t still reeling, as if she wasn’t coming apart at the seams.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted Harry to push back, to insist, to prove that she meant it.

Or if she just wanted to be let off the hook.

Harry blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift, but then she smiled, like she saw right through Louis but was willing to let her off the hook. "Yeah," she said simply. "I did."

Louis let out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. "Dramatic much?"

Harry grinned, that signature cocky smirk that had always annoyed Louis but somehow also made her heart stumble. "You love it."

And God, maybe she did.

But she wasn’t about to admit that.

"Can we be—" Harry continued and then cleared her throat. "Friends again?"

Louis bit her lip, feeling something in her chest loosen. She nodded.

The tension in Harry’s shoulders melted instantly, and she grinned—a wide, relieved smile that made Louis' heart stumble.

Without hesitation, Harry moved to pull her into a hug, but Louis pressed a hand against her stomach, stopping her.

"You stink,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated disgust. "Take a shower first."

Harry scrunched her nose, pouting, and Louis definitely did not feel her heart skip a beat at how cute she looked. Nope. Not at all.

"Fine," she grumbled, toeing off her shoes before making her way to the bathroom.

Louis watched her go, shaking her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

Instead of settling back into her chair, she hopped onto her desk, letting her legs swing idly as she waited. The steady sound of running water filled the quiet room, a soothing backdrop to the warmth still lingering in her chest.

Her gaze drifted to the vase on her desk, where the daffodils stood tall and bright. They almost seemed to glow under the soft lamplight, as if they knew—as if they reflected the lightness in her heart, the quiet, hesitant joy she wasn’t ready to name just yet.

***

"Harry." Louis called softly.

They were sprawled out on Louis’ bed, wrapped in the kind of lazy comfort. Louis had her book open, but she wasn’t really reading anymore—not when Harry was practically draped over her, her arms lazily looped around Louis' waist, her nose buried against the crook of her neck like she belonged there. Every so often, Louis would feel the ghost of a breath against her skin, followed by the barely-there brush of Harry’s lips against her shoulder, her hair, the side of her jaw.

She swallowed, pretending to ignore the way her heart stuttered.

"Hmm?" Harry hummed sleepily, not bothering to lift her head.

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Harry’s hold on her tightened just slightly, but her response was slow, lazy. "You."

Louis rolled her eyes, nudging at her with her elbow. "I’m serious." She let out a dramatic sigh, putting her book down and shifting so she was facing Harry properly. Their noses were inches apart now, Harry’s curls still damp from her shower, smelling like Louis’ vanilla shampoo. She looked soft like this—fresh-faced, warm, utterly unguarded. "I haven’t bought you a gift yet," Louis admitted. "And my mom always said I should get my friends a present for their birthday."

Harry let out a quiet chuckle, mumbling, "friend." Louis frowned, and before she could question it, Harry reached up and smoothed the crease between her brows with the tip of her thumb, like it was second nature. "Why have we never had a sleepover before?" Harry asked instead, voice thick with drowsiness.

"We did once."

"You were upset. That doesn’t count."

"Of course it counts," Louis pouted, and Harry tapped the tip of her nose in amusement. "Birthday gift, Harry," she reminded her, refocusing the conversation.

Harry exhaled a content sigh and murmured, "I’d be happy with anything you gave me."

And just like that, Louis’ stomach twisted with something unpleasant.

That wouldn’t do. That answer—the openness, the trust—unsettled her in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Back in high school, she had a crush on a boy. It was stupid and small, but it mattered to her. When his birthday came around, she’d convinced her dad to take her shopping for a gift, and after much deliberation, she’d picked out a hat. A simple one, but something she’d seen him wear often. She had been so excited, her chest practically buzzing with nerves as she handed it to him, only for him to open it, wrinkle his nose, and scoff in front of everyone.

"This is ugly as hell," he had laughed before tossing it on the ground like it was worthless.

Louis had spent the entire lunch break crying in the bathroom, the stupid hat clutched in her hands.

That moment stuck with her. It made her wary of gifts, of putting too much thought into things, of opening herself up only to have it thrown back in her face.

"I don’t like surprises," Louis admitted, her voice quieter now. "And that includes giving them."

Harry hummed again, but this time, instead of pressing further, she simply closed her eyes and pulled Louis closer, burying her face into her neck.

"Harry," Louis hissed, though there was no real bite behind it.

"Sleep," Harry mumbled, already halfway there.

Louis sighed, but she didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself relax, let herself breathe through the warmth of Harry’s body curled against hers.

She’d have to ask Madeline or Rebecca tomorrow for help picking out a gift. But for now—just for tonight—she let herself be here, in this moment, with Harry’s steady breathing against her skin and the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting them in a warmth that felt dangerously close to safe.

She watched Harry’s face, soft and peaceful in sleep, and before she could stop herself, she smiled.

Then she closed her eyes and let the quiet lull her under.

***

“Morning, starlight,” Harry murmured, her voice still thick with sleep as she nuzzled against Louis’ cheek.

Louis hummed in response, barely shifting, still caught in the haze of half-sleep.

Harry’s lips hovered close—dangerously close. “What’s your schedule today?”

Louis kept her eyes shut, mumbling, “Was thinking about visiting a museum. I have an essay due Tuesday, and I’m completely out of inspiration.”

“I’ll take you.”

That made Louis’ eyes flutter open. She blinked at Harry, who was already watching her, face open and eager, curls a mess from sleep. “Really? It might be boring for some people.”

Harry smiled—soft and warm, like the morning light seeping through the curtains—before pressing a lingering kiss to Louis’ cheek. “And I’m not some people.” She tightened her grip around Louis’ waist, tucking her even closer, like she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“When does the museum open?” Harry asked.

“Around ten, I think.”

“Perfect,” Harry said easily. “We can get breakfast first, then head over. After that, lunch. And maybe some shopping? I’m in the mood for shopping.”

Louis let out a quiet chuckle. “Somebody’s really in high spirits this morning.”

Harry grinned against her skin. “Had the best sleep ever.”

Louis arched a brow, amused. “And I wonder why that might be.”

Harry only chuckled before biting Louis’ shoulder lightly, making her squirm.

“I’ll head back to the house, take a shower, then pick you up. Sounds good?”

Louis nodded, whispering a soft, “Yeah.”

But instead of moving, Harry only pulled her closer, arms securing around her waist like she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving just yet.

“Five more minutes,” Harry murmured, pressing her nose into Louis’ hair.

Louis chuckled, but she didn’t argue. If anything, she melted into the warmth, letting herself sink back into the bed.

She had always thought of herself as needy and clingy. But Harry Styles? She was something else entirely. And Louis didn’t mind. Not one bit.

***

Louis took a longer shower than usual, letting the warm water wash over her as she tried—tried to remind herself that this wasn’t a date. It was just two friends going to a museum because one of them needed to do research for an essay, and the other just happened to be a very nice girl.

That was all.

Besides, no one went to a museum for a first date. Not that this was a date. Right?

That was all.

Still, that logic didn’t stop her from standing in front of her closet for nearly thirty minutes, agonizing over what to wear. The not-date was stressing her out.

Harry hadn’t given much guidance, just a simple text: be there in ten.

Louis peeked out the window. The sky was bright, the wind gentle. Warm, but not cold. She wanted to look good but not too dressed up. Not like she had put in too much effort, even though she definitely had. 

After debating for far too long, she settled on a white sundress that fell just below her knees, elegant yet casual. She applied light makeup, then blow-dried her hair, curling the ends slightly for a little volume.

Her gaze flickered to the row of shoes lined up by her dresser. She considered wearing heels because they would make her legs look longer, but quickly dismissed the idea. They’d be walking a lot—through the museum, through stores if Harry got her way. No way she was going to deal with aching feet all day.

So, she settled on dark green flats and grabbed a matching bag.

Just as she gave herself one last once-over in the mirror, a soft knock sounded at her door.

Louis exhaled, smoothing her dress before opening it.

She barely had time to register what was happening before a bouquet of yellow daffodils was thrust in front of her face.

She blinked. Then Harry lowered the bouquet, revealing her face and Louis nearly forgot how to breathe.

Harry stood there, effortlessly stunning in a crisp white button-down, the first few buttons left undone, teasing just enough of her collarbone and the smooth skin of her chest. Over it, a burgundy leather jacket fit snugly against her broad shoulders, looking both soft and worn in. And those dark denim jeans that Louis really did not envy by the way they hugged her long legs so perfectly.

She swallowed. Unfair. This was entirely unfair.

“For you,” Harry said softly, offering the bouquet with a small smile. “That one’s already withered.” She nodded toward the vase on Louis’ desk.

Louis felt her cheeks warm. She reached for the flowers, fingers grazing against Harry’s. “Thank you.” Her voice came out quieter than she intended. Then she hesitated. “Wait… was that one from you too?”

Harry shifted slightly, looking sheepish. “Um… yeah.”

Louis bit her lip, her heart giving a strange little flutter. Harry had been the one giving her flowers. And Louis concluded she must be the one that left her the soup and the chocolate also

A warmth bloomed in her chest. She tiptoed, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek before turning to swap out the old flowers for the new ones.

“Next time,” she murmured, inhaling the fresh scent, “just give them to me yourself.”

Harry chuckled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her expression. “Wasn’t sure you’d accept them. Thought maybe you’d throw them in my face.”

Louis frowned, turning back toward her. “Has someone actually thrown flowers at your face before?”

Harry scratched the back of her neck, looking somewhere over Louis’ shoulder. “Uh… yeah.”

Louis scoffed, shaking her head. “That girl must be an idiot.”

Harry huffed out a quiet laugh, but before Louis could move past her, an arm slid around her waist, stopping her and making her freeze. Her pulse quickened as Harry pulled her close, her touch warm even through the fabric of her dress. When she looked up, she found Harry already staring, green eyes soft, searching.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Louis’ breath hitched.

Oh.

For a split second, it felt like the air shifted, like something delicate and unspoken settled between them.

Her lips parted, a shaky smile forming. “Thanks, Harry,” she said, and she meant it. Really meant it. “You look amazing too.”

Harry’s fingers flexed slightly against her waist, and for a second, just a second, Louis swore she was leaning in. 

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a quiet, desperate hope rising in her chest.

But then, Harry’s hand moved instead, reaching behind her.

For the doorknob.

Louis blinked, and the moment was gone. Disappointment curled in her stomach, sharp and sudden. But she pushed it down, like she always did. Like she was so good at doing.

Harry gently urged her forward. “Come on, let’s go.”

Louis swallowed hard, forcing a light laugh. Right. This wasn’t a date. Just casual. Friendly. And she needed to stop acting like it was anything more.

That resolve lasted right up until she stepped outside only to be met with the sight of a sleek, black motorcycle parked in front of the dorm building.

Her stomach dropped.

“Harry.” Her voice pitched slightly. “You did not tell me we’d be riding that.”

Harry grinned, already pulling a helmet out from under her arm. “What, scared?”

Louis narrowed her eyes. Yes. Absolutely. “I just spent thirty minutes on my hair, Harry.”

Harry just smirked and stepped forward, slipping the helmet carefully over Louis’ head, adjusting the straps under her chin.

Louis swallowed. “I can do it myself.”

“Let me.” Harry’s fingers skimmed over Louis’ skin as she adjusted the helmet, the teasing glint in her eyes making it impossible to look away. “Unless, of course, you’d rather throw it at my face too.”

Louis huffed, crossing her arms even as warmth crawled up her neck. “Seeing how annoying you are, that’s actually a tempting idea.”

Harry only chuckled, completely unfazed. But Louis wasn’t laughing, not when her skin still tingled from the fleeting touch, not when she was far too aware of how close Harry was standing.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shake it off. This was fine. Totally fine.

Harry took a step back and patted the seat. “Alright, hop on.”

Louis hesitated, eyeing the motorcycle with deep suspicion. She wasn’t scared—okay, maybe a little—but mostly, she was thinking about her outfit, about her carefully done hair, about how this was absolutely not what she had planned for today.

Still, she wasn’t about to back out now.

Louis grumbled under her breath as she tried to swing her leg over the motorcycle seat. Tried being the key word.

Her dress made it awkward, and, well, she was short. The bike was just a little too tall, forcing her to stretch onto her tiptoes as she struggled to get on properly.

Harry, standing next to her, was clearly amused with how she struggled to get on that damn bike. Louis shot her a glare before she could say anything, but it was too late. Harry was already grinning.

"Need a hand, shortcake?" she teased.

Louis scowled. “I got it.”

Except she didn’t. Because the next second, she nearly lost her balance.

Harry reacted instantly.

With an easy strength that made Louis’ stomach flip, she reached out, hands steadying Louis by the waist. The touch was firm, warm, as she lifted her just enough to help her swing her leg over properly.

“There,” Harry murmured, voice smug. “See? Teamwork.”

Louis’ face burned as she settled into the seat, muttering, “I could’ve done it myself.”

Then, effortlessly, Harry swung her leg over the bike, settling into the front seat like it was the easiest thing in the world. No struggling. No awkward wobbling. Just graceful, unfairly long legs making it look effortless.

Louis clenched her jaw, cursing Harry and her stupid long legs internally.

"Something wrong?" Harry teased, glancing over her shoulder.

Louis scoffed. "No."

Harry hummed like she didn’t believe her, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached back, grabbing Louis' hands before she could react, guiding her arms around her waist, settling Louis’ hands right against the warmth of her stomach.

Louis sucked in a breath.

Harry’s body was solid beneath her fingertips, radiating heat even through the layers of fabric. The scent of her cologne—something deep and warm, with just a hint of spice—filled Louis’ senses, making her lightheaded.

“Hold on tight,” Harry said, throwing a smirk over her shoulder.

Louis let out a slow breath, fingers curling into the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Just a casual Saturday outing between two friends.

Nothing more.

***

As soon as they stepped into the museum, Harry latched onto Louis’ hand like it was second nature, her fingers lacing between hers with an easy familiarity.

Louis told herself it was just Harry being clingy, but the warmth of her palm against her own was impossible to ignore. Every time she tried to pull away—whether to adjust her bag, turn a page in the exhibition booklet, or just breathe properly—Harry would either reclaim her hand immediately or wrap herself around Louis from behind, her chin resting on Louis’ shoulder as she read.

And Louis… didn’t mind.

What she did mind, however, was the attention.

It wasn’t unusual to get glances, especially in a place like this. But as they moved through the exhibitions, Louis couldn’t help but notice the way a few men were very clearly looking in her direction.

Before she could even process how she felt about it, Harry reacted first.

She clung to Louis like a koala, arms wrapped possessively around her waist as they stood in front of a glass display. If she wasn’t hugging her, she was keeping their hands tightly locked, making it painfully obvious that Louis was off-limits.

And, honestly? Louis wasn’t mad about it.

By the time they reached the final exhibition Louis was thoroughly enjoying herself. The dim lighting, the quiet hum of other visitors, the warmth of Harry constantly pressed against her, it felt… peaceful.

She stood in front of a glass case, reading an old newspaper clipping about the Great Chicago Fire, her mind already buzzing with how perfect this would be for her essay.

And then—

Click.

Louis' head snapped up at the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter.

Her brows furrowed as she turned sharply, catching sight of Harry grinning at her, phone in hand, eyes gleaming with something mischievous.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, crossing her arms as if that could somehow steady the heat creeping up her neck.

Harry didn’t answer right away. Instead, she simply tilted her head slightly, smirking, and beckoned her closer with a small flick of her fingers.

"Come here," she murmured, voice soft but teasing, the kind of voice that made Louis' stomach twist in a way she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Louis let out an exaggerated sigh, trying to mask the way her heart was suddenly racing, but she stepped forward anyway, knowing she had already lost this battle before it even started.

Before she could question it further, warm hands slid around her waist, pulling her in effortlessly. She barely had a second to react before she felt it—

Soft, warm lips pressing against her cheek and a bit too close to the corner of her lips.

It was fleeting, but it lingered, longer than it should have, longer than any casual kiss between friends should linger. The warmth seeped through her skin, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

And then—click.

Louis stiffened as Harry pulled back, her grip still firm around her waist, grinning like she had just won something. And Louis’ face was on fire.

She leaned over slightly, peering at the screen. It was a good picture. Too good. The museum's dim lighting cast a soft glow around them, Harry’s face close to hers, lips barely inches away from her lips, her arms still wrapped securely around her waist.

Louis scowled to hide how flustered she felt. "Send that to me."

Harry didn’t respond immediately. She merely tilted her phone slightly, smirking as she pressed a few more buttons.

Louis waited, expecting the notification, but only to realize that nothing came through. Instead, the curly hair girl set it as her homescreen.

Louis’ lips parted. “Did you just—”

“Done,” Harry cut in, shameless as she slid her phone back into her jeans.

Louis blinked at her, flustered beyond words.

“What do you want for lunch?” Harry asked casually, as if she hadn’t just claimed her via phone wallpaper.

Louis narrowed her eyes before sighing in defeat. “I’m in the mood for pasta.” Harry smiled—that soft, fond, almost proud smile that made Louis’ chest feel too full. “What?” Louis asked, suspicious.

“Nothing.” Harry shook her head, but the look in her eyes gave her away. “Just proud of you.”

Louis frowned. “For wanting pasta?”

Harry’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, her thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“When we first met, you barely touched a sandwich. But now, you voluntarily eat pasta.” She gave a small shrug, eyes warm with something far too tender. “Just feel happy, I guess.”

Louis’ stomach flipped.

She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she just squeezed Harry’s hand back, letting the warmth of it settle in her chest as they walked out of the museum together.

***

Louis lay sprawled across her bed, her head sinking into the pillows as she gazed at the shopping bags scattered across her floor. A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

They had good pasta for lunch—really good—the kind that melted on her tongue and made her want to savor every bite. It was definitely her new favorite place, not just because of the food, but because Harry was there with her.

And then, of course, there was the shopping.

Harry had spoiled her rotten, buying her clothes, jeans, even a delicate gold necklace with an ‘L’ pendant—which now rested against her collarbone, glinting softly under the dim bedroom light.

Louis had told herself this wasn’t a date. She could say it out loud all she wanted, but even she didn’t believe it.

The distant sound of running water stopped, and the bathroom door creaked open.

Louis barely turned her head before her breath hitched in her throat.

Harry stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped loosely around her body, hair tied up in a high bun highlighting her collarbone, skin flushed from the heat of the shower.

"By the way," Harry said casually, as if she wasn’t half-naked in front of her, "the girls are cooking together for dinner. Do you want to come to the house?"

Louis blinked, struggling to process anything beyond the sheer amount of exposed skin in front of her.

"Uh—hm?" she managed, forcing her gaze upwards to Harry’s face. The fact that her wondrous cleavage was out in the world for all to see was irrelevant. And Harry smirked knowingly. "Yeah, sure," Louis finally answered, clearing her throat.

"Perfect!" Harry beamed, stepping further into the room. "Also, bring your textbook and laptop for tomorrow. Sleepover at my place tonight."

Louis rolled her eyes fondly, suppressing the flutter in her stomach. Of course Harry had already made the decision for her.

She pushed herself up from the bed and stretched her arms above her head. "I’m gonna take a shower," she said instead.

Harry’s smirk deepened. "Can I come?"

Louis let out a breathy chuckle. "You literally just took a shower."

Harry only shrugged, completely unbothered. "I love taking showers."

She scrunched her nose playfully before pinching Harry’s arm, earning a dramatic yelp from the taller girl before stepping into the bathroom.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, her breath came out in a rush.

She turned on the water, letting the warm steam cloud the room and hopefully her thoughts.

Lathering the soap over her skin, she tried, really tried, not to think about a certain someone with green eyes and dimples standing behind her, pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck, hands sliding over her body, fingers tracing every inch of her like she was something to be memorized.

Louis swallowed hard.

And if her hand drifted lower, between her thighs, to ease the throb that had settled deep inside her, well…

That was totally irrelevant.

***

Louis was slowly losing her mind.

Not only did she have just two days until Harry’s birthday party, but she still hadn’t found the perfect gift for her.

What could you possibly give to a girl who already had everything?

She had spent hours overthinking it—scrolling through online shops, wandering aimlessly through stores, even considering making something herself. But nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough.

And to make things worse? Their daily sleepovers weren’t helping. At all.

They had somehow fallen into a routine—one that felt so easy, so natural, that it terrified her.

They took turns deciding whose bedroom to crash in. Every morning, Harry would press a lingering kiss to her cheek and mumble a sleepy "Morning, starlight," before stealing another ten minutes of sleep. If they stayed at Harry’s, she would cook breakfast for them both. If they were in Louis’ room, they’d grab breakfast outside before Harry dropped her off at the Sociology building, heading to her own faculty after.

They always met for lunch. Always.

Sometimes Madeline and Rebecca joined them, but sometimes it was just the two of them, sitting across from each other, knees brushing under the table, Harry stealing bites from Louis’ plate with that ridiculous smirk.

Afternoons meant library time for Louis and practice for Harry.

Evenings were spent training together at the gym. And if Harry wasn’t too exhausted, she would cook them dinner. But if she was, they would order takeout, curled up on the bed, sharing food between quiet conversations.

It had been only five days of this unspoken routine, and yet, Louis felt like her entire world had been shifted off its axis.

She wasn't just questioning her friendship with Harry anymore.

She was questioning everything.

Because surely, this wasn’t normal.

Surely, this wasn’t how Harry had treated her past conquests, right?

Louis tried not to think about how many girls had fallen for her before. How many had been spoiled with breakfast, had their feet rubbed absentmindedly while Harry read on her iPad, had been kissed good morning and good night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She tried not to wonder if this was just a game to Harry, if she was simply being buttered up, her walls chipped away slowly and carefully by someone who knew exactly how to slip past defenses.

But Harry didn’t seem like the cruel type.

She didn’t seem like someone who was nice just to get into someone’s pants.

So what was this?

Louis felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts, and the fact that Harry was currently massaging her feet, casually tracing circles over her ankle, as if this was something they always did, wasn’t helping.

Not even a little.

The words sat heavy on Louis’ tongue, aching to be spoken.

What are we?

She wanted to ask. Needed to. The question clawed at her insides, demanding release. But the answer… could she handle it?

“I can hear you thinking,” Harry’s deep voice drawled, breaking through Louis’ restless thoughts. She didn’t even look up from her iPad, fingers lazily scrolling.

Louis scoffed, rolling onto her side. “I’m not thinking. And how could you possibly hear someone’s thoughts?”

Harry smirked but didn’t argue. “If it’s about my birthday gift, I swear you don’t have to get me anything.” She finally set the iPad down, stretching her long limbs as Louis watched her every movement.

Louis pouted. “But I want to. It’s not a birthday if you don’t get a gift.”

Harry chuckled, and in one fluid motion, she shifted them until they were lying down together on the couch. She pulled Louis closer, guiding her head onto her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Celebrating with you is more than enough, Lou.”

Louis turned her head to face her, searching those green eyes for sincerity.

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course. I was heartbroken when you rejected my invitation.”

Louis let out a soft laugh, shaking her head weakly. “Not that. When you said you like me—did you mean it?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. Then, without hesitation, she answered, “Oh, that. Yeah. With my whole heart.”

The honesty in her voice sent a shiver down Louis’ spine. Too much. Too real.

Louis hesitated, then whispered, “Are we… dating?”

Harry’s lips curled into a soft, almost shy smile. “I hope so.” Her fingers absentmindedly traced patterns against Louis’ wrist. “You have no idea how much I want to choke myself whenever you address me as your friend.”

Louis grinned mischievously. “But you are my friend.”

Harry’s grip on her wrist tightened—a silent warning. “Girlfriend, more like.”

Louis’ heart stuttered in her chest.

“But what if I’m not into girls?” she murmured, the words tasting foreign in her mouth. “I’ve never been with a girl before.”

Harry didn’t flinch. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to Louis’ forehead, the warmth lingering like a promise.

“I’d be heartbroken,” she admitted, voice steady, “but I’d be okay. I’d rather have you as my,” Harry cleared her throat, “friend, than not have you at all.”

Louis swallowed, something heavy pressing against her ribs. “But friends don’t act the way we do.” She toyed with the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, suddenly unable to look at her. “None of my friends cuddle me to sleep or kiss me good morning and goodnight.”

Harry let out a low chuckle. “Well, I really hope none of your friends do that.”

A small smile tugged at Louis’ lips. “Do you think I’m into girls?”

Harry exhaled slowly. “I can’t answer that for you.” She ran her fingers through Louis’ hair, curling the strands around her fingers. “Your sexuality is yours to figure out—yours to know, yours to share if you ever want to.”

Louis thought about that. She thought about the way her heart raced when Harry touched her, the way she craved her presence, her warmth, her everything.

“How did you know?” she asked quietly. “That you were… you know.”

Harry shifted, pulling Louis on top of her with ease. The sudden movement made Louis gasp, but she didn’t protest when Harry held her there, grounding her.

“My first kiss was a girl,” Harry said, voice low.

“Astra?”

“Yeah.” A shadow passed over Harry’s face. “We were fifteen, working on homework at her house. She told me a boy kissed her the day before, said it felt sparkly. Then she asked if I wanted to practice so I’d be experienced when a boy kissed me.”

Louis felt Harry’s chest rise and fall beneath her, steady and warm.

“She was my best friend since we were toddlers. I used to get jealous when she got close to other people, but I told myself it was just because we were best friends. That afternoon, we kissed. And it wasn’t just a kiss—it was the kind that stays in your head for days, the kind that makes you crave more.” Harry sighed. “A week later, I found out the boy she kissed was my other best friend, Alex. And soon after, they started dating.”

Louis frowned, fingers grazing Harry’s collarbone. “Did it hurt?”

Harry nodded. “I didn’t know why at first. Then Astra set me up with a boy, and when he kissed me…” She exhaled sharply. “I hated it. It felt wrong. That’s when I knew.”

Louis traced the curve of Harry’s shoulder absentmindedly. “Do you still love her?”

Harry’s hand came up to Louis’ face, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear. “No.”

Louis lifted her head from where she rested, which was Harry’s very comfortable big breasts. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because whatever I felt for her is nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

Louis stilled.

“And what do you feel for me?” she whispered.

Harry’s fingers skimmed along her spine, featherlight. “Calm. Peace. Like I’m home.”

Louis’ throat tightened.

“Oh.”

Harry lifted her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. “I promise, whatever I had for her, it’s over. Resolved. Finished.” She pointed to her chest. “There’s only you here. And anyone before you? Nothing compared to you.”

Louis placed a hand on Harry’s breast, smirking slightly. “It’s a gigantic chest. You sure there’s not room for more?”

Harry laughed, a deep, belly laugh that made Louis’ whole body vibrate with the sound.

“You’re ridiculous.” She laced their fingers together, bringing Louis’ hand to her lips. “You’re big enough to fill every space there is.”

Louis gasped dramatically. “Are you calling me fat?”

Harry grinned. “I’m calling you mine.”

Louis’ stomach flipped, her heart stammering in her chest.

Harry's gaze softened, and she exhaled like she’d been waiting years for this moment. “Can I kiss you now? For real?”

Louis felt heat rush to her face, her body already moving closer as if drawn by some invisible force. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her entire body alight with anticipation.

She barely had time to brace herself before Harry closed the distance, their lips finally, finally, meeting. It was soft at first, a delicate press, like Harry was savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of Louis against her. But then Louis sighed against her lips, her fingers curling against Harry’s shirt, and that was all it took for the kiss to deepen.

Harry’s hand moved to cradle the back of Louis’ neck, fingers spreading wide, tilting her head just enough to slot their mouths together more perfectly. Her other hand traced slow, soothing circles against Louis’ lower back, anchoring her, pulling her impossibly closer as if she wanted to erase the space between them entirely.

Louis could feel the warmth of Harry’s skin beneath her fingertips, the steady rise and fall of her chest against her own. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine. Her heart raced, her stomach flipped, and yet, for the first time in days, maybe even months, she wasn’t overthinking. She wasn’t doubting.

She was just feeling.

Harry tasted faintly of mint and something sweeter, something undeniably her. The kiss was slow, unhurried, filled with something so intense it made Louis’ head spin. It wasn’t just lips pressing together—it was Harry pouring everything she felt into it, every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every touch that had sent sparks down Louis’ skin.

When Harry pulled back, she didn’t go far. Their noses brushed, breaths mingling in the small space between them.

Louis’ eyes fluttered open, her heart still hammering against her ribs as she searched Harry’s face, looking for something, anything to ground her.

Harry was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Like she was precious.

Like she was hers.

Louis swallowed, feeling something tight and unfamiliar lodge itself in her throat.

“Well,” she whispered, breathless. “Took you long enough.”

Harry grinned, dimples on full display, her fingers still tracing soft patterns against the nape of Louis’ neck.

“Had to make sure you were ready,” she murmured.

Louis hummed, lips twitching. “And what if I wasn’t?”

Harry’s expression softened. “Then I would’ve waited.”

Something warm bloomed in Louis’ chest, something terrifying and wonderful all at once.

Harry had waited. 

And she would’ve kept waiting.

Louis bit her lip, fingers brushing against Harry’s cheek before tracing down to her jaw. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice.

This time, when she kissed Louis, it was more certain, more sure. Louis melted into it, her arms winding around Harry’s neck as she let herself fall.

Maybe she was already falling.

Maybe she had been all along.

***

Panic was an understatement for what Louis felt right now.

Harry’s birthday was tomorrow, and she had absolutely nothing prepped for her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. The thought alone made her giggle and internally scream every time it crossed her mind.

Her girlfriend. Harry was her girlfriend.

"Morning, starlight," Harry murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she nuzzled her nose against Louis' cheek.

Louis melted instantly. “Morning.” Her smile widened as Harry pulled her closer, tangling their legs together beneath the sheets.

The entire afternoon had been a blur of whispered conversations, stolen kisses, and lazy touches—only interrupted when Madeline got back from class, threw a pillow at them, and demanded they get a room. So they did.

Which really just meant more kissing.

And when they finally came up for air, they settled into each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing at all.

By the time dinner rolled around, the girls were already cooking, so Harry and Louis joined them. Before meeting them, Louis had assumed sorority girls were the mean girl type, but they weren’t. Sure, they cared about their looks—spending two hours getting ready for class—but there was nothing wrong with wanting to feel pretty. Everyone deserved that. And the most impressive part? They excelled in their classes, juggled extracurriculars, and somehow still had time to socialize.

After dinner, Louis worked on her essays while Harry watched TV, absentmindedly massaging her foot like it was second nature. Then they brushed their teeth together, bumping shoulders at the sink, until Harry pressed a quick kiss to her lips—gentle, easy, theirs.

Louis borrowed Harry’s t-shirt, like always, and they talked in hushed voices until sleep pulled them under.

Honestly? It was the best thing ever.

"Are you coming to the game today?" Harry’s voice was groggy, still laced with sleep.

Louis blinked against the morning light. "Do you want me to come?"

"Of course." Harry cracked one eye open. "Can I make a small request?"

Louis hummed. "Mmh. Sure. What is it?"

Harry pushed herself up halfway, propping her head on her hand. "Can you, um, wear my jersey while watching the game?"

Louis blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her lips curled into a smile. "I'd like that."

Harry grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “Great! Also, I texted Coach last night. You can sit on the bench during the game.”

Louis' brows furrowed. “Huh? Are you sure that’s okay? I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

Harry scoffed. “Totally okay. Consider yourself my personal cheerleader.”

Louis rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Okay.”

Harry smiled back, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got an hour until class.”

“Yep.”

“Let’s get breakfast first, then I’ll drop you off.”

“Okay.”

Harry reached over, brushing stray strands of hair from Louis’ face before leaning in, closing the distance between them.

Louis sighed softly when their lips met, sinking into the warmth, the familiarity. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing slow circles like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And if Louis was five minutes late to class? Well, her swollen red lips were completely irrelevant.

***

“Thank you for helping me,” Louis said, slightly breathless as she turned to Rachel, one of Harry’s sorority sisters.

Rachel, who was wiping her forehead with a towel, grinned. “No worries. Bet Harry would die from happiness if she saw you tomorrow.”

Louis let out a nervous laugh, adjusting the hem of her shirt as she glanced at her reflection in the studio mirrors. She wasn’t exactly a pro dancer, but she had an idea—one that she desperately wanted to pull off for Harry’s birthday.

It all started in the middle of today’s lecture. Louis had no clue what the professor was droning on about—her mind had wandered far from the lesson, fixating instead on the glittery dress she planned to wear tomorrow and the countless ways she could style her hair.

Then, like a lightbulb flickering on, it hit her that she didn’t need to give Harry a material gift. The perfect present had been staring her in the face all along. Every time they watched a Dua Lipa performance, Harry would scream, squeal, and dramatically declare she wanted to die from how breathtaking the singer was.

And that was when Louis knew exactly what she had to do.

Madeline had been the first person she told, and naturally, she screamed in excitement, immediately roping Rachel into the plan. Rachel, being the art major she was, had not only helped book the dance studio but had also called in a few of her friends from the dance program to assist.

Now, standing in front of the group of girls who had willingly shown up to help her, Louis felt a little overwhelmed.

“Okay, so it’s actually a simple routine,” she started, rubbing the back of her neck. “But considering we only have today to practice—and not even a full day, since I need to be at Harry’s game at five—it might be a little tricky.”

Rachel and the other dancers nodded, their expressions supportive but also a little amused, like they could sense just how smitten Louis was.

Louis sighed, shaking off the nerves. “I just—I really want this to be perfect for her. So, thank you. I really appreciate you all being here.”

Rachel nudged her playfully. “Trust me, Harry is going to lose her mind.”

Louis huffed out a breath, grinning despite herself. “Let’s hope so.”

Then, clapping her hands together, she took a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s start!”

***

The energy on the lacrosse field was electric—cheers and chants filled the crisp afternoon air as Louis sprinted past the bleachers, her heart pounding almost as hard as her feet against the pavement. The moment she spotted Harry, standing in the middle of her team with an agitated look on her face, Louis pushed herself to run even faster.

Harry’s tense shoulders relaxed the second she saw her, and before Louis could even catch her breath, she was wrapped in a crushing hug.

“Thought you weren’t coming.” Harry murmured into her hair, her arms wound tightly around Louis’ waist. She pulled back just enough to press a lingering kiss to her temple. Then, as if noticing for the first time, she frowned. “Why are you sweating?”

Louis swallowed, forcing her breathing to slow. “Uh… sorry. I fell asleep and had to run here.”

Harry’s frown melted into a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re wearing my jersey.”

Louis tugged at the hem of the oversized maroon jersey, the fabric soft and slightly worn, with STYLES printed in bold letters across her back and the number 1 right beneath it.

“I did promise you.”

That was all it took for Harry’s dimple to pop out, her happiness so obvious it made Louis' chest ache. Harry cupped her cheek briefly, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, letting her lips linger for a moment.

“It's time, girls!” Coach’s sharp voice cut through the moment, calling the team to the field.

Harry turned back to Louis, her eyes softer now, searching. “Cheer for me?”

Louis smiled. “Always. Go get them, Captain Styles.”

Harry grinned widely before stealing one last kiss, brief but firm, then jogged backward toward her team. She winked at Louis just as Coach called her name, and then the whole team ran onto the field to a deafening roar from the crowd.

Louis clapped her hands together, then turned to take in the stands. The bleachers were packed—students decked out in the school colors, waving banners and signs. A massive one stretched across the railing, painted in bold red and gold letters: GO STYLES #24! Louis chuckled at that. Of course, Harry had her own fan club.

She took her seat on the bench, already buzzing with excitement as the whistle blew and the game kicked off. The roar of the crowd surged as the teams clashed on the field, sticks colliding, bodies weaving through defenders. The rhythmic pounding of cleats against the turf sent vibrations through the ground beneath Louis' feet.

She kept her eyes locked on Harry, who moved across the field with effortless precision, her maroon jersey standing out against the blur of bodies. There was something mesmerizing about watching her play—how she dodged, twisted, and sprinted, completely in her element. Every time Harry had possession of the ball, the noise level shot up, a wave of cheers and screams erupting through the stadium.

Louis found herself gripping the hem of her borrowed jersey, heart racing as Harry took off down the field. She barely had time to process what was happening before Harry flicked her wrist and sent the ball soaring straight into the goal.

The crowd exploded.

Louis shot up from the bench, clapping wildly as Harry pumped a fist in the air before getting mobbed by her teammates. She turned toward the bleachers, and sure enough, students were on their feet, waving signs and chanting her name. One group even had their faces painted with her number, 24, across their cheeks.

But the other team wasn’t backing down. The moment play resumed, they came back hard. The game turned into a blur of fast passes, sharp pivots, and near collisions. Harry was everywhere, calling plays, blocking passes, leading the charge.

Then it happened.

Harry had just cut past a defender, sprinting at full speed, when someone slammed into her side.

Louis’ stomach dropped as she watched Harry’s legs tangle, her body twisting midair before crashing onto the turf with a sickening thud.

The breath left Louis’ lungs.

She shot up from the bench, her pulse roaring in her ears. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.

Harry lay still for a split second, and Louis swore her heart stopped.

Then, finally, she moved. A groan, then a slow push onto her elbows. The tension in the air broke as she waved off the trainers rushing toward her, already getting back on her feet.

Louis collapsed back onto the bench, pressing a hand over her wildly beating heart. She was never going to survive dating an athlete.

Harry shook out her limbs, rolled her shoulders, then shot Louis a cheeky thumbs-up from across the field.

Louis let out a shaky laugh. “Absolute menace,” she muttered under her breath.

The game continued, even more aggressive than before. Both teams fought for control, the score staying dangerously close. Harry’s teammates worked in sync, executing seamless passes, while the opposing team pushed harder, determined to catch up.

With just minutes left, the scoreboard showed a tied score. The tension both in the field and the bleachers were palpable.

Then, in a blur of movement, Harry made a pass, spun away from her defender, and took off. She cut through the field like she was untouchable, moving with a confidence that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Louis didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until Harry lifted her stick and slammed the ball into the net.

The final whistle blew.

For a split second, there was silence, then the whole crowd exploded—cheers, whistles, feet stomping against the bleachers. The players screamed in victory, throwing their sticks in the air and piling onto each other in celebration.

But before Louis could even blink, Harry had broken away from her team and sprinted straight for her.

Louis barely had time to react before she was lifted off the ground, arms wrapped around Harry’s neck as her girlfriend spun them both in circles.

“My lucky charm!” Harry yelled, grinning so wide it was contagious. She didn’t wait and just kissed her, right then and there, with the whole crowd roaring around them.

Louis melted into it, her hands clutching the back of Harry’s jersey as the world blurred away. It didn’t matter that thousands of eyes were on them. It didn’t matter that the celebration was chaotic around them.

Because at that moment, it was just them.

***

The adrenaline from the game was still coursing through their veins as they pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru, the scent of fries and grease instantly filling the car. 

“Welcome to McDonald’s, can I take your order?”

Louis turned to Harry, brows raised. “What do you want, Captain Styles?”

Harry smirked, still high on victory. “A large McNuggets meal. And a chocolate shake.”

Louis snorted. “Athlete diet?”

Harry shrugged. “I earned this.”

Louis rolled her eyes fondly before turning back to the menu. “And I’ll have a cheeseburger, regular fries, and water.”

As Harry relayed the order, Louis leaned her head against the passenger seat, watching her girlfriend with a soft smile. The post-game glow suited her—cheeks flushed, curls still slightly damp with sweat, eyes bright and alive. God, she was so unfairly attractive.

Once they got their food, Harry drove to the empty side of the parking lot and parked under the glow of the streetlights. The radio played softly in the background as they dug into their meal.

Louis took a bite of her burger, watching Harry dunk a nugget into the barbecue sauce. “You were so cool out there,” she said between bites. “Like, stupidly cool. It’s actually unfair.”

Harry chuckled, mouth full. “Keep going. My ego isn’t inflated enough yet.”

“No, seriously.” Louis set her burger down, her voice turning more serious. “You were like a goddamn warrior on that field. I’ve never seen someone move like that. It was… I dunno, insane? You were leading everyone, dodging people left and right, scoring goals like it was nothing—"

Harry grinned, clearly enjoying the praise. “You’re making me sound way cooler than I am.”

Louis huffed. “No, you are that cool. But also…” She narrowed her eyes and pointed a fry at Harry’s chest. “You’re a massive asshole for scaring me like that.”

Harry blinked innocently. “What?”

“When you fell!” Louis flailed her hands for emphasis. “Do you have any idea how close I was to a heart attack? My soul left my body for a solid three seconds.”

Harry smirked. “I’ll tell you in advance before the game when I’m gonna fall so you won’t be surprised and get a heart attack.”

Louis deadpanned. “Shut up.”

Harry laughed, reaching over to squeeze Louis’ thigh. “I’m fine, baby. But I do appreciate the concern.”

Louis huffed, chewing her fry aggressively. “I’m checking your bruises when we get back. No arguments.”

Harry lifted her hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the occasional sounds of crinkling wrappers and soft music filling the space.

Then Louis glanced down at the jersey she was wearing—Harry’s old maroon one with STYLES and the number 1 on it. She furrowed her brows.

“Hey,” she said, turning to Harry. “Why is this jersey number 1, but the one you wear now is 24?”

Harry, mid-sip of her milkshake, suddenly froze. She swallowed, looking a little sheepish. “Oh, uh… about that.”

Louis tilted her head. “Yeah?”

Harry scratched the back of her neck. “I, um… I asked Coach to change my number at the beginning of the semester.”

Louis narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “Why?”

Harry looked down at her nuggets, suddenly very interested in them. Then, after a moment, she glanced at Louis with a shy smile and shrugged.

“Think 24 is my lucky number.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, dipping a fry into her sauce. “Hmm. Weird, because 24 also happens to be my birth date.”

Harry didn’t even look up as she popped another nugget into her mouth. “Yes.”

Louis paused mid-chew. “Wait… what?” Harry finally glanced at her, smirking as she reached for her milkshake. The smaller one was genuinely baffled. “But… you didn’t even know me that well early this semester.” Harry only winked, completely unbothered, and took a sip of her shake. Louis gawked at her. “Oh, no. You absolutely had a crush on me before we even started talking, didn’t you?”

Harry shrugged and grinned so wide she looked stupid. “Maybe.”

Louis lightly smacked Harry’s arm, making her laugh. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head with a small smile.

They spent the rest of their meal talking about the game, the big plays, and the upcoming match next week. Harry kept teasing Louis about how she’d react if she fell again, and Louis kept swatting at her, reminding her that she almost died watching that happen once already.

By the time they got back to the house, the exhaustion from the day was starting to settle in.

As soon as they stepped inside, Harry turned to Louis with a hopeful grin. “Shower together?”

Louis rolled her eyes but couldn't fight back her grin. “Harry.”

“What?” Harry pouted dramatically. “I won the game. That should count for something, right?”

Louis snorted, pushing Harry toward the stairs. “It counts for separate showers and me checking your bruises after.”

Harry whined but obeyed, trudging toward her room like a kicked puppy.

After their showers—separate, much to Harry’s extreme disappointment—Louis sat cross-legged on Harry’s bed, waiting for her girlfriend to come out in her crop t-shirt and shorts.

“Alright, Styles,” Louis said, patting the space in front of her. “Let me see the damage.”

Harry dramatically flopped onto the bed, extending her legs across Louis’ lap. “I think I need mouth-to-skin healing, personally.”

Louis rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, yeah. Let me actually check your bruise first, you giant baby.”

It wasn’t too bad. The medic had already cleaned the scrape, but Louis carefully wiped it again, just to be sure. Then she took out the bandages from the kit and gently wrapped it up.

“There,” she murmured, running her fingers lightly over the bandage. “All better.”

Harry gazed at her with a lazy smile. “Kiss it better?”

Louis gave her a pointed look but leaned down anyway, pressing a soft kiss just above the bandage.

Harry beamed. “You do like me.”

“Shut up,” Louis muttered, but she was already leaning in again, brushing her lips over Harry’s in a slow, warm kiss.

One kiss turned into two. Two turned into three.

Before they knew it, Harry was lying back against the pillows, pulling Louis on top of her, hands lazily running up and down her back as they melted into each other. The exhaustion was still there, but so was the comfort, the kind that made them feel like they had all the time in the world.

Eventually, with soft sighs and tangled limbs, they settled under the covers, wrapped up in each other.

Louis buried her face against Harry’s chest, listening to her steady heartbeat.

Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of her head. “Goodnight, my lucky charm.”

Louis smiled, eyes already slipping closed. “Goodnight, Captain Styles.”

***

“Good morning, starlight.” Harry’s voice was thick with sleep, warm and low as she pressed a lazy kiss to Louis’ temple.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Louis murmured, smiling against Harry’s skin. “Happy birthday.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep but immediately softening at the sight of Louis. A slow grin spread across her face, dimples deep and prominent.

“I’ve never loved my birthday as much as I do today.”

Louis chuckled, fingers tracing absentmindedly along the curve of Harry’s bare shoulder. “Hopefully it’s because of me.”

Harry hummed, nudging her nose against Louis’ cheek. “Of course, it’s because of you. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about waking up like this.” Louis bit her lip, heart thumping at the thought. Harry was such a sap. Her sap. “Kiss me,” Harry whispered.

Louis didn’t need to be told twice. She leaned in, lips meeting Harry’s in a slow, lingering kiss. Harry sighed into it, her arm tightening around Louis’ waist as she pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. Somewhere between deepening the kiss and the way Harry’s fingers slid against the small of her back, Louis felt herself being rolled onto her back, Harry settling between her legs effortlessly.

Heat pooled low in her stomach, a familiar throb pulsing through her, but this time it was accompanied with strong slick coming out of her. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed like this, but this time something was different.

“Harry…” Louis whispered against her lips, voice barely audible.

Harry’s hand stilled on her waist, her brows knitting together. “Yeah, baby?”

Louis hesitated. How was she supposed to say it? That she needed more? That she needed Harry to touch her in ways they hadn’t explored yet?

Her face burned, but the ache between her legs was louder than her shyness. She swallowed and reached for Harry’s hand, lifting it off her waist. Harry’s confusion deepened as she let Louis guide her, and for a second, she thought Harry might pull away, misreading her hesitation as discomfort.

But Louis shook her head, her grip firm as she led Harry’s hand lower—over the curve of her stomach, past the band of her panties.

Harry’s breath hitched. Her green eyes darkened as realization dawned.

“You’re unreal,” she murmured, her voice thick with something Louis had never heard before.

Then she kissed her again—deeper, slower, with intention. Her hand moved carefully, fingers tracing over Louis’ hip before pressing gently where she ached most. The touch was light at first, teasing, and Louis swore she could feel every nerve in her body fire at once.

Her breath came in short, uneven pants as she clutched onto Harry’s shoulders.

Harry pulled back just enough to watch her face, her thumb brushing soft circles over Louis’ hipbone.

“You okay?” she asked, voice husky.

Louis nodded, biting back a whimper. “Yeah. Just, don’t stop.”

Harry smiled, slow and knowing.

Her girlfriend’s touch lingered at the edge of Louis’ hip, her fingertips trembling ever so slightly—not from uncertainty, but from the weight of the moment. Louis arched instinctively, chasing the warmth of her hand, and Harry’s breath stuttered in response.

“Look at me,” Harry whispered, her voice a velvet rasp. When Louis met her gaze, the intensity there, soft yet unyielding, made her shiver. “You’re sure?”

Louis nodded, her throat tight. “Want you.”

The words seemed to unravel something in Harry. Her lips found Louis’ neck, open-mouthed and reverent, as her hand finally dipped lower. The first brush of fingers against wet heat drew a gasp from Louis, her hips jerking upward. Harry stilled, her eyes flicking up.

“Still okay?”

“Yes,” Louis breathed, tangling her fingers in Harry’s sleep-mussed curls. “Just… slow.”

“Always,” Harry promised, her smile pressed into Louis’ collarbone.

When she moved again, it was with unbearable gentleness—a single finger circling, teasing, learning the rhythm of Louis’ hitched breaths. Every shift of Harry’s wrist was a question, every sigh from Louis an answer. The world narrowed to the drag of calloused fingertips and the salt-sweet taste of Harry’s skin beneath her tongue.

“Harry, please—”

The plea slipped out before Louis could catch it, high, and desperate. Harry’s answering groan vibrated against her chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmured, finally, finally sinking into slick warmth. “So wet for me, baby.” Harry bit her shoulder gently like this affected her as much as it affected Louis.

Louis’ back arched off the bed, a broken sound escaping her as she adjusted to the stretch. Harry watched her with blown pupils, her free hand cradling Louis’ jaw like something fragile.

“More?”

“More,” Louis choked out, nails biting into Harry’s shoulder.

The added pressure was electric. Harry added the second finger and curled her fingers just so, and Louis saw stars.

The room blurred—sunlight fracturing into gold dust, sheets clinging to sweat-damp skin. Harry’s rhythm was relentless now, her palm pressed firm where Louis needed it most. Every drag of her fingers unspooled something raw and primal, Louis’ thighs trembling as she fought to keep her eyes open, to watch the way Harry’s lips parted in awe.

“That’s it, baby,” Harry murmured, her voice fraying at the edges. “Let me see you.”

Louis shook her head, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Too much. Too bright. But Harry’s free hand slid into her hair, tilting her face upward.

“Look at me,” she breathed, and Louis obeyed, drowning in green, in the way Harry’s lashes fluttered as she whispered, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

The words cracked her open. A sob caught in her throat as the pressure crested, her hips stuttering against Harry’s hand. Harry felt it—the hitch in her breath, the way her body tensed like a bowstring—and slowed, just enough to make Louis whine.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Louis pleaded, her voice trembling.

Harry’s smile was all heat, all devotion. “Never.”

She crooked her fingers again, deeper, and at the same time the curly girl bit her right nipple—which had been so hard—through her t-shirt. 

And Louis broke.

It crashed over her in waves, shuddering, all-consuming, her back arching off the bed as colors burst behind her eyelids. Harry held her through it, murmuring sweet nothings against her throat, her rhythm gentling until Louis gasped and gripped the bedsheet.

“Harry—”

“I’ve got you,” she soothed, stilling completely. “Breathe, starlight.”

Louis collapsed, chest heaving, every cell inside her body felt electric and alive. Harry’s lips brushed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—featherlight, grounding. When Louis finally blinked up at her, vision swimming, Harry’s eyes glistened.

“Okay?” she asked, thumb sweeping over Louis’ neck just so she could feel her racing pulse.

Louis laughed weakly, tangling their legs together. “Better than okay.”

“Thank you.” Harry murmured, voice thick with warmth as she nuzzled into Louis’ neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her skin.

“No, thank you.” Louis chuckled breathlessly, still floating in the aftermath of what had just happened. “So that’s what an orgasm feels like.”

Harry pulled back slightly, smirking as she traced a gentle pattern over Louis’ side. “Wait—” She blinked, realization dawning. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

Louis tensed, her confidence from moments ago quickly fading. Heat crept up her neck as she shrank into herself, suddenly feeling insecure. “No…” she admitted quietly, barely above a whisper. A wave of embarrassment rushed over her, and she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice was soft, coaxing. “Don’t hide from me.”

Louis shook her head, peeking through her fingers. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m not… experienced enough for you.”

Harry frowned, taking Louis’ hands and pressing slow, deliberate kisses to each one before leaning in to kiss her lips just as tenderly.

“Baby, no.” She rested her forehead against Louis’, her thumb stroking gentle circles on her wrist. “I’m just happy you trust me enough to do this with me—to let go like that. That means more to me than anything.”

Louis exhaled slowly, relaxing a little, but she still felt a tinge of uncertainty.

Harry tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “We’re built differently, Lou. We’re not like men. It’s not just about getting off. For us, reaching our orgasm like that? It takes trust. We have to let go completely. And you did.” She pressed a lingering kiss to Louis’ forehead. “So, really, the honor is mine.”

Louis let those words sink in, warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t just about physical pleasure. It was the way Harry made her feel safe, the way she held her like she was something precious.

“Oh.” She swallowed, then let out a breathless laugh. “I have so much to learn.”

Harry grinned, eyes dark with mischief. “I’ll teach you.”

Louis narrowed her eyes. “That’s just an excuse to get in my pants again.”

Harry smirked, trailing her fingers lazily over Louis’ bare thigh. “And I’d say it’s a damn good excuse if it means I get to hear you moan like that every time.” She let her fingertips skim over the still sensitive spot between Louis’ legs, grinning as Louis jolted with a soft whimper. “And come hard like that.”

Louis let out a contented hum, her body still thrumming with exhaustion. Who knew orgasm could exhaust her to no end. 

But then a thought hit her, and she frowned. “Wait, you didn’t come.”

Harry just chuckled, brushing her lips over Louis’ temple. “You’re cute.”

Before Louis could ask what she meant, Harry took her hand and guided it down, slipping it beneath the waistband of her shorts. Louis inhaled sharply when she felt the dampness against Harry’s panties.

“Couldn’t hold back,” Harry admitted, her voice husky. “Not when you were that divine.”

Louis groaned, her cheeks burning. “Stop,” she muttered, burying her face in Harry’s shoulder.

Harry only grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss to her jaw. “So… can I have that shower together now? Since, you know, it is my birthday?”

Louis rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the fond smile tugging at her lips. “Fine.”

But before Harry could move, Louis suddenly reached out and grabbed her breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

Harry froze, then blinked down at her in amusement. “Uh, what was that for?”

Louis bit her lip, eyes dancing with mischief. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time we met.”

Harry threw her head back and laughed. “And you really wondered if you were into girls?”

Before Louis could answer, Harry got off the bed and picked Louis up like she weighed nothing.

“Harry!” Louis yelped, laughing as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck.

But if Harry ended up pinning her against the shower wall, slipping her fingers between her legs again until Louis’ knees were shaking and she could barely stand, well, she only had Harry’s talented hands to blame.

***

Louis barely held her laugh at Harry’s exaggerated pout through the screen.

“You really can’t get ready here?” Harry whined, her curls were all over place, her lower lip jutting out in protest.

After that mind-blowing shower, they had finally emerged from Harry’s room—only for Harry to be ambushed by the girls waiting at the stairs, a small cake in hand, candle flickering. Harry had scrunched her nose in delight before closing her eyes, making a wish, and blowing it out.

Madeline had taken the liberty of ordering pastries from Harry’s favorite café, but of course, the birthday girl had whined for pancakes which were made only by Louis. It seemed Harry planned on milking her birthday for all it was worth. And Louis, hopelessly soft for her, had indulged her. Even though the pancakes came out slightly burnt on one side, Harry ate them as if they were the best thing she had ever tasted.

The rest of the morning had been spent setting up for the party, laughter filling the air as decorations went up. At some point, Louis had pulled Madeline aside, whispering for her to keep Harry distracted while she sneaked off to Rachel’s room for one last practice. It hadn’t lasted long, because, unsurprisingly, after thirty minutes of Louis being MIA, Harry had begun calling out for her.

By the time they finished setting everything up, it was past 3 PM, and Harry had declared she was exhausted and needed a nap. So naturally, they had curled up together in her bed. Harry had absentmindedly played with Louis’ nipple, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her skin, until they both drifted off.

Two hours later, they woke up tangled in each other, lips finding their way back together in a slow, unhurried makeout session. It wasn’t until Louis managed to pull away reluctantly that she reminded Harry she needed to go get ready.

“Get ready here,” Harry had insisted, nuzzling into her neck, pressing soft kisses along her jaw.

“Nope,” Louis said, untangling herself from the clingy birthday girl.

Harry had grumbled but ultimately relented, though not without the biggest pout known to humankind as she dropped Louis off at her dorm.

Now, watching her sulk through the phone screen, Louis couldn’t help but grin.

“It’s only for a few hours, babe. I’ll be there before you know it.” She dug through her makeup bag, setting everything up in front of the mirror.

“I don’t like being far away from you,” Harry huffed.

Louis’ heart did an embarrassing little flip. “Me neither, sweet girl. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

Harry sighed dramatically, watching as Louis picked up her primer and started applying it. “You’re really not gonna show me your dress?”

“Mmh?” Louis hummed, swiping on her foundation next. “It’s a surprise.”

“Thought you hated surprises.”

“I do,” Louis said, smiling cheekily at the screen, “but you don’t.”

Harry groaned, throwing herself onto her bed. “I don’t like you like this.”

Louis chuckled, shaking her head as she blended out her concealer.

Before Harry could whine more, her bedroom door suddenly burst open, and a new face took over the screen.

“Sorry, Lou. The birthday girl’s gotta get ready,” Rebecca announced.

“Please take her away and make her the prettiest,” Louis teased, sending a wink in Harry’s direction.

“I will!” Rebecca cheered. And despite Harry’s protests in the background, Rebecca ended the call.

Louis chuckled softly as she stared at the black screen of her phone, Harry’s pout still lingering in her mind. She was impossibly cute, and as much as Louis loved teasing her, she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to be back in her arms.

After finished applying her makeup, Louis turned to the glittering dress hanging on the back of her door.

She stepped into it carefully, pulling it over her curves before adjusting the deep V neckline. The fabric hugged her like a second skin, shimmering under the light every time she moved. The slit along her thigh was dangerously high, the lace-up detail on the side making it even more sinful.

She twirled in front of the mirror, taking herself in. For the longest time, she struggled to see herself the way others did. But Harry—her sweet girlfriend, Harry—made her feel like the most beautiful person in the world. The way she whispered compliments against her skin, the way her eyes darkened with want whenever Louis walked into a room, the way she touched her like she was something precious. It all made her believe it.

And, well, Louis always knew she was blessed in the bottom department, but damn, this dress made it look next level. No wonder Harry couldn't keep her hands off her. Especially this morning.

She smirked at her reflection, turning slightly to admire the way the glittering fabric accentuated every curve. She really couldn’t wait to see Harry’s expression when she walked into the party.

If her girl couldn’t keep her hands off her before, she was in real trouble tonight.

***

Louis sneaked into the house through the backdoor, heart pounding with excitement. She needed to stay off Harry’s radar for just a little longer. Her phone had been buzzing relentlessly—texts, missed calls, all from one person.

H❤️: where are you?
H❤️: you said you’d be here soon!!!
H❤️: baby please i miss you :(
H❤️: okay i’m being dramatic but i miss you for real
H❤️: are you mad at me?
H❤️: louissssssssss :(

Her girlfriend was so clingy. And Louis really liked it.

From inside the house, Louis could hear the distant hum of laughter, chatter, and the soft clinking of glasses. The party was in full swing, fairy lights casting a golden glow over the backyard. She peeked through the backdoor, careful to stay hidden, and immediately spotted Harry in the middle of the crowd—drink in hand, effortlessly stunning.

Her black cowboy hat sat low, curls spilling from beneath it. A tiny cow-print bra hugged her breast, leaving her toned stomach bare, while a long, animal-print coat draped over her shoulders. Loose cargo pants rested low on her hips, giving her a rugged yet undeniably cool look.

Harry’s presence was magnetic, but what truly caught Louis’ attention was her confidence—the way she carried herself, completely aware of how good she looked. And God, she did. But even with that effortless charm, Louis noticed the slight furrow in her brows, the way her gaze scanned the party.

God, Louis thought, she’s so stupidly obsessed with me.

She pressed her lips together, trying not to grin too wide.

Just then, Madeline took the mic and stepped up in front of everyone. Louis quickly ducked behind the door frame, waiting for her moment.

“I just want to say the happiest birthday to my dearest sister,” Madeline started, and the crowd cheered. “Hope you’re less annoying now that you have a girlfriend.” Laughter erupted, a few murmurs rippling through the crowd. Louis felt her nerves spike and Madeline grinned. “But really, you’re the best sister a girl could ask for. May we annoy each other until we both disappear from this planet. To Harry!” she cheered, raising her cup.

“To Harry!” The crowd followed, lifting their drinks, and Harry, laughing, did the same.

“And now,” Madeline continued, “we have a surprise for you!”

“We?” Harry asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

That was Louis’ cue.

She took a deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms on the sides of her glittery dress before stepping forward. Rachel and the other girls followed behind her, and as soon as she emerged into the backyard, the noise in the crowd shifted. A few surprised gasps, a couple of whispered remarks, but Louis had no attention to spare for them.

Because Harry was looking at her like she had just descended from the heavens themselves.

Her girlfriend’s lips parted slightly, green eyes wide, scanning her from head to toe. Louis tried to fight the blush creeping up her neck.

Madeline handed her the mic, and Louis took it, inhaling deeply before speaking.

“Hi, love,” she said softly, and Harry’s entire face melted. “Happy birthday to you.” Louis tried to keep her voice steady, but her heart was racing. “I, uh, I didn’t bring anything as a gift because, let’s face it, you already have me.” Harry let out a loud bark of laughter, the crowd joining in, and just like that, Louis felt her nerves ease just a little. “But,” Louis continued, tilting her head, “I did tell you that my mom always said I had to give a birthday present to my friend—”

“Girlfriend!” Harry interrupted, her voice carrying over the noise, making people laugh again.

Louis rolled her eyes fondly. “Right. Girlfriend.” She exhaled, gripping the mic tighter. “And since you’re my girlfriend, here’s your birthday gift.”

The speakers crackled as Dua Lipa’s Love Again intro started playing. Louis quickly set the mic down and got into position, Rachel and the others moving with her.

She heard Harry call out a confused, “Wait, what—?” before the first beat hit.

The rhythm vibrated through her, grounding her in movement, in the sharp beats and fluid transitions. At first, she felt exposed—all eyes were on her, Harry’s eyes were on her. But then she caught sight of her girlfriend’s expression.

Harry had gone completely still, her drink frozen mid-air, mouth slightly parted.

Shock.

Louis smirked. That was a good start.

She let the music take over, her hips rolling with the beat, her body flowing into the choreography she had drilled into muscle memory. Her nerves faded, replaced by something hotter, something bolder.

She flicked her hair back, her movements growing sharper, more confident. Own it, Louis.

“But, goddamn you got me in love again.” Dua Lipa’s sweet voice boomed through the speaker and she finally dared to meet Harry’s gaze again as she mimicked riding movement for the chorus—Jesus fucking Christ.

The shock in those green eyes had shifted into something else entirely. Something darker. Something hungry.

Louis’ stomach flipped.

Oh. Oh.

Harry wasn’t just watching her dance. She was devouring her.

And suddenly, every movement felt like a deliberate tease. She swayed her hips slower, sharper, her fingers grazing her body as she turned, rolling her shoulders back. She felt Harry’s eyes trace every motion, burning into her like a touch.

Then came the part she had been waiting for.

Rachel moved behind of her, their bodies aligning perfectly as they hit the next steps in sync. At the exact moment Rachel slid behind Louis, her hands lightly skimming her waist before snapping back to grind at her as they were riding horse together.

And Harry’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around her cup so hard Louis swore she heard the plastic crack.

She bit back a grin.

By the time the dance neared its end, Louis felt completely electrified. The rush of dancing, the adrenaline, and the unmistakable heat radiating from Harry’s gaze, it all wrapped around her like a slow burn.

As the final beat dropped, Louis struck her last pose, chest heaving, skin tingling. The crowd erupted into cheers.

But Louis barely heard any of it.

All she could focus on was Harry.

Harry, who was staring at her like she was a fucking miracle. Like she was something she wanted to grab, pin against the nearest surface, and devour whole. And fuck, Louis had never felt hotter in her entire life. 

This night was going to be fun.

***

“Fuck.” Harry breathed out, her grip tightening around Louis’ neck. “Fuck.” She cursed again, voice thick with need.

The moment Louis stepped off the stage, Harry was on her. She strode forward with purpose, grabbed her by the wrist, and led her inside the house. Louis barely had a second to process before Harry pulled her into the first empty room she could find, which was a small bathroom near the kitchen, and locked the door behind them.

Harry didn’t waste time. Her lips were on Louis’ ear, breath hot and uneven as she whispered, “You’re so fucking hot.” She nibbled at her earlobe before trailing kisses down her jaw. “Best birthday ever.”

Louis barely had time to smirk before hands were on her again, slipping under the fabric of her dress to grab at her hips, her ass, fingers digging in with desperation. A moan slipped from her lips.

“Then do something.” Louis gasped, arching into Harry’s touch. Her pulse thrummed in her throat, every nerve alight.

Harry pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “Baby,” Harry rasped, pulling back just enough to look down. “Are you wearing a G-string?”

Louis hummed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “For you.”

Harry exhaled sharply, gripping her thighs before lifting her onto the sink counter. “You’re killing me.”

Louis laughed breathlessly. “Then I guess you better do something about it. Less talk, more action, Styles. I’ve been wet since—”

Harry’s laugh was low, dangerous. “Filthy mouth on such a pretty girl.” She nipped at Louis’ lower lip, swallowing her moan. “Gonna ruin you.” Harry’s fingers traced along her bare thighs, slow and teasing, before she leaned in again, lips brushing against her skin. “You look so beautiful.”

“You’re hot.” Louis reached for her, hands slipping under the cow-print bra to cup her breasts. “Like ridiculously hot,” she murmured, squeezing just enough to make Harry’s breath hitch.

Harry’s grip tightened in response, fingers pressing into her thighs. Her lips curled into a smirk as she leaned in closer, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Such a naughty girl.”

Louis’ breath hitched when Harry’s hands moved, teasing, coaxing reactions out of her with the simplest touch. The anticipation, the heat between them, was almost unbearable.

Harry reached for her hat and placed it on Louis’ head. “Wear it.”

Louis did as told, their eyes locking, the air between them charged.

The world outside the tiny bathroom didn’t exist anymore. It was just them breathing, touching, wanting. Louis’ head spun, her body ignited under Harry’s touch. It was dizzying, overwhelming, and addictive.

Harry’s lips brushed softly against Louis’ pussy, and a whimper slipped past Louis’ lips at the teasing contact. Harry pulled back slightly, licking her lips as she took in the sight before her—Louis, breathless, barely covered, completely at her mercy.

“Naughty girl,” Harry murmured, her voice dripping with mischief as she traced slow, deliberate circles over Louis’ sensitive clit. “So, so naughty.”

The teasing was maddening, the featherlight touch making Louis shiver, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. And then, finally Harry slipped a finger inside her, the sensation making something tingle deep in Louis' chest.

“God, Lou… you’re so wet.” Harry’s voice was thick, almost reverent.

Louis could only moan in response as Harry curled her finger inside her, pressing into that perfect, aching spot. Her movements were slow, deliberate—teasing yet relentless. Harry’s thumb never stopped its torturous circles on her clit, the pressure just enough to keep Louis teetering on the edge, yet not enough to push her over.

Louis’ breath hitched when she dared to look down. Harry met her gaze with a knowing smirk, her lips glistening, dark eyes locked onto every little reaction she pulled from her. It was intoxicating the way Harry watched her, completely absorbed, utterly captivated.

Smirking, Harry trailed her lips down Louis’ inner thigh, pressing wet, lingering kisses against her burning skin. She moved with purpose, like she had all the time in the world, savoring every inch. Each touch sent a fresh wave of shivers coursing through Louis, anticipation making her toes curl.

And then finally Harry’s mouth was on her hole. She kissed it lightly at first, then struck her tongue inside causing Louis’ breath hitched.

Every stroke her girlfriend made against her hole sent a jolt of pleasure through Louis so intense that her head tipped back against the wall, lips parted in a silent cry. It was overwhelming, the way Harry worked her with slow, precise movements, coaxing, worshipping. She was utterly, devastatingly thorough, and Louis could do nothing but surrender to it, letting herself unravel under Harry’s touch and kiss.

Louis felt like she was coming, her body caught between fire and ice as Harry worked her with an expertise that left her dizzy. Every flick of her tongue, every calculated movement sent sparks through her veins. And when Harry pressed in deeper, when she sucked and teased like she was savoring every drop of her, Louis swore she saw stars.

She gasped, fingers tangling in Harry’s curls, but all that did was make Harry groan against her, sending vibrations through her body. The pressure was building, coiling tight, her legs trembling with the force of it. She was so close, right on the edge and she only needed to let go, to fall.

“Harry—”

Harry hummed like she already knew, like she could feel it just as much as Louis could. Her hand found Louis’ and squeezed, grounding her, pulling her under. And when Louis finally let go, it was like free-falling—weightless, consuming, and utterly exhilarating. The world fading for a blissful moment, leaving only the feeling of her girlfriend holding her together.

By the time she opened her eyes again, Harry was standing in front of her, thumb brushing soothing circles on her thigh, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

“You good, baby?”

Louis let out a breathy laugh. “I swear, I’m gonna die from an orgasm one of these days.”

Harry barked out a laugh before leaning in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That good, huh?”

Louis rolled her eyes. “Do you really need your ego boosted?”

Harry winked. “Couldn’t hurt.” She kissed her again, softer this time, gentle, as if to balance the intensity of everything before it.

Louis sighed against her lips, content. “Where have you been all my life?”

Harry’s smile softened. “Right here. You just didn’t see me.”

Louis cupped her face, thumb tracing the curve of her dimple. “Sorry it took me so long.”

Harry shook her head. “I would’ve waited forever.”

A warmth spread through Louis’ chest, something deeper than desire, heavier than just attraction.

“Will you teach me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Harry’s eyes darkened slightly, lips twitching into a smile before she pecked her lips. “I will. But first—” She grabbed a tissue, cleaning Louis up before stepping back. “Let’s get back to the party. I need to show off my girlfriend and how satisfied she is.”

Louis groaned. “Harry!”

Harry grinned, pulling her towards the door. “What? It’s called marking territory, baby.”

Louis swatted her bare stomach, making Harry laugh as they slipped back out.

The moment they stepped into the party, eyes flicked towards them, knowing smirks passing between guests. Louis could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but Harry strutted in like she owned the place, throwing an arm around her waist like she wasn’t at all ashamed of what they’d just done.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, games, and karaoke. The DJ played Dua Lipa’s entire discography, and when Levitating came on, Harry pulled her to dance.

Arms wrapped around her waist, lips brushing against her ear as she whispered, “Thank you.”

Louis tilted her head back to meet her gaze. “Happy birthday, H.” She hesitated for only a second before confessing, “I think I’m starting to fall in love with you.”

Harry’s breath hitched, her grip tightening just slightly before she smiled. “Let’s fall together then.”

And when Harry leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, Louis felt it—the overwhelming warmth of something new, something real.

She could fall in love again. And this time, she knew Harry would be there to catch her.

***

Louis had never been like this with anyone before. Never this soft, never this open, never this loved.

And yet, here she was—wrapped up in the most disgustingly wonderful relationship with Harry, stuck in the honeymoon phase with no intention of ever leaving.

They were unbearable to everyone else.

Their friends had resorted to groaning dramatically anytime the two of them entered a room, because Harry was either attached to Louis in some way—her arms wrapped around her waist, her fingers laced with hers, or her head resting on Louis’ shoulder—or she was gazing at her like she’d hung the moon. It was gross, sickening, and Louis relished in every second of it.

Everyone had given up on ever seeing Louis without Harry glued to her side.

“Oh my God, you’re actually alone,” Madeline had said one day when she saw Louis sitting at the campus café, sipping her iced coffee.

“Only for five minutes,” Louis had smirked, lifting her phone to show her the string of unread messages from her sister.

H❤️: miss you
H❤️: this practice is killing me
H❤️: just want to be in your arm
H❤️: i’m dying. literally perishing
H❤️: i just saw a cat and it reminded me of you
H❤️: can’t wait to kiss you, kitten

Madeline groaned, grabbing the phone out of her hands and skimming the messages. “You two are disgusting.”

“And happy,” Louis had grinned, snatching her phone back.

It had been weeks since the party, and they were stuck with each other. Wrapped up in each other like they couldn’t breathe without the other close. And honestly, Louis didn’t want to. Not when Harry was so effortlessly sweet, showering her with attention like she was the best thing to ever happen to her.

Every moment with Harry felt surreal, like stepping into a dream Louis never wanted to wake up from.

Mornings were slow and sweet, tangled in sheets, with Harry’s fingers lazily tracing patterns on Louis’ skin as if committing every inch of her to memory. Showers started innocent—just warm water and sleepy murmurs—but always turned into teasing hands, giggles echoing against the tile, and stolen kisses pressed to wet skin.

Cooking together—or rather, Harry cooking while Louis perched on the countertop—became their little routine. Louis would swing her legs, rambling about everything and nothing, while Harry listened with an amused smile, chopping vegetables or stirring sauces. And sometimes, when Louis was least expecting it, Harry would lean in, steal a kiss, and then go back to cooking like it was nothing, leaving Louis flustered and grinning.

And then there was that time.

Alone in the house, their playful kisses in the kitchen quickly spiraled into something more. One second, Harry was tasting Louis’ lips between stirring the pot, and the next, Louis was flat on the table, breathless and trembling, as Harry devoured her like she was the only meal that mattered. By the time Louis’ legs gave out completely, Harry had to carry her upstairs—her body spent, her mind blissfully blank, the burnt remains of their dinner entirely forgotten.

Nights were even better.

Some nights, they stayed up for hours, whispering secrets into the dark. Louis told Harry things she had never told anyone—her fears, her doubts, how she never thought she’d feel safe with someone again. And every time, Harry just held her tighter, kissed her forehead, and promised her forever.

Other nights, there were no words. Just slow touches, lazy kisses, warmth shared between sheets. And sometimes, more often than not, they just couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was like an addiction, the need to touch, to kiss, to feel. They’d sneak off at parties, find an empty room, and make out like they were falling in love for the first time, all over again.

Louis lived for it. For the way Harry wanted her so openly, so unapologetically.

“Hello? Earth to Louis?”

A hand waved in front of her face, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Huh? What?” Louis blinked, her cheeks already warming as she forced a small smile.

Madeline smirked knowingly. “You totally just spaced out. Let me guess, thinking about my sister?”

Louis bit her lip, but her blush gave her away. Of course she had been thinking about Harry. The girl had completely taken over her mind, invading every inch of her thought like it was her personal playground.

Madeline chuckled, resting her chin on her palm. “So?” she drawled, eyes glinting with amusement. “How does it feel dating my sister?”

Louis hesitated for only a second before answering honestly. “It’s… the best kind of feeling. I didn’t think I could feel this way about someone again. Not after everything that happened with—” she sighed, “—you know, Alex.”

Madeline’s teasing expression softened. “I’m really happy for you both. I mean it.” She tilted her head, her eyes warm. “I’ve never seen Harry like this before. She’s soft, like, ridiculously soft. And glowing. You’re good for her.”

“She’s good for me too,” Louis murmured, her heart swelling.

They talked for a while longer, mostly about Harry, their classes, and random things that didn’t really matter but made the conversation flow effortlessly.

Eventually, they settled back into their homework, but Louis’ phone kept buzzing with messages.

H❤️: miss you baby
H❤️: just finished practice
H❤️: my body sore
H❤️: need my cute nurse to heal me
H❤️: what are you doing right now?
H❤️: you still working on your homeworks?
H❤️: why aren’t you answering me?
H❤️: babe
H❤️: louis
H❤️: starlight
H❤️: louissssssssss
H❤️: babyyyyyyyyy
H❤️: if you don’t answer in five minutes i’m coming to find you

Louis bit her lip, fighting a smirk as she flipped her phone face-down.

Maybe she’d let Harry wait for a bit longer. Just long enough for her girlfriend to get all possessive and intense when she saw her later.

It was totally unrelated. Absolutely not planned.

Okay, maybe it was. But who could blame her? Her girlfriend’s fingers always worked wonders when she was frustrated.

***

Louis officially hated Thursdays.

Not only had she got B for her essay, but her PMS was making everything worse. Her body felt out of sync, her emotions a tangled mess of frustration and exhaustion. And worst of all? Her breasts were so tight and sore that every movement sent a dull ache through her chest. It was the kind of discomfort that made her wish she could take them off and set them aside for the day. But, ironically, they looked incredible—rounder, fuller. Harry certainly thought so, spending thirty blissful minutes worshipping them the night before, sucking marks into her skin while rubbing her clit until Louis came undone beneath her touch.

But Harry wasn’t here now.

On the day before a big match, Harry always stayed late for extra practice, leaving Louis alone to suffer in her hormonal hell. Normally, she’d text, whine a little, and Harry would send voice notes with sweet words, soft reassurances, promises to make it up to her. But today? Nothing. Her messages stayed unread, and Louis was left to her own devices.

She sighed as she pushed into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She felt overwhelmed, tired, restless, and overstimulated all at once. Every inch of her body felt too aware, too sensitive, a strange mix of discomfort and arousal pooling low in her stomach.

It was the damn hormones.

She needed relief. A distraction. Preferably in the form of her girlfriend’s hands, but since Harry was still occupied, Louis would have to take matters into her own hands.

Literally.

She crossed the room and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand, eyes landing on the sleek vibrators tucked inside. A slow smirk pulled at her lips. Before Harry, she’d never really explored this side of herself, never thought much about toys or their appeal. But that had changed a few weeks ago when she’d accidentally stumbled upon Harry’s collection while helping clean her room.

Harry had been all too happy to explain each one in detail.

That night, they had gone to a shop together, where Harry had helped her pick out a few, including the baby blue G-spot vibrator she was reaching for now. Later, over pasta and stolen kisses, Harry had talked her through how to use them, teasing her mercilessly before finally showing her firsthand.

Heat pooled between Louis’ legs just at the memory.

She stripped out of her jeans and panties, sighing in relief as she peeled off her bra. Her breasts ached from the sudden freedom, but it was a good ache like stretching sore muscles after a long workout.

Louis put on a comfortable t-shirt then settled onto the bed. She trailed her fingers along her thighs, slowly, teasingly, letting herself sink into the moment. Her mind drifted to Harry, her touch, her lips, the way she always took her time, whispering sweet things against her skin. Louis bit her lip, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt, brushing over her nipple. The sharp mix of pleasure and pain sent a shiver through her, her back arching slightly.

She thought about the way Harry would kiss her there. How she’d take her time, sucking gently at first before leaving marks that made Louis gasp. She let the memory guide her hands, pinching, rolling, until the ache melted into something warmer, something that made her hips shift restlessly against the sheets.

Gripping the vibrator, she traced it lightly over her skin, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat simmering inside her. When she pressed it to her entrance, she shivered, the anticipation making her breath hitch. She flicked the switch, and the first low vibration jolted through her, making her thighs tense.

Slow and steady, just the way she needed it.

She kept the pressure light, teasing herself the way Harry might, taking her time. The pleasure built in waves, little sparks igniting under her skin, and when she finally increased the setting, her body melted into the sensation. Her free hand moved to her breast, fingertips brushing over her sensitive skin, and she exhaled a quiet, needy sigh.

Her world narrowed to touch, pressure, the steady rhythm of pleasure climbing higher. If Harry were here, she’d be watching, whispering things in that low, teasing voice, telling her how beautiful she looked, how good she was being.

Louis moaned softly at the thought.

Just as she was about to let herself sink further into bliss, the door swung open.

Her breath caught.

Harry stood in the doorway, damp curls falling over her forehead, her gym bag slipping from her shoulder and landing with a dull thud on the floor. Her eyes were blown wide, dark with something intense, something hungry.

“Fuck, baby.” Harry’s voice was thick, low, dripping with something that made Louis shiver. “You really do this and don’t even lock the door?”

Louis barely had time to react before Harry closed the door with a click, locking them in.

And then she was moving, slow, deliberate steps carrying her forward until she was standing at the foot of the bed, eyes locked onto Louis like she was the most mesmerizing thing she’d ever seen.

Louis’ fingers tightened around the vibrator, heart pounding.

She swallowed hard. “You’re home early.”

Harry smirked. “Lucky me.”

Louis bit her lip, watching as Harry peeled off her hoodie, then her shirt, then her sports bra, then her jeans, and lastly her panties. The sight of her—bare, toned, the flush of exertion still clinging to her skin—made the heat coil even tighter inside Louis.

Harry didn’t immediately join her on the bed. Instead, she grabbed a chair, dragging it over to the mirror in the corner of the room.

Louis frowned in confusion. “What are you—”

But then Harry was lifting her, guiding her into her lap, positioning her so they were both facing the mirror.

And suddenly, Louis understood.

Harry slowly took off her t-shirt and then wrapped her arms around her, one hand resting on her stomach, the other trailing higher, ghosting over the curve of her breast. Louis inhaled sharply, the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against her back sending a shudder through her.

“Look at yourself,” Harry murmured, her lips brushing against Louis’ ear. “Look how pretty you are.”

Louis obeyed, her eyes flickering to the reflection in front of her.

Her hair was tousled, a few strands sticking to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, swollen from the way she’d been biting them. Harry’s hands looked massive against her skin, one palming her breast, the other slipping lower.

The sight made her stomach tighten.

“What do you want?” Harry whispered, her voice low, teasing.

Louis shivered, her mind hazy with need.

“You.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to her neck, slow and lingering. “I’m right here, baby.”

Louis whimpered, leaning back into her, melting into her warmth.

“Just need to get off,” she admitted breathlessly. “Far from here.”

Harry chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Do you want two or three?”

“Three. I want to sleep.”

“Okay.” Harry kissed the corner of her mouth, gentle and sweet. “I’ll give you three.” Harry’s lips moved to her neck, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses as she whispered, “Relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Louis shuddered as Harry’s hand trailed down, fingertips ghosting over her stomach before settling between her thighs. The anticipation was unbearable. Every nerve in her body was on fire, her skin tingling where Harry touched her, her breath shallow as she waited for Harry to finally give her what she so desperately needed.

But Harry didn’t rush. She never did.

Instead, she took the vibrator from Louis’ trembling hand, pressing the tip just barely against her. The slightest touch had Louis jerking in response, her thighs twitching. Harry smirked against her ear.

“So sensitive,” she murmured, dragging the toy along Louis’ slick skin without pressing it where she needed it most. “Been teasing yourself for a while, haven’t you?”

Louis whimpered, hips instinctively tilting toward the sensation, but Harry pulled back just enough to deny her. The brunette let out a frustrated breath, eyes fluttering open to meet their reflection in the mirror. She looked wrecked already and Harry hadn't even given her the first orgasm.

Harry, in contrast, looked entirely composed, her expression dark with amusement, with control. She loved doing this. She loved taking her time, watching Louis fall apart piece by piece.

“Please,” Louis finally whispered, shifting her hips again, desperate for more.

Harry hummed as if considering it. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, pressing a kiss just below Louis’ ear. “So needy.”

She finally turned the vibrator on, the low hum sending vibrations straight through Louis as Harry dragged it lazily over her. Not enough, but just enough to drive her crazy.

Louis gasped, her grip tightening around Harry’s arm. “More,” she pleaded breathlessly.

But Harry only chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to her shoulder. “Patience, sweetheart.”

She kept the vibrations light, barely grazing Louis’ most sensitive spot, keeping her on edge. Louis felt like she was going to explode. The pleasure built and built, right there, but never quite enough to push her over.

Her legs trembled as Harry’s other hand found her breast, fingers rolling over her sore nipple, the sensation sending sharp jolts of pleasure and pain through her body.

Louis moaned, back arching as she clung to Harry’s arm. “I—I can’t—”

“Shh, you can,” Harry murmured, tightening her hold around Louis’ waist to keep her steady.

She changed the setting, increasing the intensity just slightly. The deeper vibrations sent shockwaves through Louis’ body, her breath catching as the pressure inside her coiled tighter and tighter.

Her thighs trembled, muscles clenching as her body fought for release. But just as she got close, just as she felt herself teetering on the edge, Harry pulled the vibrator away.

Louis whined, her entire body jerking at the loss of sensation. “Harry—”

Harry smirked against her neck. “Not yet,” she whispered, dragging the toy lazily back down, teasing her once again.

Louis nearly sobbed. She had never been edged like this before, never been kept in this unbearable limbo between pleasure and release for so long. It was excruciating. And it was incredible.

Her hands clutched at Harry’s thighs beneath her, nails digging into the firm muscle as she tried to ground herself, as she tried not to beg outright.

But Harry knew exactly what she was doing to her. “One more,” she promised, voice soft but firm. “One more build-up, then I’ll let you come. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Louis didn’t know if she could, but she nodded anyway.

Harry kissed the side of her face in approval before turning the vibrator back on and this time pressing it firmly to her pussy.

The pleasure came in waves, rippling through her, making her body tighten, her breath stutter, her legs shake uncontrollably. It was too much.

“Harry—”

“I know, baby,” Harry whispered, her grip tightening around Louis. “Come for me.”

And that was all it took.

The tension inside Louis snapped, a blinding rush of pleasure crashing over her, drowning her completely. Her entire body tensed, toes curling, fingers gripping at whatever she could reach as wave after wave of pure ecstasy rolled through her.

For a moment, everything went blank. Just heat and pleasure and the sound of her own breathless moans.

Then, slowly, reality settled back in.

Louis slumped against Harry, her body limp, her chest heaving as she tried to remember how to breathe. The vibrator slipped from her grasp, landing somewhere on the floor with a quiet thud, but she didn’t care.

Harry held her close, lips brushing against her damp temple. “That’s my girl,” she murmured.

Louis let out a breathless laugh, still completely dazed. “I think part of my brain just exploded.”

Harry chuckled, tightening her hold. “That good, huh?”

Louis hummed, letting her eyes flutter shut as she melted into Harry’s warmth. “The best.”

Harry kissed her temple again, her lips lingering for a moment. “Ready for round two?”

Before Louis could even process the question, Harry was already moving. Strong arms lifted her effortlessly, and she gasped, instinctively holding onto Harry’s shoulders. With gentle care, Harry sat her back down on the chair, hands never straying far from her skin.

Louis watched through hooded eyes as Harry crossed the room, her every movement slow and deliberate. She pulled open the drawer by the bed, retrieving something small before turning back, her gaze locked onto Louis like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

A soft kiss to the top of her head, a whispered, “Trust me,” and then Harry was sinking to her knees, settling between Louis' parted legs with the kind of reverence that sent shivers down her spine.

She trailed feather-light kisses along Louis' legs, her touch teasing, almost lazy, as if she wanted to savor every inch. At the same time, Louis noticed Harry’s other hand slipping lower to her own hole and touched herself as she kept kissing Louis’ thighs. The sight alone was enough to make Louis’ breath hitch.

And then came the quiet hum of a familiar device. Louis looked down and thought Harry was going to put the small vibrator inside her and was shocked to see Harry slid it to her own.

Louis barely had time to react before warmth enveloped her, Harry’s mouth pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses exactly on her overly sensitive spot. Every subtle movement, every shift of pressure sent ripples of pleasure through her, heightened even more by the way Harry trembled from her own building sensations.

The way their bodies synced, the way each of Harry’s sighs, each of her soft moans against Louis’ skin sent little sparks of heat through her was almost too much. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure, it was the connection, the intimacy, the way Harry seemed to know exactly how to unravel her.

Louis whined, her frustration mixing with desperate need. She felt hot all over, her skin flushed and aching, her entire body humming with tension. The slow build was torturous in the best way, but she didn’t know how much more she could take.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each inhale sharp, each exhale trembling. Harry’s hands, firm and knowing, slid up to cup her breasts and squeezed it hard yet soft. Her touch was both soothing and electrifying. A rush of sensation bloomed beneath her skin, a million sparks igniting at once, leaving Louis breathless and aching for more.

Louis had never felt anything like this before—not just the overwhelming pleasure, but the intimacy of it. The way Harry touched and did her, so completely focused, like she was the only thing that mattered. Like she was something to be cherished.

And that thought alone nearly sent her over the edge.

Her grip on Harry’s hair tightened, her back arching slightly, every nerve ending in her body igniting at once. She felt her pulse quicken, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and then—

Everything shattered.

Louis let out a shaky breath, body trembling as she collapsed against the chair, utterly spent. Her mind was blank, nothing but static and aftershocks of pleasure as she floated in the haze of it all.

Harry pressed a kiss to her knee, then her hip, then up, up, up until she was standing, towering over Louis with a knowing smirk. “That was two,” she whispered, voice teasing.

Louis blinked at her, still struggling to form a coherent thought.

Harry leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet, before murmuring against them, “Ready for the last one, baby?”

Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure that had already consumed her. Every inch of her was hypersensitive, her skin buzzing, her limbs heavy, but Harry wasn’t finished with her, not yet.

Still breathless, Louis found herself facing Harry, her girlfriend standing before her, bare and utterly captivating. Her gaze flickered down, landing on the wild curls between Harry’s thighs, the scent of her arousal intoxicating.

“Kiss it for me?” Harry murmured, voice low and teasing.

And who was Louis to deny her?

With a lazy smirk, she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against the soft heat of her girlfriend. But Louis, ever the tease, couldn’t resist—she nipped at the sensitive flesh, just enough to make Harry jolt with a sharp inhale.

“Brat,” Harry warned, fingers instantly tangling in Louis’ hair, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper.

But before Louis could bask in her victory, Harry yanked her up and claimed her mouth in a punishing kiss, teeth sinking into her lower lip as if to remind her exactly who was in charge. The sharp sting only made Louis’ head spin more, her body aching for whatever Harry had planned next.

By the time they parted, Louis was panting, lips tingling, her pulse erratic.

Harry stepped around her, moving with deliberate slowness, eyes still burning with hunger. Her hands ghosted over Louis’ arms, sliding up, up, until they settled firmly on her shoulders, her grip both possessive and grounding.

"One more," Harry whispered against her ear, her voice a low hum of command and adoration. "And this time, I want you to keep your eyes on yourself. Watch every second of it."

Louis swallowed hard, her eyes meeting her own reflection in the mirror. Her skin was flushed, her lips kiss-swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked wrecked, and yet, she had never felt more alive, more desired.

Harry’s hands drifted down, palms grazing over her neck before settling over her breasts, her thumbs teasing over sensitive nipples. Louis whimpered, her head lolling back against Harry’s stomach, but Harry wasn’t letting her get lost in sensation just yet.

"Look," Harry coaxed, one hand leaving her breast to gently tilt Louis' chin forward. "I want you to see how beautiful you are."

Then, Harry leaned in, gently lifting Louis’ left leg to drape it over her right. Her hands pressed firmly against the tops of Louis’ thighs, guiding them closer together and pressed to each other.

"Grind for me," she murmured, her voice dripping with command.

Louis gasped softly, her hands gripping the chair’s arms as Harry pressed her thighs tighter, forcing the slick heat of her own body against itself. The pressure was delicious, overwhelming.

"Just like that," Harry praised as Louis rolled her hips, her swollen clit catching on the friction with every slow, deliberate movement. "Feel how good that is?"

Louis moaned, her body following Harry’s gentle guidance. The slow, rocking motion sent shivers up her spine, the pleasure deepening with each press of her hips.

Harry’s hands never left her. One teasing at her nipple, the other pressing firm encouragement against her thigh. "Keep going, baby. Take what you need."

Louis obeyed, her movements growing needier, hungrier. Her reflection blurred as she lost herself in the feeling, the tension winding tighter and tighter inside her.

And just when she was right there, teetering, Harry suddenly gripped a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back just enough to claim her lips in a searing, possessive kiss.

Louis shattered with a cry muffled against Harry’s lips, her body tightening, pulsing, until she was nothing but sensation. Nothing but heat and pleasure and the grounding presence of Harry behind her, holding her together even as she came for the third time.

When Louis finally collapsed against her, completely spent and dazed, Harry pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple, her voice thick with warmth and satisfaction.

“Sleep, Lou. I’ve got you,” her girlfriend whispered.

And Louis did, because she trusted Harry to take care of her. The next moment, she drifted into blissful sleep, only to wake hours later to the darkened room, their naked bodies tangled together, warmth and comfort pressing in from all sides.

And if Louis stirred, half-awake and needy, whining for Harry’s fingers to lull her back to sleep, well, she’d blame it entirely on her crazy PMS hormones.

***

It had been two months since Louis and Harry started dating, and somewhere between midterms, endless assignments, and packed schedules, they'd barely had time for each other. Their nights were often filled with rushed phone calls, exhausted texts, and, more than once, arguments over mismatched schedules. It wasn’t like they wanted to fight—it was just frustrating, wanting to be with each other but constantly running out of time.

The fights always ended the same way: quiet apologies, sleepy murmurs, and Harry staying over in Louis’ dorm, their arms tangled together until morning.

But now, midterms had finally passed, the weight on their shoulders lifting just enough for them to breathe again. So, when Harry suggested they go on a real date—one that didn’t involve cramming in a quick meal between classes or ranting about professors—Louis had agreed immediately.

That’s how they ended up at a small art studio downtown, greeted by the soft glow of fairy lights and the faint scent of paint and vanilla.

“A paint and wine class?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow as she glanced around the cozy space.

Harry grinned, nudging her playfully. “Thought we could use different settings.”

“Yeah, we do.” Louis said as she leaned on Harry.

Harry pressed a quick kiss to her temple before leading her to their assigned easels. A bottle of wine sat between them, along with blank canvases and an array of colorful paints.

Harry turned to Louis with a teasing grin. “So… should I paint you?”

Louis narrowed her eyes. “If you make me look like a potato, we’re breaking up.”

Harry chuckled but didn’t argue. Instead, she poured them each a glass of wine and started mixing bold, vibrant colors onto her palette. Louis watched her for a moment, something warm settling in her chest. It felt nice, being here with Harry, with no deadlines, no rushed conversations, just the quiet hum of music in the background and the soft clinking of glasses.

For the first time in weeks, they could just be.

As they painted, Louis bit her lip, hesitating before speaking. “So…” she started, swirling her brush in deep blues. “You’ll be graduating soon.”

Harry’s hand paused for a second before she continued stroking her brush across the canvas. “Yeah.” Her voice was light, but Louis caught the hint of something deeper beneath it.

“Have you thought about what’s next?”

Harry let out a slow sigh, setting her brush down and leaning back in her chair. "I mean, I have a few options. Some teams have reached out, but I don’t know if I want to go pro. Lacrosse’s always been fun for me, but I never saw it as my whole future." She glanced at Louis briefly before focusing back on her canvas, her expression unreadable.

Louis studied her girlfriend carefully. “So what else are you considering?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. “Go to business school or I could go back to New York and start working with my dad. He’s been waiting for me to take over parts of the company.”

“But?”

Harry’s lips pressed together before she admitted, “But I don’t know if I’m ready for that. It’s a lot, working with him, taking on that kind of responsibility. It feels… suffocating.” Louis nodded, waiting, sensing there was more. And after a beat, Harry finally continued. “There’s also this offer from a marine conservation program.” She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s just an internship, but I don’t really need the money, so it’s not about that. It’d be for the experience.”

Louis’ face lit up. “That’s amazing, Harry! Where is it?”

“Australia.”

Louis’ mouth opened slightly, before she closed it again. “Oh.”

Harry chewed on her bottom lip. “I applied at the end of last semester. Before I met you. But I’m not taking it now.”

Louis frowned and reached for Harry’s hand. “Don’t make decisions about your future based on me. Do what you want, babe. I’ll support you no matter what.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Australia is really far away, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you love the ocean, the reefs, the corals. You always tell me cool facts before bed like how herrings communicate with fart-like bubbles.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “You actually remembered that?”

“Of course. I remember everything you tell me. Even the entire Shark Tale dialogues, not that we watch it every week or anything.”

Harry smirked. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

“I know.” Louis grinned.

Harry’s smile faded slightly, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the back of Louis’ hand. “I just… I guess I’m scared. Of what happens next. You and I—” she gestured vaguely between them. “We barely survived midterms without wanting to strangle each other.”

Louis laughed softly. “That’s true. But we did get through it.”

“Yeah. But after I graduate, when things get harder…” Harry trailed off.

Louis tilted her head. “It will get harder. But we’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

Harry exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I’d be crazy to let you go.”

Louis grinned and lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Harry’s fingers. “Good. Because I’m not planning on going anywhere. And I could always visit you.”

Harry arched a brow. “Or move there with me.”

Louis chuckled. “Easy there, tiger. I still have two years before I graduate.”

The tension in Harry’s shoulders finally melted away as she exhaled, a small, genuine smile curving her lips. “We have time.”

Louis met her gaze, reassuring her with a soft smile of her own. “We do.”

For a while, they painted in comfortable silence, the air between them feeling lighter now, like the weight of the future had been set aside, at least for tonight. The soft clinking of brushes against jars of water, the occasional quiet hum from Harry, and the flickering candlelight made the studio feel almost dreamlike.

Louis tilted her head, studying the way Harry’s brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on her canvas, her curls falling forward, catching in the glow of the warm lights. She looked peaceful, in her element, and Louis could’ve spent the rest of the night just watching her.

“Okay, show me what you got,” Louis finally said, breaking the quiet.

Harry hesitated, biting her lip. “Don’t laugh. I’m not very good at drawing.”

Louis snorted. “H, you know I’m the most terrible at drawing. You literally can’t do worse than me.”

Harry smirked. “Show each other at the same time?”

Louis nodded, grinning. “One, two, three!”

They flipped their canvases toward each other, and Louis gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

Harry’s painting was them, standing in front of a big aquarium filled with various colorful fishes, their backs turned but their heads tilted toward each other like they were caught mid-conversation. The colors were soft, almost ethereal, the glow of the water casting everything in deep blues and gentle greens. It wasn’t perfect, but it was them, and something about it made Louis’ chest ache in the best way.

“Harry… this is so good,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Harry ducked her head, suddenly shy. “You really like it?”

Louis nodded quickly. “God, you made my painting look like crap.” She pouted, glancing at her own canvas.

Harry chuckled, reaching for it. “Let me see.”

Louis reluctantly handed it over, biting the inside of her cheek as Harry studied it.

Her painting was… questionable at best. She’d tried to paint tiny sharks all over the canvas, a nod to Harry’s favorite animal, but they were less sharks and more blobs with fins. It was endearing in the way a child’s first attempt at drawing might be.

Harry, however, held it like it was a masterpiece. “I love it,” she said, voice completely sincere.

Louis narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.” Harry smiled. “I’m hanging this in my room.”

Louis reached for it, shaking her head. “You definitely don’t have to do that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, challenging.

Louis groaned. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t blame me when people think you have a five-year-old artist as your secret pen pal.”

Harry laughed, setting the painting aside before reaching for her wine glass. “I think it’s perfect.”

They finished the last of their wine, thanking the studio staff before stepping out into the cool night air. The walk to the parking lot was slow, unhurried. Harry’s hand found Louis’, fingers lacing together like second nature.

When they reached the car, Harry moved to open the door for Louis, but before she could step inside, Harry spun her around, tugging her close by the waist.

Louis blinked up at her. “Hi?”

Harry exhaled, her eyes searching Louis’ like she was trying to memorize everything about this moment. Then, so quietly, like it was a secret meant only for them, she whispered, “I… love you. So much.”

Louis’ heart nearly stopped.

She knew. Deep down, she had always known. 

It was in the way Harry touched her—gentle but sure, like she was something to be treasured. It was in the way she talked to her—soft, teasing, but always listening. It was in the way her face lit up whenever she spotted Louis in a crowd, like she was the only person in the room that mattered. It was in every late night whisper, in the way they had shared their deepest secrets in the dark, in the way Harry’s fingers always found hers, holding on like she never wanted to let go.

But hearing it?

Hearing Harry say it?

It was something else entirely.

Louis swallowed hard, emotions swelling so thick in her chest she thought they might burst out of her. She smiled, her arms slowly slipping around Harry’s neck, fingers threading into her curls.

“I love you too, Harry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she meant every word. “So, so, so much.”

Harry let out a shaky breath, then kissed her, slow and deep, like she wanted to pour every unspoken feeling into it. And Louis kissed her back just as fiercely.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry helped her into the car, buckling her seatbelt with the softest smile before stealing one more kiss.

The drive back to the sorority house was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty. The silence was warm, filled with the weight of unspoken words, with the way Harry reached over to hold Louis’ hand and never let go.

And Louis?

Louis had never felt more at home.

***

Louis had always known loving Harry Styles was easy.

It was the easiest thing she’d ever done, as natural as breathing. She just did. And now that they had finally said those three little words, their relationship felt even more solid like something unshakable. Sure, the uncertainty of the future still loomed in the back of her mind, creeping in when she was alone. Harry would be graduating soon, and things would change. But Louis didn’t want to think about that right now. Harry was here, and that was what mattered the most.

It was Tuesday, and Harry was out with her team for a celebratory dinner before their big semifinal match next week. Louis was trying, really trying not to be the clingy girlfriend who texted every five minutes just to say how much she missed her.

Madeline and Rebecca had gone to a party at one of the frats, but Louis wasn’t in the mood to go out. Parties were boring if Harry wasn’t there. So instead, she opted for something familiar and comforting. So she went to her favorite café near campus.

She ordered a vanilla latte and a slice of chocolate cake, thanking the cashier before settling into the corner booth where she and Harry usually sat. Pulling out her latest John Grisham novel, she let herself get lost in the words, savoring the quiet hum of the café. The soft whir of the espresso machine, the distant chatter of other customers added more peace to her mind.

Until it wasn’t.

Louis didn’t notice someone sliding into the seat across from her until it was too late. Her stomach turned the second she looked up.

And of course it was her abominable ex.

Louis stiffened, fingers tightening around her book. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Lou.” She clenched her jaw at the nickname. “How are you?”

Louis scoffed. “It’s the second time you’ve harassed me in my favorite café. Might need a restraining order soon.”

Alex had the audacity to laugh. “I forgot how funny you are.”

“Maybe I should be a comedian then.” Her voice was flat, her patience already wearing thin.

“I was just grabbing a drink to go and spotted you,” Alex said casually, as if that made it any better. “Thought I’d come say hi.”

“What made you think I wanted to talk to you?”

“You are talking to me right now.”

Louis let out a slow, measured exhale. “Bye, Alex.”

She lifted her book, using it as a shield between them, but barely made it through the first sentence before Alex’s finger pushed it down.

Louis glared. “You really don’t get the hint, do you?”

Alex ignored her and asked, “Are you dating Harry for real?”

Louis rolled her eyes. “None of your business.”

“You’re right,” Alex said, voice softer, more careful now. “But I still care about you, you know.”

Louis let out a bitter laugh. “No, Alex. I don’t know. You lied to me for an entire year. You have a girlfriend the whole time, and you hid it. And worst of all, you were sleeping with half the campus, and I had no idea.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she held firm. “Do you even understand a fraction of what that did to me?”

“I’m sorry, Lou—”

“No.” Louis shook her head sharply. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Alex sighed. “I’m sorry, Louis. I really am.”

Louis let out a humorless chuckle. “You made me feel like I was never enough. Like I was crazy for suspecting anything. You made me feel worthless.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she powered through. “What did I ever do to warrant such treatment from you?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, voice barely above a whisper. “You were perfect.”

Louis swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yet it took you this long to say that.” She sighed, closing her book with a quiet thud.

Silence stretched between them, thick with things left unsaid. The hum of the café faded into the background, the warmth of the candlelight on the table doing nothing to chase away the cold that had settled in her chest.

Alex exhaled deeply, his fingers tapping against the table. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He did it over and over again, like he was gearing up to say something. Louis waited, but her patience was running on fumes.

Just as she was about to get up and leave, Alex finally spoke.

“She cheated on me.”

Louis froze.

Her breath hitched as she looked at him. “What?”

“Astra.” Alex ran a hand through his blond hair she used to adore, his expression tight. “She cheated on me.”

Louis stared at him, her mind struggling to process the words.

“She was visiting me, but I had a study group. I told her to wait, and she said she’d go to Harry’s place while I was studying. My group wrapped up early, so I went to the sorority house to surprise her.” Alex let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And when I got there… she was having sex with Harry.”

Louis’ stomach dropped.

“They’d been doing it behind my back since freshman year. Every time Astra visited, every time I was too busy. It wasn’t just once. It was all the time.”

“I don’t—” Louis shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I confronted them. Asked Astra who she wanted to be with. She chose me, so I forgave her. I told myself it was just a hiccup. That things would get better.” Alex rubbed his temples. “And they did, for a while. But then I caught them again. And that time, I was done.”

Louis felt sick.

Alex exhaled sharply. “I’m not a good guy, Louis. I know that. I wanted revenge. And then, during my third year at a student mixer, I saw you.” His eyes softened. “God, you were so beautiful. Everyone was drawn to you. And then I noticed Harry.” He scoffed. “She was watching you too. That’s when I knew that she wanted you. So, I beat her to it.”

Louis blinked, once, twice.

“So… I was just a pawn in your game to piss Harry off.” Alex didn’t deny it and Louis let out a bitter laugh. “That’s funny, because Harry didn’t even know you were my ex. We fought when she found out.”

Alex smiled sheepishly. “At first, I wanted to rub it in her face. But then…” He hesitated. “Once I had you, all I wanted was to keep you. I know it was selfish, but the idea of the world seeing you, wanting you… it drove me crazy.”

Louis stared at him, disgust curling in her stomach. “I’m not some exotic pet for you to lock away.” Her voice was trembling now, full of anger and something deeper—betrayal, exhaustion. “You isolated me. You made me afraid to talk to people.”

“I know,” Alex admitted. “And I’m sorry. I was selfish.”

Louis clenched her jaw, eyes burning. “You broke me.” Her voice cracked, and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face. “And all I ever did was love you.”

“Baby—”

“No.” She shook her head violently. “You’re cruel, Alex. So fucking cruel.”

She grabbed her book, her purse, and stormed toward the door, needing to get out.

But Alex wasn’t done.

“Louis!” He called after her, but she kept walking. “Louis, wait!”

A hand grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“What more do you want from me?” she yelled, voice raw.

Alex’s gaze was unreadable.

“Did she tell you about Australia?”

Louis stilled.

Her pulse roared in her ears. “How do you know about that?”

“Astra is going there. They planned it together.”

Louis’ breath hitched.

“You’re lying. You always lie to me.” Louis said quietly.

“I wish I was.” Alex softened. “Ask her.”

Louis felt the ground shift beneath her. The fight drained from her body, replaced with something far worse. 

Her tears welled up again, and when Alex pulled her into a hug, she didn’t stop him. She was tired. Too tired.

So she let herself cry in the arms of a very person that broke her in the first place.

***

It had been two days since Louis' conversation with Alex, and she still felt like she was drowning.

Her ex had been… kind. It was almost cruel how kind he had been, how he had driven her back to her dorm without asking for anything in return. Before she got out of the car, she had cried again—sobbed, really—and Alex had hugged her. He told her to call if she ever needed anything.

But the only person Louis wanted was Harry.

She wanted Harry and the whole truth. The entire, messy, ugly truth about the nightmare she had unknowingly become a part of. But now that she knew Harry was in the middle of it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

What if it destroyed her?

And Harry had been busy. The Coach was drilling the team harder than ever for the upcoming semifinal, and Louis told herself it was a good thing. It gave her space. It gave her time to think.

But thinking was the worst thing she could do.

Louis hadn’t gone to class. She had emailed her TA, claiming she had a stomach bug. They were kind enough to believe her lie.

She had been awake since seven, and for the last three hours, she had done nothing but stare at the walls.

Thinking.

Thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Thinking about Harry.

She thought about the first time they met. The way Harry had looked at her. The way they trained together, bonded over bad jokes and sore muscles. The casual lunches, the dinners that started to feel less and less like something platonic. The first sleepover after Louis had been left reeling from finding out about Alex’s infidelity. The way Harry had ghosted her for weeks after learning who her ex was.

Then they became friends again.

Then the confession.

Then the kiss.

Then everything.

Louis tried to pinpoint it, tried to find something. Some kind of sign that Harry had been lying to her this whole time. That whatever was between her and Astra wasn’t truly over.

But Harry was good. She had always been good.

She had taken care of Louis. Loved her. Cherished her. She had made Louis feel safe.

And yet.

Louis had also learned a hard lesson over the years.

The people you trusted most were the ones most likely to stab you in the back.

Louis sucked in a breath, but it didn’t fill her lungs.

Her chest ached.

And then she was crying again.

She didn’t even know why. She just cried.

She curled in on herself, shoulders shaking, stomach twisting in knots as the sobs wracked through her. Her entire body hurt from how hard she was crying. It felt like her ribs were caving in. Like someone had taken a fistful of her heart and squeezed it until the last drop of her blood had been drained.

It was unbearable.

And Harry wasn’t there to hold her. To hush her, to soothe her, to promise her that everything would be okay.

And the worst part?

Louis wasn’t sure Harry could make it better this time.

That morning, Louis cried herself to sleep.

When she woke up, the room was dimly lit, and Harry was there.

Her girlfriend was sitting at her desk, working on an essay, the soft glow of her laptop screen illuminating the delicate crease of worry between her brows.

Louis blinked, eyes heavy, swollen.

Harry turned, offering her a small, hesitant smile. "Hey, baby."

Louis swallowed thickly and forced a nod. "Hey."

Harry studied her for a beat, then stood up and crawled into bed beside her without a word. She wrapped an arm around Louis, pulling her in, letting her bury herself in the warmth of her body.

Louis closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against Harry’s collarbone, and breathed.

It should’ve felt like home, but a single tear still slipped down her cheek.

***

It was Saturday noon and the library was nearly silent except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional scratch of pens against paper. Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows over the wooden tables. Louis sat hunched over her textbook, highlighter poised between her fingers, though she had read the same paragraph at least six times without comprehending a single word.

She was drowning in thoughts—dark, spiraling ones that clung to the edges of her mind like vines, suffocating any attempt at peace. Four days had passed since Alex had dropped the bomb, and Louis had spent every waking moment trying to push it down, to ignore the storm brewing inside her.

Harry hadn’t noticed.

Well, she had, in the way Harry always did when it came to Louis—tilting her head in concern, running her fingers over Louis’ knuckles absentmindedly, her forehead creasing when Louis would zone out for too long. But Harry was stressed, overworked, and desperate to win the semifinal. And Louis?

Louis had never been more grateful for lacrosse in her life.

At least it gave her time to think. Time to pretend.

She was underlining a passage and her fingers unusually tense when the chair beside her scraped against the floor. The noise was sharp in the quiet library, but Louis didn’t look up. Not until a voice, smooth and dripping with condescension, shattered the fragile moment of peace.

“So, you were Alex’s bitch, and now you’re Harry’s?”

The words were like ice water poured over her head.

Louis blinked once, twice, slowly lifting her gaze from her book. The girl in front of her was beautiful. The kind of beauty that made people pause. Dark hair, long and shining under the afternoon light. A face so perfectly put together, it was almost cruel.

But her words? Her words were pure venom.

“Excuse me?” Louis’ voice was eerily calm.

The girl smirked. “Wonder what they saw in you.”

There was something familiar in the way she spoke, the way she sat there, looking at Louis like she was something insignificant, like she was beneath her. The puzzle pieces clicked into place, and suddenly, Louis knew exactly who she was dealing with and she almost laughed at the irony.

“You’re her,” she said, tilting her head slightly.

“Wow. Took you long enough,” Astra scoffed. “I was beginning to think you were slow.”

Louis leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. She wanted to shake, to break, to crumble under the weight of what Astra might say next, but she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She refused to.

Not her.

“You’re not as bright either, huh?” Louis mused, her voice light, mocking. “Took you long enough to get the hint that neither of them want you anymore.”

Astra’s nostrils flared. Good.

“They love me. Both of them,” Astra snapped. “They are fighting over me.”

Louis almost pitied her. Almost.

Instead, she sighed. “Are they?” she asked, voice dripping with boredom.

Astra’s lips curled. “Harry and I made a promise to each other. We’re going to be together after graduation. We’re getting married.” She lifted her hand, flashing a small ring. “She gave me a promise ring.”

Louis’ stomach twisted violently.

A promise ring.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was probably some stupid, meaningless thing Harry gave her years ago, before she knew what love actually felt like. Before Louis.

But Astra knew what she was doing. She wanted to hurt her.

Louis wouldn’t let her.

She tsked, eyes locked on the ring with a smirk. “That boring thing?” she asked, laughter cruel and hollow. “Don’t be naive.” She leaned in slightly, whispering, “If you think Harry played me, what makes you think she didn’t play you?”

Astra hated that.

The way her nails dug into the table, the slight tremble in her jaw. Louis surely had hit something.

“Harry and I have been together since we were kids,” Astra hissed. “We love each other. We’re each other’s firsts.”

Louis let out a low, humorless laugh. God, she was pathetic.

“Oh, yeah. When you manipulated her into kissing you, and then ran off to date her best friend the next day?” Louis feigned thoughtfulness. “The same best friend you cheated on… with Harry.” She let her lips curl. “You’re really a mess, aren’t you?” She tilted her head. “Mommy issues? Daddy issues? I bet both.”

“Fuck you,” Astra snarled.

Louis smirked, unaffected. “I’d love to, but… skank’s not on my fuck list.”

The chair scraped against the floor as Astra shot up, glaring down at her with all the fire she had left. A few students turned to stare, whispers already spreading.

“It’s just a honeymoon phase. She’s going to leave you,” Astra hissed. “She loves me. Always has. Always will. You? You’re just a distraction. A hobby. A little something to pass the time until she comes back to me.”

Louis forced herself to smile. Pretending to be fond. Pretending Astra’s words weren’t daggers sinking into her ribs.

“So you say.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Louis shrugged. “Color me warned.”

Astra scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder before striding toward the entrance, her heels clicking against the tile.

Louis waited.

Waited until her figure was no longer taunting her. Waited until the whispers died down.

Waited until her hands, hidden beneath her armpits all the time as she crossed her, stopped shaking.

When she was sure no one was looking, she exhaled.

And then, she broke.

Tears blurred her vision, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her lap to stop the tremors in her fingers.

Astra was lying.

She had to be lying.

But what if she wasn’t?

What if Louis was the idiot? What if she was just another name on a list Harry would someday forget?

Louis gritted her teeth, swallowing back a sob.

She wouldn’t cry because of Astra’s words.

She wouldn’t.

So instead, she sat there, silently falling apart in the middle of the library, hoping and praying that Harry Styles wasn’t the biggest mistake of her life.

***

The next morning was cold.

Louis woke up before the sun, staring blankly at the ceiling of her dorm, feeling as if someone had cracked her open and left her hollow. Her body was heavy, exhaustion pressing into her bones like she had just run a marathon in her sleep. Did she even sleep?

She wasn’t sure.

Her limbs ached, her head pounded, and her throat felt raw, like she had spent hours crying, even though she had promised herself she wouldn’t. But the truth was, the moment she got back to her dorm last night, she had slid under the covers, pulled them up over her head, and wept.

Not the quiet, controlled kind, but the kind that wrecked you. The kind that made your chest feel tight, like your own body was trying to suffocate you from the inside out.

And the worst part? No one even knew.

Not Harry. Not her friends. Not anyone.

Louis had gone completely silent. 

She skipped dinner. Ignored her phone. Turned off notifications.

And the world kept spinning without her.

And Harry—-her sweet, oblivious Harry had texted once, asking if she wanted to grab something to eat after practice. When Louis didn’t respond, she sent a second one.

H❤️: are you okay?

Louis had stared at the message for a long time. Too long.

In the end, she had typed out a quick Yeah, just tired. Goodnight x and left it at that.

A lie. A pathetic, fucking lie.

Because she wasn’t okay. 

Because Astra’s words had burrowed under her skin, clawing at every insecurity Louis had locked away.

Because if Harry really did love Astra, if she really was just a phase, then Louis didn’t know how she was going to survive it.

Louis finally got up and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone, at Harry’s contact. Her fingers hovered over the screen, itching to call her. To hear her voice. To ask, Are you lying to me? Are you playing me? Did you ever really love me?

Instead, she locked the phone and tossed it onto her pillow.

She got dressed in silence, slipping into an old hoodie and sweatpants that weren’t hers.

They were Harry’s.

The scent was faint now, nearly faded, but it was still there. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it used to be.

By the time Louis made it to the café, she felt like a ghost. She ordered a cappuccino, slid into a booth in the corner, and stared blankly at the foam swirling in her cup.

People came and went. Conversations hummed around her. But none of it reached her.

She was somewhere else. Stuck in a loop of memories. Astra’s words poisoned every single one.

She didn’t even notice someone approaching her table until a voice shattered the trance.

“You look like hell.”

Louis blinked.

And there he was.

Alex.

Dressed in an old sweatshirt, hands stuffed into his pockets, watching her with an expression that was far too knowing.

Louis wanted to tell him to fuck off, but she didn’t.

Instead, she huffed out a humorless laugh, sinking further into her seat. “Thanks. Just what I needed to hear.”

Alex slid into the booth across from her without asking.

Louis didn’t stop him.

And maybe that should have worried her.

Louis didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze on her coffee, fingers tracing the rim of the cup, as if she could force herself to feel normal again. But normal was long gone. Normal had been ripped away from her the second Astra came to her shoving a knife between her ribs and twisting it.

And now her ex was here. Like a bad fucking omen.

“Did you talk to her?” His voice was cautious, but Louis could hear the curiosity buried underneath.

She scoffed. “Who? The pathological liar or the one who’s supposed to love me?”

Alex exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the booth. “So that’s a no.”

Louis hummed, taking a sip of her coffee even though it tasted like nothing.

Alex studied her, the silence stretching between them. It was too much. Too heavy. Too fucking loud.

“Astra came to me yesterday out of nowhere and told me the whole thing.”

Alex’s jaw clenched.

Of course, he wasn’t surprised. Louis wasn’t either.

“What did she say?”

Louis tilted her head, tapping her nails against the side of the cup. “That Harry’s been fucking me to pass the time until they graduate.” She let the words settle between them, then smiled—cold, sharp, cruel. “Oh, and that she and Harry made a promise to be together. Forever. How fucking romantic, right?” Alex didn’t answer. His fingers curled into fists on the table. Louis laughed again, shaking her head. “God, I was so stupid.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was,” she snapped, finally looking at him. “I let her in. I trusted her. I thought—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed the lump in her throat before forcing out a whisper. “I thought she was mine. It was you all over again.”

Alex exhaled, his gaze softening in a way that made Louis’ skin crawl.

She didn’t want his pity.

Didn’t fucking need it.

“I told you to ask her,” Alex said quietly. “Have you?”

Louis looked away, and that was answer enough.

She hadn’t.

Because deep down, she was terrified of what Harry would say.

Terrified that Astra was right. That Alex was right.

That she was just something temporary. A moment of fun. Something Harry could walk away from without a second thought.

And Louis wouldn’t survive it.

She barely survived Alex.

So, how the fuck was she supposed to survive Harry?

Alex sighed. “You need to talk to her, Lou.”

Louis flinched at the nickname.

The same one Harry used when she was soft with her, when she cupped her face and kissed her slow like they had all the time in the world.

And God, it hurt.

She shook her head, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “No, I don’t.”

“Louis.”

“No.” She clenched her jaw, her voice sharp. Mean. “You don’t get to tell me what I need.”

Alex held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Fine.”

Silence stretched between them again.

Louis stared at her untouched coffee, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“You love her.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a fact. A sentence. A death sentence.

Louis squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath, then whispered, “unfortunately.”

Alex sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face.

Neither of them spoke after that.

Because really.

What else was there to say?

***

By Monday, Louis felt worse.

She had ignored Harry completely. Avoided her texts. Let her calls ring out. So she turned off her phone. That way she wouldn’t have to see Harry’s name lighting up the screen.

She didn’t go to class.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t move.

She just lay there, stuck and wrapped in the same blanket she’d been suffocating under for the past two days, staring at the ceiling like if she focused hard enough, maybe she’d just disappear.

In the afternoon, Harry came by.

Louis heard her knock first—soft, hesitant—then her voice, worried, pleading.

“Lou, baby, open the door.”

Louis squeezed her eyes shut.

And the knocking turned insistent. Desperate.

“Come on, love, I know you’re in there.”

She buried her face into her pillow, heart hammering, her body frozen in place.

“I just wanna talk.” A beat. Then, softer, “please.”

Louis clenched her jaw.

She wanted to open the door.

She wanted to break down in Harry’s arms.

But the words, both Alex’s and Astra’s, played on repeat in her mind, wrapping around her chest like barbed wire, tightening every time she tried to breathe.

What if it was true?

What if she opened the door, let Harry in, and the truth destroyed her?

She wouldn’t survive it.

So, she stayed still.

After twenty minutes, Harry left.

And Louis broke all over again.

She cried until her chest ached, until her body trembled, until there was nothing left inside her but emptiness.

Then she slept.

And when she woke up, she did it all over again.

***

Tuesday felt the same.

Louis woke up feeling heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest, making it hard to move. Hard to breathe.

She hadn’t eaten since—she wasn’t even sure when. Didn’t care.

Her body ached from lying in bed for so long, but the idea of getting up, of facing the world, of facing Harry, was unbearable.

So, she stayed where she was.

Wrapped in her blanket. Staring at nothing.

Sometime in the late afternoon, there was another knock at her door.

She knew it was Harry before she even heard her voice.

“Louis, please.”

Louis shut her eyes.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, but I—” A deep inhale, voice cracking. “I need to see you.”

Silence.

Then, a soft thump. Harry slid down against the door, settling on the floor outside.

Louis’ breath hitched.

She could picture it perfectly: Harry sitting there, knees drawn up to her chest, head resting against the wood, fingers anxiously tapping against her leg.

She always did that when she was nervous.

Louis curled in on herself.

She wanted to open the door. She wanted to reach for her, to let Harry pull her into her arms and make everything disappear.

But the doubt and the fear. They were louder.

So, she said nothing.

Harry sighed. "I don’t know if you’re asleep or just ignoring me. But... I miss you."

Louis bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

“I love you, you know?” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper now. Small. Uncertain. “And I don’t— I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, just—just tell me. Please.”

Louis squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into her palms.

Minutes passed.

Finally, Harry exhaled shakily and pushed herself up. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” A pause. “I love you, Lou.”

And then footsteps.

Getting quieter.

Until there was nothing.

Louis let out a trembling breath.

Her throat burned, her chest ached, her mind was a mess.

She turned onto her side, staring blankly at the wall.

And for the first time since it all started, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was losing her.

***

Wednesday came, and Louis still didn’t move.

Everything felt distant—as if she was floating outside of herself, watching her life crumble from afar but unable to do anything about it.

She was exhausted.

And she missed Harry.

God, she missed her.

But every time she thought about opening the door, about looking into Harry’s eyes and demanding the truth, her stomach twisted, and her limbs felt like lead.

What if Astra was right?

What if she really was just temporary?

The thought made her sick.

So, she stayed in bed.

She must’ve drifted off at some point because the next thing she knew there was banging on the door.

Louis barely had time to react before a familiar voice, Madeline rang through the door.

“For fuck’s sake, Lou, open the goddamn door!”

Louis groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.

She had no energy for this.

“Louis, I swear to God, if you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I’m calling security and telling them you’re dead.”

A pause.

Her hands clenched around the blanket.

She waited, hoping Madeline would give up.

She didn’t.

Instead, she kept banging, voice sharper now. “You can ignore me all you want, but I know you, Lou. You haven’t eaten. You haven’t left your room. And if you don’t let me in right now, I will break this fucking door down.”

Louis let out a shaky sigh.

She could ignore her.

But Madeline was relentless.

And she was right. Louis hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t even had a sip of water. Her body was starting to feel the effects, and it scared her how little she cared.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to sit up. Her head spun, and her limbs screamed in protest, but she pushed through, dragging herself toward the door.

She unlocked it, but didn’t open it.

Just unlocked it and stepped back.

A second later, the door flew open, and Madeline stormed in.

She looked furious, but the second her eyes landed on Louis, her expression shifted.

Anger melted into something else. Concern.

“Jesus Christ, Lou.”

Louis didn’t respond.

She just stood there, feeling small, as Madeline took in the sight of her.

The dark circles. The hollowed-out look in her eyes. The way her clothes hung off her like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Then—before she could stop it—Madeline was wrapping her arms around her.

And Louis broke.

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, she was crying again. Harder than before.

Madeline held on tight, her voice breaking. "What happened, Lou? What the hell is going on?"

Louis shook her head against her shoulder. "I don't— I don't know."

But she did.

She knew.

She just couldn’t say it.

Not yet.

***

Thursday morning arrived like a slow, creeping storm, thick and suffocating in its silence. The world outside moved as if nothing had changed, but inside Louis, everything felt different—ruined, hollowed out, rotting from the inside. 

She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. She had barely moved from her bed, save for the restless pacing that consumed her whenever the four walls of her dorm felt like they were closing in. Her body ached from exhaustion, from hunger, from the weight of everything she had been trying to hold inside.

And yet, despite it all, she still found herself standing in front of Harry’s bedroom door.

Her hands were clammy, fingers trembling at her sides, the anxiety twisting in her gut like something alive, writhing, feeding off her pain. 

This was it. 

She had spent the last few days drowning in a sea of doubt and anger, letting her own thoughts devour her from the inside out. Every whispered lie, every stolen moment between Harry and Astra, every touch that hadn’t been meant for her haunted her. It had festered in her bones, in her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted the truth anymore because the truth wouldn’t change what had already been done.

But still, she was here, facing the inevitable heartbreak she knew was coming.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, as if Harry had been waiting, as if she had been hoping.

"Louis?" Harry’s voice was raw with surprise, but there was something else there too—relief. A relief that made Louis want to tear her apart. Harry's brows knitted together as she took in Louis' appearance—the dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion carved into her face, the way her lips were pressed into a firm, unforgiving line.

Louis didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

Harry stepped aside, silently inviting her in, but Louis hesitated. Her feet refused to move. She shouldn’t do this. She should turn around and walk away. She should leave before she shattered completely.

But she didn’t.

She stepped inside.

The air between them was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything unspoken. Louis crossed her arms over her chest, fingers digging into her own skin, grounding herself. Harry shut the door and turned to face her, concern etched so deep in her expression it made Louis want to scream.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, voice softer now, careful—like she already knew something was very, very wrong.

Louis scoffed.

“What’s going on?” she repeated, a humorless laugh ripping from her throat. Her heart was pounding, burning, bleeding. Harry opened her mouth, but Louis didn’t let her speak. “You tell me, Harry.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the space between them like a knife. “Tell me about Astra. Tell me how you’ve been sneaking around behind Alex’s back for years. Tell me how you planned to run off to Australia with her like I didn’t even fucking exist.”

Harry froze.

The color drained from her face, her lips parting slightly as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs.

“Who—who told you that?”

Louis laughed bitterly.

“Who do you think?” she snapped. “Your fucking bestfriend and the love of your fucking life.”

Harry flinched.

Louis shook her head, hatred clawing its way up her throat, burning. Hating her. Hating her for making her feel like this. For making her want to believe her.

Harry stepped forward. “Louis, it’s not—”

Louis took a step back. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.” Her voice wavered, but she stood her ground, even as her throat tightened, even as her heart fractured beneath her ribs.

Harry ran a hand through her curls, frustration evident in the way she exhaled sharply.

“It’s not what you think,” she tried again, desperate now. “Yes, Astra and I—we were stupid. It was toxic, and I was a fucking idiot for staying. But it was never what you think it was.”

Louis’ jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Then what was it, Harry?” Her voice dropped to something dangerous. “Because to me, it looks like you were perfectly fine lying and sneaking around whenever it suited you. And if you could do it to Alex, what the fuck makes me think you wouldn’t do the same to me?”

Harry paled.

Louis saw the exact moment those words hit her, slicing her open. But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

“You told me you love me,” Louis whispered, voice trembling now, the fight in her crumbling under the weight of her own grief. “Did you mean it, Harry? Or was I just another game to you?”

Harry’s expression shattered.

“I love you,” she said immediately, urgently. “I love you. I have never felt this way about anyone. Not Astra, not anyone. Only you.”

Louis closed her eyes.

For a split second, she wanted to believe her.

Wanted to believe so badly that none of this was real, that Harry wasn’t the same kind of liar Astra and Alex were.

But doubt had already buried its claws too deep.

And it fucking hurt.

Louis sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to meet Harry’s gaze.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a fucking coward.” Harry visibly recoiled. "You don’t get to say you love me like it fixes everything," Louis continued, voice steadier now, but colder. "You don’t get to love me when you were planning an entire life with someone else."

Harry shook her head rapidly, taking another step forward. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what was it like, Harry?"

Harry’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She had nothing to say.

Because Louis was right.

And that hurt more than anything.

Silence filled the room like a heavy fog, suffocating, inescapable.

And Louis broke.

Not on the outside.

She kept her back straight, her arms crossed, her jaw set.

But inside, she shattered.

And then, before she could stop herself, she did something so fucking stupid.

She grabbed Harry.

She kissed her.

And she let herself drown.

The kiss was a collision, not a surrender.

Louis crashed into Harry, mouth bruising, teeth scraping, nails digging into whatever she could reach. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a war.

Harry stumbled backward with a gasp, but she didn’t push her away. No, she grabbed her, hands fisting into Louis’ shirt, dragging her closer like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go.

Maybe she would.

Maybe she should.

But Louis didn’t.

Instead, she pushed forward, backing Harry against the wall, her hands gripping at her waist, at her shoulders, at anything solid enough to ground her in this madness. Her breath was ragged, her pulse a brutal rhythm against her ribs, and her heart—her traitorous, aching heart—was screaming.

This was wrong.

This was stupid.

This was the end.

Harry's hands moved with desperation, threading through Louis’ hair, yanking her down into another kiss—deeper, harsher, a silent plea wrapped in teeth and tongue and devastation. Louis felt the way Harry’s body trembled against her, like she was coming apart at the seams, like she was just as lost in this storm as Louis was.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Louis growled against her lips, hands clawing at Harry’s shirt, yanking it over her head with zero care for the buttons that popped off and scattered across the floor. Harry didn’t care either. She just gasped when Louis’ nails scraped down her bare skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake.

Louis wanted her to feel it.

Wanted her to remember.

Harry’s breath hitched as Louis’ lips moved lower—a messy, angry path of bites and kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, across the delicate lines of her ribs. She could hear Harry’s heartbeat beneath her lips—fast, frantic, as if it knew this was the last time.

"Louis," Harry gasped, voice wrecked, pleading.

Louis ignored it.

She didn’t want to hear her say her name like that. Like it meant something. Like Harry had the right to say it like she wasn’t the one who had already shattered her into pieces.

She kissed her harder.

Bit harder.

Dug her nails deeper.

If this was the last time, then she was going to burn her into her skin.

Harry groaned, hands grasping, gripping, clutching. They moved like she was trying to memorize every inch of Louis like she was trying to carve her into memory, brand her into bone, but it was too fucking late.

Louis knew how this ended.

Knew that when the sun rose, Harry would still be Harry, and she would still be the fool who loved her.

But right now, she couldn’t care.

Right now, she needed this.

She needed to take, to claim, to ruin.

And Harry?

Harry let her.

She let Louis strip her down, break her apart, worship her and destroy her all at once.

She let Louis’ mouth leave bruises against her skin, let her hands guide them both into something frantic and desperate, something too much and never enough.

Louis had been shattered before, but never like this.

Never like this.

Never with her soul torn apart by the same hands that held her together.

She should have walked away. Should have let the bitterness rot her from the inside out, let the heartbreak hollow her bones until there was nothing left of her but dust and regret.

But she didn’t.

She let Harry strip her down too, let her break her apart, worship her, destroy her, ruin her in the way only Harry could.

She let herself fall, again.

Louis’ body burned as Harry’s lips traveled across her skin, leaving behind bruises that would last days, proof of a love that was already dying but refusing to let go.

It was desperate. It was everything she wanted and everything that would kill her.

She let herself be touched like she still belonged to Harry. Like she always would.

Louis gasped when she felt Harry’s teeth scrape along her ribs, the sharp sting grounding her to the present, to this moment that she would later wish had never happened but would ache to relive.

"Get your strap," Louis commanded, her voice raw, shaking, breaking.

Harry froze against her skin.

For a second, neither of them moved, the air between them thick—a dangerous, volatile storm on the verge of explosion.

“Louis…” Harry’s voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Louis clenched her jaw, nails digging into Harry’s shoulders. She needed this. Needed the pain, the possession, the last remnants of something she knew she would never have again.

"At least fuck me the way you fucked her." Louis’ voice was cold, sharp as broken glass. "Fuck me the way you fucked all your past conquests."

Harry’s breath caught.

Then, she moved.

Grabbing Louis’ wrists, pinning her down, forcing her to look at her.

Louis glared up at her, waiting for the anger, the denial.

But it didn’t come.

Instead—

“I love you.” Harry’s words were soft, but they hit like a punch to the ribs.

Louis’ heart lurched.

She hated her. Hated her for saying it like it meant something.

For saying it after everything.

After Astra.

After the lies.

After all the nights Louis had spent breaking apart in the silence of her own room, suffocating on the ghost of something that was never real.

"Prove it, then," Louis whispered, voice trembling but firm. "Fuck me like you never fucked anyone else."

For a moment, Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Louis thought this was it. That she had finally pushed too far. That this was where Harry would stop, where she would realize how fucked up Louis had become and finally let her go.

But then—

Harry exhaled, slow and deep, like she had made peace with something inside her.

Then, without another word, she scooped Louis up, lifting her effortlessly.

Louis gasped, fingers clinging to Harry’s shoulders as she was thrown onto the bed, landing in a mess of tangled sheets and emotions she couldn’t control.

Harry hovered above her, eyes dark and unreadable, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Wait here," she murmured.

Louis felt like she was free-falling.

She watched with burning eyes as Harry moved to the closet, opening a box Louis hadn’t seen before.

Watched as she stripped off her jeans and her panties, every layer of distance between them until she was completely bare.

Louis’ breath hitched.

And then—

Harry pulled on the harness, adjusting it like she had done this a million times before.

Louis swallowed hard, her pulse hammering.

The fake cock hung between her legs, a perfect, almost cruel illusion of something real.

Louis ached.

She clenched her thighs together, feeling her slickness already dripping, already desperate, already lost.

But then—

Harry pulled out something else.

A tie.

She turned back to Louis, eyes dark, searching.

Louis barely had time to process before her wrists were lifted, the fabric securing her to the bedpost—gentle, not too tight, but enough.

Enough to restrain her.

Enough to let her surrender.

Louis’ breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding. The anticipation was agony.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harry murmured, fingers ghosting over Louis’ skin.

"Just get on with it." Louis spat, her voice laced with venom and vulnerability.

Harry’s eyes flashed.

In one sharp movement, she gripped Louis’ hair, tugging her head back just enough to make her gasp.

“No.” Harry’s voice was a growl, low, firm, unyielding. "If you want me to fuck you with this"—her fingers ghosted over the silicone length, making Louis’ core tighten with unbearable need—"you follow my rules. Tell me if it's too much. Stop me if you want to stop. I don’t want to hurt you."

The last part came out softer, almost breaking.

And that—

That shattered something inside Louis.

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed past it.

"I trust you." The words were barely a whisper.

But they carried everything.

Every scar. Every wound. Every piece of herself she had ever given to Harry.

Even though it cost her.

Even though it would destroy her.

Harry’s expression softened, like she knew.

Like she felt it too.

And then, her lips ghosted over Louis’ temple.

“Okay.” A pause. Then, softer—"I love you, starlight."

Louis squeezed her eyes shut.

Didn’t say it back.

Didn’t stop her when Harry’s fingers slid between her legs, spreading her open, finding her dripping and ready.

Louis moaned at the first intrusion, two fingers sinking into her with ease, curling just right.

Harry sucked at her neck, whispering, "So desperate for my touch. Who are we kidding, baby?" She bit down, making Louis arch. "You need me. No one else could ever make you feel like this."

The fingers left, and Louis whined.

Before she could protest, Harry smeared her wetness across her lips, then pushed the fingers inside her mouth.

“Suck.”

Louis obeyed.

Because she was already ruined for her.

Because she had always belonged to her.

Because after tonight, she never would again.

Harry’s fingers pressed firmly against her tongue, her taste thick and heavy in Louis’ mouth. Louis sucked, slow and deliberate, her lips wrapping around them, her tongue swirling as if she had something to prove.

Harry groaned, her free hand trailing down Louis’ trembling stomach, nails scratching lightly, teasing. “Such a fucking slut for me,” she murmured, her voice low, wrecked. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Louis moaned around her fingers, her hips bucking involuntarily. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to spit something cruel back at her, something to remind herself that she wasn’t completely owned by Harry’s touch. But she was.

And they both knew it.

Harry pulled her fingers from Louis’ mouth, watching the string of saliva snap between them before she traced them down Louis’ body, dragging them across her nipples, her stomach, until she reached the slick mess between her legs again.

Louis whined, tugging at the restraints around her wrists. She wanted to touch, to feel, to drag her nails across Harry’s back and mark her the way Harry had marked her heart. But she couldn’t.

And somehow, that only made her need sharper.

Harry’s lips ghosted over her ear. “Or maybe,” she whispered, breath warm against her skin, “you don’t deserve my cock. Maybe only good girls get it.”

Louis’ breath hitched. She shook her head rapidly, desperate, the heat in her belly twisting tighter.

“Are you a good girl, Louis?”

Louis whimpered, her back arching off the bed. “Yes,” she gasped.

Harry’s teeth grazed her jaw. “Are you my good girl?”

Louis swallowed hard, eyes burning. The answer was already written all over her body. It always had been.

“I am,” she whispered.

“What was that?”

Louis bit her lip, then whispered, "I’m your good girl."

Harry hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose. Each kiss felt like a goodbye, and Louis hated that she let herself feel it.

Then Harry moved lower.

Slow, deliberate kisses trailed down her body, lingering at the soft curve of her breast, sucking and biting until Louis was gasping beneath her.

Then lower.

Over her stomach, the dip of her waist, the place where her hip met her thigh.

And then—

Louis’ entire body convulsed as Harry’s mouth wrapped around her clit, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking hard.

Louis screamed.

Her arms strained against the ties, her legs instinctively trying to clamp shut, but Harry’s hands gripped her thighs, forcing her open.

"That's it," Harry whispered against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through Louis’ body. "Let me taste you."

And she did.

Harry devoured her. Ate her like she was the last meal she’d ever have. Like she needed to memorize every sound, every taste, every single inch of her.

Louis was shaking, writhing, lost in it.

She came hard, a wrecked sob leaving her throat as the pleasure ripped through her, leaving her raw, exposed, undone.

But Harry wasn’t finished.

Louis barely had time to catch her breath before Harry’s fingers slid into her, two at first, then three, curling and thrusting, searching for the place that would make her scream again.

It didn’t take long.

Louis came a second time, tears slipping down her cheeks, her body trembling.

She wasn’t sure if she was crying from the overwhelming pleasure, or from the weight of knowing that this was the last time.

Harry kissed her softly, her fingers still lazily stroking inside her, drawing out every last tremor. “You okay, baby?” she murmured, biting Louis’ bottom lip. “Do you need to stop?”

Louis shook her head, “no,” she said, desperate for more, for everything. 

Harry smiled against her skin. “I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder.

Louis squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away.

Harry hesitated, but then—she pushed inside her.

Louis gasped, her body stretching, adjusting.

“It’s big,” she whimpered.

Harry pressed her forehead against Louis’, her voice achingly soft. “I have bigger,” she murmured. “But I thought we’d go easy on your first time.”

Louis laughed, a breathless, broken sound.

And then—her throat closed.

Because this wasn’t just about sex.

This was Harry.

This was everything.

Louis’ eyes burned. A single tear slipped free before she could stop it.

“I love you,” Louis whispered. A confession. A curse. A final plea.

Harry’s breath hitched, her grip on Louis’ waist tightening as if she could hold her together, as if she could stop her from unraveling. Her hands moved, fumbling slightly as she reached up, untying the fabric around Louis’ wrists, freeing her.

The moment Louis’ arms were loose, she didn’t hesitate. She lunged, wrapping herself around Harry, pulling her down, pressing their bodies together like she could fuse them into one. Their mouths collided, the kiss desperate, aching, destructive.

“Lou—” Harry gasped against her lips.

Louis swallowed the rest of her words, threading her fingers through Harry’s hair, holding her there, grounding her, drowning in her.

Then, breathless, trembling—

“You can move.”

And Harry did.

She thrust in deep, slow, intentional, like she was trying to leave something behind in Louis’ body. 

Like she was memorizing her from the inside out.

Louis felt herself breaking.

She clung to Harry, her legs wrapped around her waist, their hands tangled, their hearts bleeding into one another.

And in that moment, there was nothing else.

No Astra.

No Alex.

Not the past.

Not the inevitable heartbreak waiting for them when morning came.

Just this.

Just them.

Just Louis and her love for Harry.

Just the feeling of Harry’s body moving with hers, of her name whispered like a prayer between gasps and moans, of Harry pressing desperate kisses to her lips like she couldn’t bear to part.

Louis came with Harry’s name on her tongue, her entire body trembling as the pleasure tore through her like wildfire.

And Harry followed, her own release shuddering through her as she collapsed against Louis, their chests rising and falling in sync.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They just breathed.

Held each other in the quiet darkness, their bodies tangled, their hearts still racing in the aftermath. The air was thick with sweat, with the remnants of desperation and something softer, something neither of them could name.

And then—

It was over.

Harry reached for her, fingertips ghosting over Louis’ arm as if afraid she might disappear.

“Stay the night,” her girlfriend murmured, voice gentle, hesitant. “Please?”

Louis was too exhausted to fight. Too drained to argue. So she just nodded.

Harry exhaled in relief, her face breaking into a small, tired smile before she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to Louis’ forehead, then her lips—soft, tender, reverent.

Then, she shifted, slipping from the bed, her movements slow, careful. Probably to remove the harness, to grab a cloth and clean her up.

Louis didn’t have the energy to move, to watch. Her limbs were heavy, her eyes already fluttering shut.

So she let herself sink into the sheets, into the warmth Harry left behind, and let the world fade away.

***

The morning light filtered in through the blinds, painting the room in soft streaks of gold and gray. Louis stirred, the weight of something warm and familiar draped over her back, limbs tangled in hers as if they had never known how to be apart.

Harry.

Her steady breathing ghosted against the back of Louis' neck, her arm slung lazily around Louis' waist, holding on even in sleep. The warmth should have been comforting. Should have made Louis want to sink back into the mattress and pretend, just for a little longer, that this was enough.

But it wasn’t.

Carefully, Louis pried herself from Harry’s grasp, moving slow enough not to wake her. Every shift of her body, every inch of space she put between them felt like a battle against something bigger than herself. But she forced herself to do it.

She needed to.

Her clothes were scattered across the room, a mess of tangled denim and crumpled fabric left in the wake of something that had never been meant to last. She found her jeans near the dresser and pulled them on, her hands moving on autopilot.

That was when she saw it.

Harry’s phone.

Face-up. Screen dark.

Louis should have ignored it. Should have walked away.

But against her better judgment, she tapped the screen, and the glow illuminated the room like a cruel spotlight.

Six unread messages.

All from an unknown number.

Her stomach twisted as she clicked the message thread, the screen expanding, the words staring back at her like a knife to the ribs.

Unknown: can’t wait to see you tonight
Unknown: can’t sleep thinking about you
Unknown: we will be okay, right?
Unknown: good luck on your match today
Unknown: don’t care if you win or not, I’m here to celebrate with you 😉
Unknown: 😘

Louis didn’t need to think twice about who it was.

It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

Didn’t take much at all to recognize Astra’s voice in every single word.

Louis swallowed past the burn in her throat, but it didn’t help. The sick feeling coiled in her gut, spreading like venom. She hated this. Hated the way it was happening all over again. Hated that for even a second, she had let herself believe that she and Harry had a future together.

She was a fool.

No. Worse.

She was a fool who had let herself hope.

Her fingers trembled as she locked the phone and set it down, as if touching it any longer might burn her. She finished dressing in a rush, tugging on her shirt, shoving her feet into her shoes.

She needed to get out.

Now.

When she reached the door, she hesitated.

And she turned around.

Harry was still asleep, her body curled into the space Louis had left behind, face relaxed, peaceful in the early morning glow. She looked soft like this. Innocent, even.

Like she hadn't just shattered Louis without even knowing it.

Something inside her cracked.

For a second, just a second, Louis wanted to stay. Wanted to slip back into bed, wrap herself around Harry, pretend she hadn’t seen what she had seen.

But she couldn’t.

It was either leave or be left.

So she chose the only thing she still had control over.

She chose to protect whatever was left of her heart.

And with that, she walked out the door.

***

The walls of Louis’ room felt smaller, pressing in on her like a vice, suffocating, as if they, too, were bearing witness to the way she was coming apart.

She sat curled on the floor, her back against the bed, knees drawn to her chest as sobs wracked her body. Her hands trembled where they gripped at her own arms, nails digging into skin like she could hold herself together that way.

But she couldn’t.

Because she wasn’t whole anymore.

She was breaking. Shattering.

She had broken, and Harry had been the one to do it.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and relentless. She gasped between sobs, choking on the grief of something she hadn’t even realized she had been holding onto so desperately. Their relationship. Their history. Their love, if that was even what it had been.

She had thought she could be enough. Thought that if she loved Harry enough, if she fought for them enough, if she gave every piece of herself that she had left, it would mean something. That it would make her stay. That it would keep her from turning to Astra the way she always did.

She had been wrong.

She had been so fucking wrong.

Her body shook with the force of it, the silent screams lodged in her throat, the agony too big to fit inside of her, yet she had nowhere else to put it.

And then—

The door slammed open.

Louis startled, her breath catching in her chest as she looked up, blinking through the tears, her body still trembling from the force of her breakdown.

Harry stood there in the doorway, sweaty, panting, furious.

Her fists clenched at her sides, her chest rising and falling as if she had run here—as if she had sprinted across campus, across the city, across the fucking world to get here. To her.

Her eyes were wild, stormy, blazing with something dangerous.

Louis barely had time to process before Harry was speaking.

“You left.” Her voice was sharp, raw, barely controlled. “You fucking left, Louis.”

Louis clenched her jaw, her eyes burning all over again. “Yeah. I did.”

Harry’s hands curled into fists. “Without saying a word.”

Louis let out a bitter, broken laugh. It tasted like acid in her throat.

“What else was there to say, Harry?” Her voice cracked, and she hated that. Hated how weak she sounded. How ruined. “Would you have even told me about her? About Astra? Or were you just hoping I’d be too stupid to find out?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, her knuckles white where her hands stayed fisted at her sides. “That’s not fair.”

Louis let out a sharp breath, standing abruptly, forcing herself to meet Harry’s eyes.

“What’s not fair, Harry?” she asked, voice shaking, but her anger was bigger than her pain now. “That I found out? That I left before you could make up another excuse? That I didn’t stay long enough for you to spin a prettier lie?”

“I didn’t lie to you.” Harry’s voice was steel.

Louis flinched.

But then she laughed again, sharp and hollow, and wiped angrily at her tears.

“Fine,” she bit out. “You didn’t lie. But you omitted the truth, which is just as bad. When were you going to tell me, huh? That Astra is already there? That she is in your future, waiting for you? You told me whatever you had with her was finished, but it’s not, is it?”

Harry’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Louis shook her head, her heart twisting violently in her chest.

“I’m tired, Harry. I’m tired of being made a fool by everyone around me. I’m tired of being made a fool by you.” Her breath hitched, the pain swallowing her whole. “Just… leave me alone.”

Harry took a step closer, her voice firm, unshaken.

“No. I refuse to end things between us.”

Louis’ heart clenched, her nails digging into her palms.

She forced herself to meet Harry’s gaze, to hold steady, even though everything inside her was screaming to just give in, to let herself believe in this love just a little longer.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t survive it.

“Then lucky for you, I end it,” she whispered.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

Louis swallowed down the lump in her throat, her voice barely more than a breath now.

“We’re finished.”

Harry shook her head, her eyes wide, almost desperate.

“No.”

“Yes.” Louis’ voice cracked. She sucked in a breath, trying to steady herself, to stay standing beneath the weight of this heartbreak. “I was just a phase, Harry. You’ll forget me soon enough.”

Harry’s face twisted, her breath ragged.

“No, Louis. God, fuck, no. I love you.”

Louis laughed again—shattered and bitter and hurting.

“Love me enough to not tell me you planned to meet up with her after your match today?”

Harry flinched this time. A real, visible flinch.

“Lou—”

“Enough, Harry.” Louis took a deep breath, blinking hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m tired.”

Harry’s voice was urgent now, desperate. “It’s not like what you think—”

Louis let out a humorless breath. “Then tell me.” Harry hesitated. And Louis clenched her jaw, something breaking all over again inside her. “First, my ex tells me about you and Astra running away together to Australia,” she whispered. “Then Astra comes to me, confirming it. Telling me you two will end up together. And now?” She shook her head. “Now you’re meeting up with her.” Louis inhaled sharply, looking Harry dead in the eyes. “Tell me, Harry. Tell me what the fuck I should think. Because I’m so fucking tired.”

Harry swallowed, but she had nothing to say.

And that was her answer.

Louis turned away, grabbing her jacket.

Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Louis, listen to me.”

Louis shook her head.

“Just go, Harry.” Her voice was empty now. “Your match starts soon. I’m sure your teammates are worried about you.”

Harry shook her head fiercely. “No.”

Louis exhaled slowly, her chest heavy.

“Then I’ll leave.”

She pulled the jacket on, stepping past Harry toward the door.

Harry’s voice was thick, breaking. “This is your room. What do you mean you’ll leave?”

Louis only shrugged.

She paused at the doorway, tilting her head just enough to glance back.

Harry stood there, looking wrecked.

And it almost, almost made her stay.

Instead, Louis forced a small, sad smile, and whispered,

“Good luck for today, Captain Styles. Hope everything goes your way.”

And with that she walked out for the second time that day.

***

The hairdresser silently observed as Louis sat in the chair, tears slipping down her cheeks, each snip of the scissors echoing the heartbreak lodged deep in her chest. Every strand that fell to the floor wasn’t just hair.

It was a piece of the girl she used to be.

It was a piece of the love she was trying to let go of. 

And it had everything to do with the curly-haired girl who still owned her heart.

***

Louis knew it was stupid, pathetic even, to sit in her room, refreshing the campus lacrosse team’s Twitter and Instagram like her life depended on it. Each update came within seconds of the last, yet she couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything that would make her feel connected to Harry again.

And maybe, just maybe, the fact that she was still wearing Harry’s jersey, the one that still smelled faintly of her, had nothing to do with the girl who used to be hers. Maybe it was just school spirit. Just support for their campus team. Just an old habit she hadn’t yet broken.

But Louis had never been good at lying to herself.

The rivalry match was brutal, the tension palpable even through the flickering livestream on her laptop screen. Their campus was up against their longtime rival, and the pressure was suffocating. The game had just entered the third quarter, and still, neither team had managed to score.

Louis frowned, leaning closer to the screen, her fingers gripping the edges of her laptop. She wished she understood lacrosse better. Harry had explained it to her once, patiently, enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up as she talked about strategies and formations. Louis had listened, had tried to understand, but mostly, she had just watched Harry, mesmerized by the way she came alive when talking about something she loved. 

She had confessed later, sheepishly, that she still didn’t get half of what was happening, and Harry had only laughed, calling her cute before pulling her in for a kiss. The so-called lacrosse lesson had quickly turned into something else entirely. Louis still remembered the feeling of being pressed against the couch, Harry’s breath hot against her skin, the way they had both fallen apart beneath each other’s hands.

That memory felt like a lifetime ago.

The sudden sound of shouting snapped Louis out of it. She blinked at the screen, her pulse quickening. The camera was shaky, capturing the chaos on the field in blurred, frantic movements. Louis leaned forward, squinting, and then there. Number 24. Harry.

But something was wrong.

Her back was to the camera, body tense, shoulders squared. The other team was in her face, words being exchanged that Louis couldn’t hear, but she could see the way Harry’s fists curled at her sides. Harry never lost her composure. Louis knew that better than anyone. She was calm, always. Controlled. Even in the most brutal of matches, when opponents tried to target her specifically, Harry only laughed, brushing off their cheap shots with infuriating ease.

So why—

The livestream jolted as a sudden commotion erupted. Bodies collided. A shove, a snarl. And then—

A fight.

Louis shot up from her chair, her laptop nearly slipping from her lap.

No.

She watched in horror as the camera barely caught it—Harry lunging, her fists swinging, getting dragged back by teammates before the screen abruptly cut to black.

Louis stared at the blank screen, her own reflection staring back at her, wide-eyed and breathless.

Then she moved.

She didn’t think. Didn’t pause. Didn’t give herself time to reconsider. She grabbed her jacket, her phone, and ran.

The field was a thirty seconds sprint from her dorm, but it felt like miles. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she didn’t slow down. Her mind was screaming at her. Harry needs me, she needs me, this is my fault, what if she’s hurt, what if, what if, what if—

By the time she reached the field, the crowd was still buzzing with post-fight energy, but Louis barely noticed. She was searching, scanning the benches, the sidelines, anywhere Harry could be. Her pulse was a wild, erratic thing in her throat.

And then—

There.

Relief hit her first, sharp and overwhelming. Harry was on the bench, her curls damp with sweat, her jersey stained with dirt and bruises blooming along her arms. She looked tired but okay. Alive.

Louis exhaled, her feet moving on instinct, slowly making her way toward her.

But then—

A girl.

A beautiful, dark-haired girl—everything Louis wasn’t.

She appeared out of nowhere, stepping into Harry’s space like she belonged there, reaching up to cup Harry’s face with the kind of ease that made Louis’ stomach twist violently.

And Harry—

Harry didn’t stop her.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t do anything at all except let herself be held, let herself be touched, let herself be comforted.

Louis stood frozen as she watched Astra wrap her arms around Harry and pull her in.

And then, the final blow—Harry hugged her back.

It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t obligation. It was instinct.

Louis felt the breath leave her body.

She wanted to scream. To laugh. To sob. To do anything except stand there, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, tightening her arms around herself because suddenly it was so fucking cold.

She was an idiot.

A fool.

A walking, breathing, bleeding joke.

Still wearing Harry’s jersey like she had a right to.

Still running to her like she was the one Harry needed.

Still hoping.

Still breaking.

She didn’t wait to see what happened next.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t need to.

She turned and walked away, her feet moving numbly, blindly, as the game resumed behind her.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t let herself.

By the time she reached her dorm, she barely made it inside before collapsing against the door, her legs giving out beneath her.

And then, she did the only thing she could do.

She cried.

Because lately that was all she ever did.

***

Louis was jolted awake by the sharp vibration of her phone rattling against her pillow. The sound sliced through the fragile quiet of her dorm room, dragging her out of a restless sleep. Her body ached, her head felt thick with exhaustion, and for a long moment, she considered ignoring it.

But when she blinked at the screen, Rebecca’s name glowed in the darkness.

Her thumb slid across the answer button, sluggish and unsteady. "Hello?" she croaked, her voice thick with sleep.

"Lou!" Rebecca’s voice was a jagged scream, sharp enough to slice through the fog in Louis’ brain. She shot upright, sheets tangling around her legs like chains, heart hammering against her ribs.

"Becs?" Her own voice sounded alien—high, frantic, terrified. "What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"I’m fine—it’s Harry."

The name hit her like a sucker punch. Louis collapsed back onto the mattress, the air punched from her lungs. "Oh," she whispered. Her swollen eyes burned, hot tears already pooling as she squeezed them shut. "What about her?"

“We went to a party.”

Louis huffed out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over her face. “Mmh. Good.” She tried not to sound bitter, but the resentment was there, curling at the edges of her words.

“No. Not good. She’s fighting with Alex.”

"Probably fighting over her. Not my business." She dug her nails into her palm, hard, until the pain drowned out the ache in her chest.

"No, Lou—they were fighting over you!” Her breath hitched in her throat. Rebecca kept going, words tumbling out in a rush. “Harry’s pissed. Alex is pissed. They’ve been going at it for the last ten minutes, and I swear they’re gonna start throwing punches if someone doesn’t stop them.”

Harry never fought. Never lost her temper, never let things get to her. She was calm, level-headed and laughed it over if someone tried to piss her off.

In all the time Louis had known Harry, she had only been in a fight once. And that was because some asshole had called them a slur when Harry was kissing her at the supermarket. The curly girl had slapped the guy so hard that he crashed into a rack of canned goods. Both Harry and Louis got banned from the store, but they had only laughed and kissed passionately right in front of the entrance, just to piss people off even more.

But in 24 hours, Harry had been in fights twice. And Louis seriously didn’t know what to do with that information.

Louis squeezed her eyes shut.

“—Harry is drunk and she refuses to go home. Can you come here and pick her up?” Rebecca’s voice brought her back to the present. “She’ll listen to you. We are at Alex’s frat house.”

“I don’t know, Becs.”

“Please, Lou. I know things haven't been good between you two.”

“I—Okay.”

“Thanks, Lou.”

Louis hummed in response, ending the call before shoving her phone back under her pillow. She pulled the blanket over her head and turned to face the wall, as if that would drown out the voice in her head.

It never did.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw the blanket off and sat up, rubbing her face. She didn’t have the energy to put in her contacts, so she grabbed her glasses instead, pushing them onto her nose. Then she reached for her cardigan, draping it over her shoulders before stepping out of her room.

The moment she left her dorm, a gust of wind hit her, and she cursed under her breath. Even after their breakup, Harry still found ways to inconvenience her. She tightened her cardigan around herself and started the walk to Alex’s frat house.

She had only been there a few times—always sneaking in with Alex, who was paranoid about his frat brothers finding out. And now, here she was again, cursing herself for forgetting to put on a bra. Between the wind and the thin fabric of her tank top, she was fighting for her life to keep her dignity intact.

The party at Alex’s frat was in full swing. Two people were sprawled on the lawn, and couples were making out against the columns of the house. Louis entered, and the music hit her like a wall. The overwhelming bass, the sweaty bodies, the haze of alcohol—it was too much. She had no idea why Harry would even want to be here.

Pushing past the dancing bodies, she scanned the crowd for Rebecca or Harry. No luck. Frustrated, she made her way to the backyard. Still, no sign of them.

Louis went back inside the house and turned to the kitchen. She might as well get a drink.

“Cute glasses.”

Louis paused mid-sip, blinking in confusion at the boy who had just approached her.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Not your usual party look, but I kinda dig it.”

“Um, thanks,” she muttered, suddenly self-conscious.

“Do you wanna—”

“No, she doesn’t.”

The deep drawl came from behind her, and Louis didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Harry. Probably standing there with her arms crossed, nostrils flaring, thoroughly pissed off that some guy was hitting on Louis.

“Hey, Styles.” The guy smirked. “This your girl?”

Louis rolled her eyes.

“This girl is no one’s,” she said, placing her cup on the counter before turning toward the door.

She just made it past the fence when she heard Harry call her name. Louis ignored it, picking up her pace.

Unfortunately, her short legs were no match for Harry’s long strides. Within seconds, a hand gently wrapped around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Can we talk?” Harry’s voice was softer now.

Louis yanked her arm free and kept walking.

Louis wasn’t sure what was in the drink, but she had always been a lightweight. The world felt unsteady beneath her feet, and she didn’t notice the uneven pavement until it was too late.

She tripped.

Louis shut her eyes as she braced herself for the harsh impact, only to be caught before she could hit the ground. A strong hand wrapped around her arm, steadying her.

“Hey, you okay?”

Harry.

And just like that, something inside Louis cracked wide open.

Not just because she was far from okay, but because those were the very first words Harry had ever said to her.

Louis let out a shaky breath, and then she broke. The sobs came in full force, raw and uncontainable.

Without hesitation, Harry turned her around, pulling her into a firm embrace. Louis didn’t resist. She instinctively wrapped her arms around Harry’s middle, gripping the fabric of her cropped tank top like it was the only thing keeping her together.

“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she gently ran her fingers through Louis’ hair. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Louis didn’t answer. She just buried her face into Harry’s shoulder and held on tighter. “I’m sorry, baby.” Harry said as she kissed the top of her head.

"I don’t want to feel like this anymore," Louis whispered through her sobs. "I’m tired."

"I know," Harry murmured.

She gently eased Louis back, just enough to see her face. With careful hands, she cupped her cheeks, thumbs brushing away the endless stream of tears.

"I’m sorry," Louis breathed. She swallowed hard and lowered her gaze. "I’ll go now. I’m sure your girlfriend is waiting for you."

She reached up, prying Harry’s hands off her face, trying to ignore the way her skin burned at the loss of contact.

"My girlfriend needs me," Harry said softly.

"Then you should go to her," Louis replied, voice hollow.

"Okay."

Harry let her go.

And Louis—Louis refused to fall apart. Refused to beg her to stay. Refused to let the ache in her chest take over.

She held herself still as Harry stepped back, as she offered a small, sad smile, as she turned away and walked off without another word. And Louis stood frozen, watching her disappear into the night.

With every step Harry took, the weight in Louis’ chest grew heavier, pressing down on her ribs, suffocating her.

Then, when she could no longer see her, when the last piece of warmth had faded into the cold, Louis' legs gave out.

She sank to the pavement, pulled her knees to her chest, and broke—silent at first, then shaking, then sobbing into her arms, muffling the sound of her own heartbreak.

She cried until her throat ached, until her chest felt like it might cave in from the weight of it all.

Everything hurt. She hurt.

She just wanted it to stop—to erase the feeling, to be numb instead of carrying a love so intense it fractured every part of her.

She wished she had never stepped into that gym. Wished she had stayed home, stuck in the cycle of self-loathing, staring at her reflection with nothing but disdain. If she had, she would have never met Harry—never loved her, never lost her.

The thought made her cry even harder, shoulders shaking, breath stuttering.

Then, suddenly, a gentle hand patted her head.

Louis stilled. Slowly, she looked up, blinking past the blur of her tears, to find Harry standing there, looking down at her with that familiar, infuriating smirk.

"Heard my girlfriend needs me," Harry said.

Louis stared at her for a second, then let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You are not funny."

"And you're crying."

Louis sniffled and wiped her face with the sleeve of her cardigan.

"You're drunk," she muttered.

"And you're upset."

"I'm tired, Harry."

"Then let's go home. Your place or mine?"

"Not funny, really."

Harry sighed before lowering herself onto the pavement beside her.

"I'm not drunk," she said, voice softer now. "Not completely sober either, but lucid enough to have this conversation." Louis said nothing. Harry hesitated, then asked, "Will you listen to me now?"

Louis let out a breath, staring ahead.

"What’s there to listen to?" she murmured. "We don’t have anything to talk about."

"God, you’re so stubborn," Harry muttered, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder before nuzzling into the curve of her neck. She let out a soft sigh, then bit her neck lightly, a small, almost tentative smile tugging at her lips. "I owe you the biggest apology," she said, her voice quieter now. "For blindsiding you like that. I just... I never thought about her anymore. Not once when I was with you. I did have strong feelings for her back then, but I mistook it for love when really it was just an obsession. She was the first girl I kissed, the one who made me realize I like girls, and I clung to that like it meant something more than it did." Harry pulled back just enough to look at Louis. "But, baby, if I had known then what I know now? I would’ve turned back time, flown to Seattle instead, found you, and kissed you first."

Louis huffed out a small, amused laugh. "I’d probably whack you in the head."

Harry grinned, and when she laughed too, it was soft and beautiful, something Louis had missed more than she wanted to admit.

"It was toxic—me and her," Harry admitted after a beat, her smile fading into something wistful. "We did this weird, messed-up dance of pulling and pushing each other. I know I did Alex wrong too. I probably owe him an apology. Not just for betraying him, but also for punching him tonight."

"You punched him?"

"Yeah."

"Harry."

"What? He started it," Harry said, defensive as ever. "He dragged you into our fight. You know how territorial I am about you, Lou."

Louis sighed. "What did he say?"

Harry’s jaw clenched. "He said I never deserved you. That neither of us did, actually, and honestly? I agreed with him. Then he went on about how losing you was the biggest regret of his life. Said he’d never stop trying to get you back." She exhaled sharply. "I was drinking too much, and he pissed me off, so I punched him."

Louis stared at her. "That’s it? You hit my ex just because he said he wanted to try again with me?" Harry shrugged like it was no big deal. "You have no right to do that, Harry," Louis said, crossing her arms. "What if I want to go back to him?"

Harry didn’t even hesitate. "Then I’ll die."

"Not funny," Louis muttered.

Harry shook her head, her expression softening into something almost resigned. "I’d be miserable," she admitted. "But I know that’s on me. And if he makes you happy, then I’ll be happy just knowing that you are." She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "That’s all I want, Lou. For you to be happy."

Louis swallowed. "Then why do you keep trying?" The with us hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but understood.

"Because I know you," Harry said, voice quiet but firm. "You’ve been miserable too. I thought if I could at least explain, maybe things could be better between us. And if not..." She exhaled slowly. "I don’t know. I just want to make you happy."

Louis hesitated, then asked the question that had been gnawing at her. "Were you serious? About marrying her?"

Harry let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. She lit it with a practiced flick of her lighter, the flame casting fleeting shadows across her face. It shouldn’t have looked hot, but it did.

Louis frowned. "I didn’t know you smoked."

"New hobby. Picked it up last week," Harry said, taking a slow drag before smirking. "You know, since I can’t exactly satisfy my oral fixation these days."

Louis’ cheeks flushed. "Don’t be crass, Harry."

Harry grinned, exhaling smoke through her mouth. "I have a dirty mouth, baby. You love it."

Louis scowled, feeling her face grow even hotter. "Were you serious?" she pressed.

"Can’t believe she actually came to you just to blabbed nonsense," Harry muttered, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "No, I never wanted to marry her. It was stupid."

She took another drag, shaking her head. "She showed up here one day. I had practice and I was already late. But she wouldn’t stop whining about being horny and how she gonna terrorize me during practice if I didn’t go and make her cum. So I went to her hotel, and I only had a short time to make her cum. And you know me. I like my partner satisfied and spent. But she was holding back, that stupid hoe, and I really needed to finish fast. You know I can’t cum unless my partner does first. Never thought my generosity would backfire."

Harry flicked the ash off the cigarette, her expression unreadable. "She was making all the right noises, but her body didn’t lie. So I asked her what I needed to do to get her there, and she just out of nowhere asked if I’d marry her after we graduated. And Lou, I was so fucking horny my pussy felt gonna explode if I didn’t cum soon, and I was like seconds away from coming, and she was still holding back. So I said yes."

She scoffed, taking another drag. "And then she came. And then I came. And then I left for practice. That’s it. That’s the whole story."

Louis stared at her, half amused, half in disbelief. "You’re such a man, I swear."

Harry smirked. "When it comes to fucking bitches? Yeah. But never you."

Louis couldn’t argue with that because she had always treated Louis with nothing but care between the sheets.

She cleared her throat, pushing those thoughts away before they consumed her. “And the ring?”

Harry rolled her eyes. “She told me she wanted to buy one and asked if I’d pay for it. I said yeah, just send me the invoice. Never even see the damn thing.”

Taking the last drag of her cigarette, Harry flicked it to the ground and crushed it under the heel of her dirty white Vans. She reached into her pocket for another, but before she could light it, Louis caught her wrist.

Harry tilted her head at her, curious. It shouldn’t have been cute, but fuck, Louis felt her resolve slipping, bit by bit.

“I don’t want you to smell like cigarettes,” she muttered.

Harry grinned, like Louis had just said the sweetest thing in the world. “So… can we go back now?”

Louis ignored that. “Why was she at the game?”

Harry hesitated. “You were there?”

“Not the answer I was looking for.”

With a sigh, Harry ran a hand through her curls. “She kept texting, asking to meet. Swear I blocked her, but she kept getting new numbers to harass me. Maybe I should get a restraining order. I don’t know why she was there. After the fight, Coach benched me, and I was pissed. Then someone came up to me, and she smelled like you… and she touched me. I thought it was you. I didn’t check, so when she pulled me into a hug, I just… went with it. I only realized when we walked toward the locker room.”

“Oh.”

“I ended things with her for good. She won’t bother you or us anymore. That, I’m sure of.”

Louis swallowed. “What did you tell her?”

Harry smirked mischievously. “Told her I’d destroy her family’s business if she kept harassing you.” Louis sighed, too drained to react. She just leaned against Harry’s shoulder, finally letting exhaustion take over. “I love this haircut, by the way. It’s the same one you had when you were a freshman.”

“You mean when you first had a crush on me.” Harry laughed, the sound vibrating through Louis’ body. “Why didn’t you ever make a move on me? You didn’t even know I was in a relationship.”

Harry hummed, thinking. “I don’t know. I was a mess back then—dealing with Astra, sleeping with half the girls on campus just to fill the hole in my chest. The last thing I wanted was to drag you into all that.”

Louis tilted her head slightly. “And when we met at the gym? Had you sorted your mess out by then?”

Harry smirked. “I had already lived like a nun for the entire winter break—no sex, no drinking, no parties. And guess what God gifted me?” She grinned. “You. Falling right into my arms.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Harry’s dimples popped as she smiled. “I also wasn’t sure if you were into girls, so I just chilled out and tried to steal glances at you whenever I showed up to Grace’s class.”

“Stalking much?”

“Told you I was watching you.” Louis laughed, and Harry joined in. They laughed at how stupid they had both been, the tension between them momentarily lifting. Then Harry’s voice softened. “Lou.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I be your girlfriend again?”

Louis smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “I’d love that.”

Harry shot up from the ground, fists in the air, and let out a victorious, “hell yeah!”

Louis chuckled. “Dork.”

“Let’s go home. You’re cold.”

“I’m not—”

Harry smirked, eyes dropping for a split second. “Your nipples say otherwise.”

Louis gasped, immediately wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. “Harry! You’re such a pervert!”

Harry only grinned, completely unapologetic, then extended her hand. “Come on, girlfriend. Let’s go home.”

Louis rolled her eyes but took Harry’s hand anyway. As she got to her feet, Harry’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her in close.

"Can I kiss you, girlfriend?" Harry asked, her voice teasing but her eyes earnest, filled with a warmth that made Louis’ chest ache.

Louis rolled her eyes, trying to suppress the grin tugging at her lips. "Only if you stop calling me that."

"Okay, girlfriend."

"You're such a dork."

Harry just chuckled, leaning in, her breath ghosting over Louis' lips before closing the space between them.

The moment their lips touched, something inside Louis cracked wide open. The weight of everything—the fights, the misunderstandings, the heartbreak—melted away, leaving only Harry’s soft lips moving against hers, patient yet desperate, familiar yet electrifying. She sighed, her whole body exhaling relief as Harry’s mouth molded against hers, nibbling, teasing, drinking her in like she was something precious.

Louis didn’t realize how much she had missed this until now. How much she had missed Harry.

They broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together. Harry brushed another featherlight kiss over her lips before pulling back just enough to look at her, smiling like Louis was the only thing that existed in the world.

"I love you so much, Louis," Harry murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Louis leaned back just enough to take in her girlfriend’s face—her messy curls, her flushed cheeks, the way her green eyes shimmered under the streetlights. She had spent so long trying to hate Harry, but in this moment, she realized she never could.

"I love you too, Harry," Louis whispered. "I’m sorry for assuming the worst of you. For refusing to listen."

Harry only smiled, squeezing her waist. "Apology accepted. Now let’s go home."

With that, she wrapped an arm securely around Louis’ waist, holding her close as they walked back to her dorm. And for the first time in weeks, Louis felt whole again.

***

Louis just finished changing into another sage-green tank top and white shorts when she turned around to find Harry already sprawled across her bed, completely naked.

She arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Really?"

Harry, entirely unbothered, pulled the blanket up to her chest with a lazy grin. "I was tired of wearing jeans and a tight tank top all night. My skin needs to breathe."

Louis scoffed, shaking her head as she walked to the other side of the bed. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’m practical," Harry corrected, shifting to make space for Louis beside her. She patted the empty spot invitingly. "And I know you like me better this way."

Louis rolled her eyes but slid under the blanket anyway, feeling the immediate warmth radiating from Harry’s body. The moment she settled, Harry shifted closer, slinging an arm around her waist and nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

"You’re cold," Harry murmured against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

"And you’re naked."

"A perfect combination, if you ask me."

Louis huffed a laugh, but her fingers betrayed her, tracing slow, absentminded circles along Harry’s arm. It felt so easy, so natural to fall back into this. The quiet comfort of Harry’s presence, the way their bodies fit together effortlessly, like they were always meant to.

For a moment, they just lay there, breathing in sync. Then Louis whispered, "are we really okay now?"

Harry’s hold on her tightened. "Yeah, baby. We are."

Louis closed her eyes, letting herself believe it.

"Go to sleep, girlfriend," Harry murmured, pressing a final kiss to her temple.

Louis groaned. "You’re never gonna stop, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Louis sighed, but a small smile played at her lips as she melted into Harry’s warmth.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she fell asleep at peace.

***

Louis stirred first. The morning light was soft through the thin dorm curtains, casting golden stripes across her bed and over the mess of tangled limbs beneath the blanket. For a second, she forgot where she was, forgot everything that had happened last night until she felt the steady rhythm of Harry’s breath against her collarbone and the way Harry’s leg had managed to wrap around both of hers like a koala.

She blinked, then looked down to see Harry still fast asleep, hair wild and curls sticking out in every direction. Her lips were parted slightly, one arm draped across Louis’ waist and the other shoved under the pillow.

Louis smiled to herself. God, she’s beautiful. Even like this, maybe especially like this. Bare, unguarded, soft in the morning light.

She gently ran her fingers through the curls at Harry’s temple, earning a soft, sleepy grumble in return.

"Morning, starlight," Harry mumbled, her voice gravelly and low. Her eyes barely opened, but the arm around Louis tightened. "You’re still here."

"It’s my room, Harry. Of course I’m here," Louis chuckled, brushing her thumb along Harry’s cheekbone.

"I just… wasn’t sure. Was scared if I’d wake up and it’d all be a dream." Harry finally blinked up at her with a small, tentative smile. "But you’re here. And we’re okay."

Louis nodded slowly, her throat tight with something tender. "Yeah. We’re okay."

Harry exhaled in relief and leaned up to press a soft, lingering kiss to Louis’ collarbone. "Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

"You drooled on my tank top," Louis deadpanned, but she was already smiling.

"It's called marking my territory."

Louis shoved her lightly. "You’re disgusting."

"You love me."

“Unfortunately,” she teased, and Harry grinned before flopping onto her back, arms stretching out as her body sighed into the morning.

Louis glanced over just as the blanket slipped down Harry’s torso, baring soft skin and a view she definitely wasn’t prepared for before coffee. Her eyes lingered a second too long on Harry’s chest which was undeniably beautiful and, frankly, unfair.

She coughed, clearly caught. “Ugh, I’m starving. Let’s get breakfast. I’m craving something greasy and regrettable.”

Harry, of course, smirked, entirely too smug. “I am greasy and regrettable.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You were just ogling me like I’m the special on the menu.”

Louis groaned and buried her face in her hands. “You’re insufferable.”

Harry stretched again, utterly unbothered. “And you’re obsessed with me. It’s okay. I’d stare at my boobs too like I stare at your ass.”

Louis grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at her. “Get dressed, you menace.”

Harry caught it mid-air and held it against her chest with a grin. “Only if you admit you were looking.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Only because they were rude and disrespectfully out in the open.”

“Rude and disrespectful,” Harry murmured again, now softer, voice dipped in mischief and affection as she tugged Louis closer, “just like their owner is about to be with her girlfriend.”

Louis barely had time to process Harry’s words before she found herself gently pulled forward by the hand, caught in that look—the one Harry always gave her when teasing melted into something warmer, slower, more deliberate.

Louis climbed onto her lap, straddling Harry's hips but staying upright, watching her. Her hands rested on Harry’s shoulders, grounding herself as her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. The morning light danced across Harry’s skin, and Louis didn’t know how someone could look so soft and strong at the same time.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, but there was no heat behind it, only adoration.

Harry smiled, slow and tender. “But you love me.”

Louis dipped her head just a little, noses brushing, breaths mingling. “Yeah,” she murmured, lips ghosting over Harry’s. “I really do.”

Their lips finally met in a kiss that started gentle, patient, like they had all the time in the world. Harry’s hands slid up Louis’ waist, warm and careful, anchoring her closer as their mouths moved slowly together. No urgency, just softness. Just the quiet hum of reunion, of understanding, of finally being on the same page again.

Louis deepened the kiss just a little, sighing into it, letting her fingers slide into the mess of curls at the back of Harry’s neck. She felt Harry smile against her mouth—smile and then kiss her deeper in return, drawing her closer still, their bodies brushing and fitting together like muscle memory.

“God, I missed this,” Harry whispered against her lips.

Louis kissed her again. “Then don’t ever hide the truth from me. I don’t care about your past, I just don’t like surprises.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, breathless, eyes fluttering open to meet hers. “I swear.”

And Louis believed her. Because this kind of tenderness wasn’t something Harry ever gave away lightly.

They took their time, reacquainting themselves with each other like they had all the morning to relearn every inch, every breath, every familiar rhythm. Their kisses were soft at first which slow and exploratory. Like they were rediscovering how to speak the same language again.

Harry kissed Louis’ lips with gentle insistence, then drifted lower, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the corner of her jaw. Her mouth found Louis’s neck next, brushing over the sensitive skin before lightly grazing it with her teeth. Louis’ breath hitched. When Harry moved up to whisper something against her ear, her voice low and teasing, making Louis shivered.

Harry’s hands weren’t idle, either. They’d slipped beneath the loose hem of Louis’ shorts, slow and possessive, palms spreading across the curve of her ass. She kneaded it gently, like she was savoring the moment, grounding them both in the heat they shared.

Each kiss deepened with more hunger, more knowing. They weren’t just making out—they were remembering what it meant to be close, to trust, to want. And when Harry pulled Louis tighter against her, their bodies flush, it felt like the space between heartbreak and healing had finally disappeared.

Harry’s fingers skimmed along the waistband of Louis’ shorts, a quiet question in her touch before she finally whispered, “Can I?”

Louis didn’t trust her voice. Her whole body was already buzzing, overwhelmed by the way Harry had been touching her—soft, slow, deliberate. So she only nodded, lips parted, her breath catching when Harry gave her ass another firm squeeze, fingers curling into the softness like she knew exactly what it did to her.

Harry leaned in, brushing a kiss to Louis’s cheek, then to her temple. “You’re so quiet,” she murmured. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

But Louis still couldn’t answer. Her body was doing all the talking.

Harry slowly peeled the shorts down her hips, her underwear, then her top, lips grazing every skin as she went. She guided Louis to lie back, then stretched out beside her, resting on her side. One arm curled under Louis’ head while the other trailed down her torso, lazy and unhurried. When her fingers dipped between Louis’ thighs and found how ready she was, Harry let out a soft, knowing chuckle.

“So wet already,” she teased, voice thick and warm in Louis’ ear. “You missed me that much, huh?”

Louis whimpered as Harry’s fingers slid through the slick heat, deliberately slow, just enough to stir the ache but never enough to satisfy it. She circled her fingertips over her pussy, over and over, keeping her right at the edge, close enough to make Louis’ hips twitch, but never letting her fall.

“You’re shaking,” Harry murmured, brushing their foreheads together. “You wanna come, baby?”

Louis finally managed a breathy, desperate, “yes,” her hands gripping the sheets, hips pressing closer to chase what Harry kept just out of reach.

But Harry only smiled, her lips brushing Louis’s jaw. “Not yet. I want to take my time with you.”

And God, Louis didn’t know whether to cry or beg, but she let herself fall apart in slow motion, piece by piece, under Harry’s hands.

Harry slowly slipped her fingers out, and Louis immediately whimpered at the loss, hips instinctively lifting in protest. But before she could say a word, Harry pressed her knee between Louis’ legs, firm and warm, grounding her in a new kind of pressure. It stole Louis’ breath in a completely different way.

“H-Harry…” she whispered, voice laced with heat and want.

Harry kissed her lips softly, soothing her with the same tenderness that always made Louis feel safe, even in the most vulnerable moments. She deepened the kiss while gently shifting her leg, pressing her knee more deeper between Louis’ folds.

The pleasure bloomed instantly. Louis began grinding against it slowly, instinctively, and soon Harry was pressing herself against the softness of Louis’ thigh, then grinded it until both of them found a rhythm that felt electric.

Louis never thought of sex this way before. She used to believe that satisfaction only came from dick penetration, that anything less was somehow incomplete. But with Harry, it was different. Everything Harry did, every kiss, every touch, was filled with intention. With focus. With love. It was like Harry gave herself entirely to the moment, to Louis.

Harry’s breathing grew more erratic, her hips stuttering as the friction built. Louis reached up, needing something to ground herself, and cupped Harry’s breast, fingers curling, squeezing gently. Harry moaned softly, teeth grazing Louis’ earlobe as she whispered, “I’m close, baby…”

“Me too,” Louis breathed out, her voice nearly breaking.

Their pace quickened, bodies trembling with the same need, the same desperate edge. And then it hit her. Louis’ climax crashed through her like a wave, her whole body shaking as the pleasure took over. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt Harry’s release soaking her, their bodies riding the high together.

It was the first time they’d come together like that, in sync, like two puzzle pieces finally locking into place.

Harry had always been a giver. Always focused on Louis’ pleasure like it was her only mission. But seeing Harry let go, watching her surrender to her own satisfaction, made Louis’ chest ache in the best way. She felt honored to witness it, to be the reason for it.

Harry shifted, carefully moving her leg away and gently rubbing slow circles over Louis’ clit. The overstimulation made Louis jolt with a gasp, which earned a soft laugh from Harry.

“I love you, baby,” Harry murmured against her right nipple, raw and honest.

Louis blinked at her, heart swelling as she reached to tuck a curl behind Harry’s ear. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Harry then kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment before finally pulling back. She stood, stretched, and then leaned down to scoop Louis up in her arms like she weighed nothing.

“Shower time,” she grinned.

In the bathroom, the water poured down on them, hot and calming. And if Harry knelt between her thighs under the spray, mouth exploring like she was starved for more, Louis wasn’t going to stop her. Not when her girlfriend was this devoted. Not when Harry kissed her like a prayer and touched her like an art.

And if that oral fixation was back? Well, as long as she didn’t smell like cigarettes, Louis had no complaints.

***

Everything was good. 

No, everything was perfect.

Louis had just gotten an A on her essays, the birds were singing, and everyone she passed seemed to smile at her, tossing out compliments like, “you look amazing!” and “you’re glowing!”

And maybe she was glowing because of the curly-haired girl standing a few feet from her, rallying her teammates with a fiery pre-game speech.

It was the final match for the women’s lacrosse team, and Louis stood proudly on the sidelines. She wore Harry’s #24 jersey with the sleeves she cut off for flair, tucked into her favorite pair of shorts. Her hair was pinned up with her lucky star clips, a quiet offering of luck she hoped Harry would carry with her on the field.

The team huddled close, arms linked as they chanted their hearts out. The energy buzzed like electricity in the air. As the group broke apart, players jogging to their positions, Harry lingered behind and made a beeline for Louis.

Without hesitation, she kissed her, slow and sure, like Louis was the calm before the storm.

“Cheers for me?” Harry murmured against her lips.

“Always, Captain Styles.”

Harry grinned, kissed her again just because, and then turned only when their coach shouted her name. With a cheeky wink, Harry jogged backward before spinning to take her place on the field.

Louis stayed rooted in place, her heart thumping faster than it should. She clutched her water bottle tightly, nervous but beaming. She wasn’t on the team, but her whole soul was in that field, running with Harry.

Then the coach stepped beside her.

“All the years I’ve coached Harry,” the woman said, arms crossed and eyes on the field, “this season’s been her best yet. Well, aside from that mess in the semifinal two weeks ago.” She chuckled, then added, “But I think I get it now.” Louis looked up at her but said nothing, unsure what to say. “You both remind me of my wife and I, back when we were in school,” the coach continued. “You’re good for each other. Harry—she’s complicated when it comes to her feelings, but she’s got a good heart. Hold on to her.”

She gave Louis a firm pat on the back, then stepped forward to shout instructions at the team.

Louis stood there a moment longer, her throat tightening with warmth. Then she turned her gaze back to the field and raised her voice, cheering for Harry with everything she had.

The match was tight, unbearably so. Three quarters in, and neither team had managed to score. Every minute felt stretched thin with tension. The crowd was restless, and so was Harry. It was written all over her face with jaw clenched, brows drawn, and every muscle in her body tense.

During the short break before the final quarter, she jogged to the sideline. Her shoulders heaved slightly as she took the water bottle from Louis, gulping down a few sips. Louis reached out and gently massaged her hand, grounding her.

“You’re okay,” she whispered. Harry looked at her, a flicker of a smile breaking through the frustration. She passed the bottle back. “I love you,” Louis said softly, the words like a lifeline between them.

Harry leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, baby.”

Then the whistle blew again, and Harry turned, jogging back to the field and slipping back into formation. Louis clutched the now empty water bottle, knuckles white.

Her eyes never left Harry as the game resumed. She was so focused on following every movement, every dodge, pivot, pass, that she barely noticed the ball that came flying toward her.

Until Harry sprinted across the field like a blur, intercepting it midair just before it could hit her face.

Louis gasped, heart leaping into her throat.

“You okay, Lou?” Harry called, eyes scanning her face.

“I’m fine,” she managed, breathless.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she repeated, firmer this time.

Harry hesitated just for a second, but nodded before turning back to the game.

But something shifted.

It wasn’t just adrenaline. It was anger, sharp and focused. They both knew the ball had been aimed at Louis deliberately. Word of the semifinal fight had spread, the whispers swirling about Harry’s personal life. The opposing team had weaponized that gossip. They wanted a reaction.

Well, they got one, but not the one they expected.

Because in the next play, Harry came alive. She moved like a storm. Fast, fluid, untouchable. She snagged the ball, maneuvered past the defense, and launched it at the net with a clean, effortless throw that struck with a satisfying thwack.

Goal.

The whole crowd erupted.

Harry turned, her expression smug as she brushed past the same girl who’d thrown the ball toward Louis. Their shoulders bumped, but only Harry smirked.

There were only minutes left. And those minutes bled away fast.

The final whistle blew, and their university won with a single score made by the team’s captain. The field exploded with cheers, screams, and confetti. Louis clapped wildly, tears slipping down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. She was so proud she could hardly breathe.

Harry had done it. Again.

Three consecutive years of leading her team to victory. Three years of sweat, bruises, and broken limits. She was going out in glory.

The teams lined up and shook hands. Then came the presentation. The big trophy was handed to Harry’s team, while a smaller one—shiny, engraved, and well-deserved—was placed into Harry’s hands as MVP.

Louis smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She couldn't look away.

Students spilled from the bleachers and stormed the field to celebrate. Louis followed, feet carrying her through the crowd. She didn’t cheer or wave at her friends.

She only had one person in mind, and every step she took was toward her.

“Congratulations, Captain Styles,” Louis whispered against Harry’s ear, slipping her arms around her from behind.

Harry leaned her head back against Louis’ shoulder, closing her eyes for a brief moment as the world around them buzzed with celebration. For just a second, they swayed together in the rhythm of the chaos of crowds cheering, music blasting, confetti falling like rain.

“I was scared something would happen to you,” Harry murmured, turning in Louis’ arms until they were face to face.

“Now you know how I feel every time you take a fall on the field,” Louis said, trying to sound light, but her eyes gave her away.

Harry just grinned and slipped her arms around Louis’ waist, pulling her closer. Louis instinctively wrapped her own arms around Harry’s neck, their bodies falling into that familiar, natural closeness.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry started, voice quieter now.

Louis narrowed her eyes playfully. “Uh oh.”

“Australia’s off the table.”

Louis blinked. “Oh?”

“And… I got accepted to Wharton.”

Louis’s eyes widened. “UPenn? But that’s—”

“Where you’ll be for law school,” Harry said, smiling. “In two years. I figured I‘ll  wait for you there. It’s only a two-hour flight, and it’s closer to home. My dad will finally get off my back, and I can always fly to you whenever. Win-win.”

Louis studied her for a beat, her voice soft with concern. “Are you sure? I don’t want you reshaping your future just for me.”

“I’m not,” Harry said gently. “You are my future, Lou.”

“Harry…”

“We don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she added, brushing a loose strand of hair from Louis’ face. “I just wanted you to know.”

Louis smiled through the blur in her eyes. “Then… congratulations on Wharton.”

“Thanks, baby. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Harry leaned in, their foreheads brushing for a second before she closed the distance and kissed her. It was soft, slow, reverent—so unlike the wild celebration erupting all around them. A kiss just for them.

The future wasn’t guaranteed, and Louis knew there would be more hardships and storms ahead. But right here, in this moment with Harry’s arms around her and their hearts aligned, she felt something close to certainty.

They’d figure it out, then they’d grow together until they were grey and old.

***

The celebration raged on outside, but for Harry and Louis, the world had narrowed down to the small dorm room that had become their sanctuary.

Harry had showered quickly and was still glowing from the win, a towel wrapped around her body, her hair damp and curling tighter than usual. She looked peaceful. Centered. Proud. The MVP trophy rested on Louis' desk, but all Harry could look at was Louis.

Louis, still in her jersey, had kicked off her shoes and sat on the desk, face soft and adoring.

"You stared at me the whole game," Harry said, smirking as she stepped between Louis’ thighs.

"I couldn’t take my eyes off you," Louis admitted, voice low. "You were magic out there."

"You’re magic to me," she whispered before leaning in, brushing their noses together. Her hand came up to cup Louis’ cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

Louis smiled, threading her fingers through Harry’s curls. “Always.”

Their lips met in a slow, warm, unhurried kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of everything they’d been through, every second of pain turned into passion, every unsure moment replaced by certainty. Harry kissed her like a promise, and Louis melted into it, sighing into Harry’s mouth as the kiss deepened.

The room seemed to soften around them, the low pulse of music from the quad below fading into a distant hum. Harry gently guided Louis back against the desk, her touch reverent, gaze locked with hers for a beat longer. She was asking without words, and receiving everything in return.

Her girlfriend dipped her head, lips brushing along the curve of Louis’ neck, then down, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that made Louis sigh, her fingers curling in the hem of Harry’s towel.

Harry’s hands moved with quiet confidence, sliding beneath fabric to explore familiar skin, fingertips brushing over a peaked nipple, pausing there, circling slowly. Louis shivered under her touch, the sensation grounding and electric all at once.

She continued downward, mouth mapping a path across Louis’ stomach, reacquainting herself with every inch like a worshipper tracing sacred ground.

In that moment, they weren’t just lovers relearning each other. They were something steadier. Something that had survived the fire and came out stronger.

Harry kissed her way down Louis' lap, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that made Louis arch slightly into her touch.

"I want to show you," Harry whispered, "just how proud I am of us."

Louis nodded, biting her lip. “Then show me.”

Harry knelt between Louis’ legs, eyes soft with something tender and wanting. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Louis’ shorts, slowly easing them down her hips. Her lips pressed a kiss to the thin fabric covering her clit, then another to the opening of her pussy with so much devotion.

Louis’ breath caught in her throat.

With gentle hands, Harry slid her underwear off, taking her time, as if unwrapping a precious gift. Then she rose, helping Louis sit up, their eyes locked with the kind of quiet intimacy that said everything without needing words.

Fingers brushed at the hem of the cut jersey. Louis lifted her arms, and Harry tugged it over her head, dropping it carelessly to the floor. She leaned in, brushing a kiss over her shoulder, then the base of her neck. When her lips met the curve of Louis’ cleavage, she reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall away. 

As Louis’ bra slipped away, Harry didn’t hesitate. Her mouth latched onto the soft swell of Louis’ breast, sucking greedily, like she was starved for it. A low, desperate sound rumbled in her throat as her tongue flicked over a sensitive nipple, her hands kneading and exploring, mapping out every inch of warm skin like it was hers to claim.

It was slow. Thoughtful. Every movement soaked in intention and care.

And still, it set Louis on fire. Her skin burned for more, for the kind of closeness only Harry ever seemed to know how to give. The kind that left her breathless in the best possible way.

Harry’s lips moved slowly, worshipfully, trailing kisses from the swell of Louis’ breast to the delicate line of her collarbone. Her hands mapped out familiar curves like she was rediscovering them for the first time, fingertips feather-light, sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

Louis exhaled sharply, her fingers tangling into Harry’s curls, tugging her closer, needing more. Harry smiled against her skin, pressing a lingering kiss to her sternum before lifting her head, green eyes dark and warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry murmured, her voice hushed, adoring. “I could stay here forever.”

Louis’ heart clenched at that, at the way Harry always knew how to make her feel seen, cherished, like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“Then stay,” Louis whispered, guiding Harry’s face back to hers, capturing her lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, full of everything she couldn’t put into words.

Harry traced her fingers over Louis’ warmth, the lightest touch making her shiver. A knowing smile tugged at Harry’s lips as she kissed along Louis’ jaw, whispering, “always so wet for me, baby.” She bit her lip, eyes dark with something unreadable yet all too familiar. “This is mine.” She said as she pushed her two fingers in.

Louis’ breath hitched. “Yours,” she confirmed without hesitation. “Always yours.”

Harry’s grin deepened as she scissored her fingers. She spent some time opening her before she stepped back, leaving Louis whining at the loss of contact. A kiss to her cheek soothed her protest, but it was the way Harry turned toward the dresser, pulling open the drawer where she kept a few of their things, that sent a fresh wave of heat through Louis.

“Which one do you want?” Harry asked, holding up three different dildos.

Louis bit her lip, eyes flickering over them before she pointed. “The biggest.”

Harry hummed in approval, her gaze flicking between Louis and the glittery purple fake cock in her hand. “Knew you’d say that.”

With practiced ease, she undid her towel, letting it drop before slipping on the harness. She glanced up at Louis as she secured everything into place, amusement and something darker flickering in her expression. “Hope you can handle it, baby.”

Louis swallowed hard, watching as Harry adjusted the strap. The sight alone made her press her thighs together, heat curling low in her stomach. “Try me.” Was the only thing she managed to say.

Harry caught the movement and smirked. "Getting impatient, baby?"

Louis bit her lip but didn’t look away. "You take your time like you enjoy making me wait."

"I do," Harry admitted, stepping closer, her hands finding Louis’ waist. She ran her palms up the softness of her stomach, fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts before sliding back down, teasing, never quite giving her what she wanted.

Louis let out a quiet whimper, her skin burning where Harry touched. She reached for her, but Harry caught her wrists, gently wrapping them around her neck. 

"Let me take care of you," she murmured against Louis’ lips, pressing a kiss there. Soft, slow, unbearably sweet.

Louis melted into her as the kiss deepened. Harry’s tongue tracing hers in lazy strokes. Everything about Harry’s touch was deliberate. Her girlfriend mapped every inch of her with reverence, as if committing Louis to memory all over again. The way her fingers traced her sides, how her mouth followed the curve of her neck, pressing lingering kisses along the path of her pulse.

When Harry finally pressed closer, their bodies flush, Louis exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed. There was no rush. Only this moment, this feeling of being completely and utterly wanted.

"You're so beautiful," Harry whispered against her skin. "Let me show you."

Louis opened her eyes, nodding, breathless and trusting, knowing whatever came next would be just as devastatingly perfect as every time before.

Harry didn’t push in all at once. She moved with purpose, with care and letting Louis feel every inch, every moment of fullness, making sure she unraveled beneath her touch. She leaned in close, forehead resting against Louis’, their breaths mingling, lips brushing but not quite kissing.

“Breathe, baby,” Harry murmured, voice hushed and tender, like a secret meant only for them. “I’ve got you.”

Louis did as she was told, inhaling deeply as her fingers gripped Harry’s shoulders, holding onto her like an anchor. The slow, measured thrusts left her dizzy, overwhelmed, body thrumming with warmth as Harry moved with an unhurried precision, like she had all the time in the world to love her properly.

She wasn’t sure when she started shaking. If it was the pleasure creeping through her limbs or the sheer intensity of being this close. Harry was everywhere, filling her, grounding her, their bodies fitting together so perfectly that it made Louis feel like she was made for this. For her.

Harry pressed a kiss to her jaw, then lower, trailing soft, lingering kisses down her neck. “You feel so good, baby,” she whispered, punctuating each word with a slow roll of her hips. Louis whimpered in response, hands sliding up to tangle in Harry’s curls, tugging just enough to hear the quiet groan that rumbled in her girlfriend’s chest.

Their rhythm built gradually, every stroke measured, every movement drenched in something deeper than just physical want. This wasn’t just sex. It was a claiming, a reassurance, a promise unspoken yet understood in the way they touched, in the way Harry moved as if she wanted to carve herself into Louis’ very soul.

Louis moaned when Harry adjusted, angling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made her toes curl. Her breath came in shallow gasps, pleasure winding tighter with every slow, deliberate thrust.

“I can feel you,” Harry murmured, voice husky, lips pressing against the shell of Louis’ ear. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

Louis nodded frantically, barely able to form words, overwhelmed by the way Harry took her apart so effortlessly.

“Let go, baby,” Harry whispered, reaching between them, fingers finding that sensitive clit of hers, rubbing in slow, teasing circles. “Come for me.”

And Louis did. The wave of pleasure crashed over her, stealing her breath, her body trembling beneath Harry’s as she shattered, her nails digging into her girlfriend’s breasts, anchoring herself through the intensity of it all.

Harry wasn’t far behind, grinding against her, chasing her own release as she buried her face in Louis’ neck, a deep, shuddering moan escaping her lips as she let go.

For a moment, they stayed like that, pressed together, limbs tangled, bodies still trembling in the aftermath. Harry kissed her temple, her nose, her swollen lips, murmuring soft praises against her skin as their breaths slowly evened out.

Louis sighed, utterly spent, but entirely content. She curled into Harry’s warmth, fingers tracing lazy patterns against her bare back.

“I love you,” Louis whispered, her voice hoarse but brimming with raw emotion.

Harry smiled, pressing one last lingering kiss to her temple before pulling back. “I love you more.”

With gentle hands, Harry lifted Louis’ spent body, cradling her with care as she laid her down onto the bed. Every movement was unhurried, filled with the same tenderness that had lingered between them all night. Louis barely had time to register the loss of warmth before Harry was slipping away, disappearing into the bathroom.

When she returned, a warm, damp washcloth in hand, she didn’t say a word, just moved with practiced ease, cleaning Louis up with delicate strokes. Each swipe of the cloth against sensitive skin sent tiny aftershocks through her, a reminder of everything they’d just shared.

Harry tossed the washcloth onto the floor carelessly, then reached down to unbuckle the harness strapped around her hips. But before she could take it off, Louis’ fingers curled around her wrist.

“Don’t,” she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion but laced with something else entirely.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face. “No?”

Louis shook her head, eyes dark with intent. “Wanna ride you when we wake up.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Harry’s throat as she climbed into bed beside her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, pressing herself against Harry’s warmth. “Also, you look hot with a cock just… hangin’ there like that. Very alpha.”

Harry smirked, her dimples carving deep into her cheeks. “Does that make you my little omega, then?”

Louis huffed out a sleepy laugh. “Your omega, your baby, your princess. Your everything.”

Harry let out a dramatic groan and pulled her even closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

They settled into the sheets, a tangle of limbs and warmth, the air between them thick with contentment. But just as Harry reached to pull the blanket over them, her phone buzzed from where it sat on the desk. She grabbed it lazily, squinting at the screen.

A message from Madeline.

Curious, Louis leaned in, their heads nearly touching as they looked at the screen together.

A series of images loaded, each one capturing different moments from earlier that day. Them on the sidelines, eyes locked, love radiating between them so blatantly it was undeniable. A candid shot of Harry grinning mid-laugh as Louis whispered something in her ear. Then the last one, Harry holding her MVP trophy in one hand while the other was firmly gripping Louis’ waist, their lips pressed together in a victorious kiss.

Louis tilted her head, inspecting the picture with an approving nod. “Wow, my ass looks great.”

Harry let out a snort, rolling her eyes playfully. “Your ass is phenomenal, baby.”

“Damn right it is,” Louis muttered sleepily, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

Harry saved the picture to her gallery before effortlessly opening Instagram, her fingers moving with ease as she selected the kiss picture to upload. She typed out a caption, her lips quirking up in amusement.

Louis, already half-draped over her, peeked at the screen and let out a chuckle before biting Harry’s shoulder playfully.

“That’s so cheesy.”

Harry grinned, unfazed. “It’s my new favorite Dua song.”

“I know. You’ve been blasting it 24/7.”

As soon as the post was fully uploaded, Harry locked her phone and tossed it onto the nightstand, done with the world for the night.

They shifted naturally into each other, bodies aligning as if they were always meant to fit this way. Harry’s arm curled securely around Louis’ waist, her grip firm but soothing. Louis, feeling a little mischievous, let her hand wander and cupping Harry’s breast just because she could.

A smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. “Having fun there?”

Louis hummed sleepily, then sighed. “I think I regret telling you to keep the harness and the dildo on.”

Harry raised an amused brow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“The urge to ride you is getting stronger by the minute,” Louis admitted, her voice dipping lower. “And the fact that it’s poking my pussy isn’t helping.”

Harry laughed, the sound deep and rich as she pulled Louis even closer. “Sleep first, then tomorrow you can ride me for hours.”

Louis scoffed. “You overestimate my stamina, Styles.”

Harry smirked against her hair. “You’re greedy when it comes to riding me. I know that for a fact.”

Louis let out a sleepy laugh, burying her face against Harry’s neck. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Harry pressed a soft kiss to Louis’ forehead, her voice a warm whisper against her skin. “Good night, Lou.”

“Good night, H.”

And just like that, wrapped up in each other they drifted off, completely at peace.

***

By morning, Harry was still fast asleep, completely undisturbed by the soft hum of the outside world. Louis smiled to herself. Her girlfriend could sleep through an earthquake if given the chance.

Carefully, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead before slipping out of bed. Stretching her arms above her head, she winced slightly, her body pleasantly sore from the night before. A smirk played on her lips as the memory of Harry pressing her against the desk, stretching her open with slow, deliberate thrusts, replayed in her mind.

Shaking off the heat creeping up her spine, Louis reached for her phone, her grin widening when she saw a flood of Instagram notifications where Harry had tagged her in a post.

She clicked on the alert, and Harry’s feed appeared, showcasing last night’s post.

"training season’s over"

Louis let out a soft laugh as she reread the caption then hit the like button. The post had already racked up over a hundred likes overnight, and she scrolled through the comments, most of them filled with teammates and friends hyping up the victory, and a few teasing remarks about the photo of them kissing.

Still smiling, she navigated to Harry’s profile, noticing once again how sparse it was. Only three pictures remained.

The first was a candid shot Madeline had taken at the gym. They were laughing, caught in a moment of joy as they trained together.

The second was from Harry’s birthday party. Her girlfriend was standing behind her, arms wrapped around Louis’ waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

And now, the third. Last night’s picture from the field, mid-kiss, the floodlights and confetti painting them in golden light.

Louis' chest swelled with warmth.

Placing her phone aside, she padded back to bed, sliding under the covers. Almost immediately, Harry stirred, instinctively seeking her out. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and Louis let herself be drawn into the warmth of her girlfriend’s embrace.

“Mm,” Harry mumbled sleepily, her lips pressing lazily against Louis’ collarbone. “Where’d you go?”

Louis smiled, running her fingers through Harry’s curls. “Nowhere. Just checking something.”

Harry hummed, already halfway back to sleep as she nuzzled into Louis’ neck, holding her like she never wanted to let go.

And honestly? Louis was perfectly okay with that.

***