Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fuck. Screw it, screw it, screw it.”

Taylor drops the scorching hot baking tray onto the counter, sucking in a sharp breath as pain throbs in her thumb. She rushes to the sink, letting cold water soothe the burn, and glances over at Olivia, who watches from her perch on a kitchen stool, tail flicking with what looks suspiciously like amusement.

“How do I even manage these things, huh, Olivia?” Taylor mutters, voice low. The cat merely blinks, regal and nonchalant. Taylor can’t help but laugh a little at herself. She turns off the tap and surveys the tray of steaming chai cookies. They look perfect, maybe the best she’s ever made. Good. They’re for Hal’s birthday tomorrow. Hal’s been in her corner at the label forever, but he recently helped her talk Scott round when he first heard 1989 and flipped so she thinks he deserves something a little special this year.

She can see Olivia circling in her peripheral vision, already eyeing the counter for her chance to pounce so Taylor scoops her up before paws can fly. “Not tonight, Livvy. You’ve know you’ve had dinner, and besides, these are not cat friendly cookies.” She cradles her, letting Olivia’s warmth calm her nerves, then sets her down and grabs her phone, heading for the windows.

Her apartment stretches out ahead of her in soft dimmed light, the city glowing beyond the glass. New York at night always feels a little unreal, like anything could happen. Taylor soaks it in, the skyline blinking back at her. Moving here was a risk, one she never thought she’d actually take. Nashville was easy; she’d memorised its bars and shortcuts, the faces in her lobby and the fastest route to Abigail’s. New York refuses to be memorised. Just when she thinks she’s got it figured out, the city tosses her a new café, a hidden shop, a street that’s never looked the same twice. She likes that. She likes being surprised.

And she’s surprised, too, by how much she’s changed here. She discovered herself in New York instead, a new version of the curly haired cowboy boot wearing country girl. For the first time, she isn’t waiting for someone to shift the ground underneath her feet. She’s done that herself now. She feels strong, powerful – happy, even. Most days at least.

Her phone buzzes in her hand, screen lighting the room. Olivia bolts for the sofa. Taylor checks the text. Harry. She almost smiles. Oh.

New Message | Harry Styles: ‘I’m in……’

The famous Harry Styles. Ex-boyfriend, current friend, the man who taught her how to build fences - and maybe why she needed them. Not that he deserves all the credit really. The tabloids did their part, turning her love life into a running joke. The constant lies, and stories, the fact that every eligible man she breathed in the same room as was told ‘careful, she’ll write a song about you’. She tired of being a punchline, because it didn’t matter if it wasn’t true, if the dating slideshow wasn’t accurate; Google kept score like it was. So she quit dating. She learned to be alone. She learned to enjoy the simplicity of focusing on herself.

Now, when people search her name, the headlines read like victories. No one expects her to be seen with anyone at this point, she thinks she’s got that message across now. So it feels like people care about her music, they understand that what she does is a skill. That approval matters more to her than she really wants to think about.

She shakes herself a bit and opens Harry’s message: “I’m in New York. Are you?”

She hesitates. She’s heard the rumours - Harry was in New York with Nadine, she’d seen some paparazzi pictures on Tumblr, the two of them looking cosy somewhere downtown. Taylor doesn’t know the details, doesn’t really want to. Still, she types: “Yes. At home.”

Another buzz: “Fancy a walk? Meet me in Central Park in 15 minutes?”

Her heart stutters. She places her phone facedown on the side, returns to the kitchen, and starts packing cookies into a Tupperware, hands moving slow. Meredith, perched atop the fridge, gives her a look - judgmental, as usual.

Taylor sighs. “What would you do, Mere?” Her voice is soft, almost shaky. It’s ridiculous, being unnerved by Harry. They’re friends now. That’s all. She’s sure of it, it’s been easy between them for ages.

The phone buzzes again, illuminates the dark living room. Taylor moves towards it quickly, almost involuntarily. “It’s ok if you can’t. Maybe next time.”

She grabs it, doesn’t seek Meredith’s counsel again, instead types fast: “I’ll meet you at Strawberry Fields. Don’t have your shirt undone, it’s freezing outside.”

He’ll like that. They always did have the best banter.

***

Taylor slips into her boots, pulls on a coat, moving quickly before doubt can catch her. She closes her apartment door, hood up, and knocks on the door across the hall. Her security team is always a step ahead; if she doesn’t check in, chaos follows. And frankly, the last thing she needs is an assumption she’s been kidnapped and a search party all over lower Manhattan looking for them in Central Park. TMZ would be on the scene before the cops.

Graham opens the door, one shoe on like he expected her to knock, TV remote in hand. “Taylor, hey! Heading out? I’ll call the car round.” He glances at the clock, switches off a Jimmy Kimmel re-run. “It’s pretty late. You sure you don’t want to stay in? I can grab whatever you need.”

Taylor smiles, places a steady hand on his shoulder. “Gray, go back and watch TV, it’s fine. Just letting you know I’m heading out to meet a friend”

He pauses, concern flickering in his eyes. “Well then I shou-“

“Alone” she interrupts.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says, firmly  “It’s more than my job to let you go out alone and you know it.”

She drops her gaze, suddenly tired. Is this what her life is now? Permission to take a walk? Graham isn’t trying to be an ass. He’s just doing his job. Keeping her safe is literally his job and she gets it, she’s grateful for him. But she wishes it were different sometimes.

He steps into the hall, shuts his door, and gives her a small wink. “How about I wait in the car?”

Taylor exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Deal.

Chapter Text

They park on 71st, the street silent except for the whisper of wind funnelling through bare trees. Taylor pulls her coat tighter as she steps onto the sidewalk, breath hanging in the air. The city felt emptied out, as if everyone with sense had burrowed indoors for the night.

“Maybe because it’s freezing and nobody else is crazy enough to go out for a walk,” she mutters, glancing sideways at Graham. He gives her a quick, wry smile, then knits his brows.

“So how long do you think you’ll be?”

She shrugs, flexing her gloved hands. “Can I call you? I won’t be long. Blast the heater, okay? I don’t want you getting pneumonia.” That draws a soft chuckle from him, easing the edge of her nerves.

Bundled in layers, Taylor moves into the park, the hush of winter swallowing her footsteps. December’s bite seeps through her coat, nipping her skin. Even the paps have given up tonight - no flashbulbs, no shouts, just the distant hush of the city. It’s almost peaceful. She’d slipped out of her building unseen, Graham grinning as they drove off, both of them quietly grateful for the rare anonymity. Taylor knew no one could trace her to the park tonight, she hopes Harry was as careful covering his steps.

She spots him near an iron bench under a bare-limbed tree. He’s a dark silhouette in his long coat, hair swept off his face, one hand jammed into a pocket, the other cradling a phone. No gloves. Of course. He’s pacing, scuffing the frosted grass with his boots.

As she approaches, Harry looks up and his face cracks into that familiar, disarming smile.

“I gotta go. I’m with you, though, right? If anyone asks…” He slips his phone into his coat, answering her unasked question. “Jeff’s covering for me. Apparently I’m in the middle of a very tense Monopoly marathon.”

Taylor grins, letting the tension slide away just a bit. “Apparently I’m in bed.”

He laughs, then sweeps her into a hug. For a beat, she forgets the cold, it feels easy to be like this with him. To be his friend.

“Sorry I missed your birthday,” he says, pulling back but still close enough that she feels the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“It’s no big deal.” She shrugs lightly. “We both know it would’ve been a circus if you’d shown up.”

He smirks. “Isn’t everything we do a circus?”

He’s not wrong. The press would have had them dating within an hour, and her writing a song about him within two - never mind that they’re just friends. Neither of them needed the extra scrutiny and it surely wouldn’t have done anything positive for Harry’s new relationship.

He offers his arm and they start walking, boots crunching over the hard ground. Their paces fall in sync as they move deeper into the park..

“So, what brings you to New York?” she asks, voice low.

He looks at her from beneath his lashes, mouth quirking. “Seeing you.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re incorrigible.”

He grins wider, then fishes something from his pocket - a hip flask. “Here. Thought this might help.”

She eyes it warily. “What is it?”

“Whiskey,” he says, winking. “Go for it Tay, it’ll warm you up.”

She pinches her nose, takes a small sip, and feels the fire snake down her throat. It burns in a way that almost feels good, chasing the cold from her bones for half a second. She hands it back, wiping her mouth with her gloved hand, watching as Harry tips it back himself.

Something’s off. The walk, the whiskey, the late hour - the whole thing feels loaded, like he’s invited her here for a purpose. She finds herself studying him, the tension in his jaw, the way he keeps glancing at her when he thinks she won’t notice.

She doesn’t bother easing in. “Where’s Nadine?”

He stops short, eyebrows raised. “We broke up. Not that… well, it was never that serious.” His voice is quiet, reflective. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh.” She tries not to show the relief. She didn’t want to be the other girl, someone he was sneaking around with even though it was innocent. “Sorry for bringing it up.” She squeezes his arm, awkward. “I just felt awkward, being out here like this.”

His eyes soften with understanding. “You thought I was blowing off my girlfriend to hang with you. That would’ve been awkward. Sorry, I should’ve said.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine, Harry. I figured something had happened. You’re not a total dickhead”. Then she grins, thinks she’ll troll him a bit. “Pity though, I thought you might be able to at least keep a girlfriend until January”.

He pulls her arm closer, feigning outrage. “Are you trying to insinuate that all my relationships are predictable and doomed after three months, or am I just sensitive?”

She smirks, she knew he’d bite. “You’re sensitive. Now give me that flask, I’m freezing my ass off.”

They walk in silence for a stretch, passing whiskey back and forth. The world seems to shrink to the sound of their boots, the soft clink of the flask, the crisp air biting her cheeks. She’s getting tipsy, the alcohol taking the edge off the cold, loosening the knot in her chest.

Harry breaks the silence, reaching for her bare hand. “How did you do this?” he asks, brushing a thumb gently over her burn. She’d removed her glove to unscrew the flask and the cold air had felt good against the burn, so she’d left it off. He’d noticed instantly.’

Taylor shrugs, thumb throbbing with a sudden flare of pain. “Baking. I forgot the tray was hot.”

He examines it, concerned. “You ran it under tepid water, right?”

“Yes, Harry,” she laughs, suddenly and genuinely. He’s such a mass of contradictions – pop star, teen heartthrob, charmer, worrier. “Not my first burn.”

He blushes, then pulls her hand into his, and suddenly they’re close – way too close. She can feel his breath, the heat of him, and she knows how it would look if anyone saw them now. Suspicious. But it isn’t. It isn’t.

Then, softly, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words land between them and everything stills. The last time he said that, she kissed him. Not now. She jerks away like he’s lit an open flame between them.

“What are you talking about, Styles?” Her voice is low, sharp. That surname is a warning: friend zone, no go. “This ship went down two years ago. We’re over. You’re drunk, or high, or something. Have you taken something?”

She’s gesturing wildly, and he just stands there, frozen to the spot, looking gutted.

Don’t say you don’t feel it too!” he blurts, desperate, cutting across her anger.

She’s too stunned to answer. She feels something, of course she does, something unresolved, something old and electric sparking up in her chest whenever they’re in a room together, she hates how easy it would be to slip back into something with him after all this time. So she does the only thing that feels safe, she bolts, running back to the gate, boots slipping on frosted grass, breath ragged in her throat.

He’s close behind, yelling her name, but she’s nearly there - almost free, almost safe and back in the car with Graham.

Except, fuck. Fuck. The gate is locked. Chains wound tight.

She freezes, heart pounding as Harry catches up, out of breath, eyes stormy.

He surveys the chain, then looks at her with a grim sort of satisfaction. “Looks like we can talk this out after all.”
She turns away, collapsing onto the nearest bench, arms crossed and jaw set. He is officially off her Christmas card list.

Chapter Text

Taylor’s phone is dead. Of course it is. She stares at the blank screen, willing it to spark to life, but nothing happens. Cold panic claws at her throat. This cannot be happening. Graham will be freaking out by now surely, imagining the worst – he’s probably already called him the rest of her security team. She digs her nails into her palm, there could be a full-blown PR crisis already brewing and she was with the one person she absolutely did not want to be discovered with.

She glances at Harry. He’s stalking the path, phone pressed to his ear, pacing in a circle of flashlight glow that barely dents the darkness. They’ve barely exchanged a word. Finally, he ends the call and comes over, breath puffing in the frigid air.

“Jeff says the fence gets lower over that way.” He points through a tangle of shadowed trees. “Ten minutes’ walk, then I guess we just jump.”

He doesn’t look at her, jaw tense. She wonders if he’s angry about being trapped, or about her, or both. He holds his phone out. “Want to call someone? Let them know—”

“No,” Taylor says, sharper than she means. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He nods, turns away, flicks on his phone’s flashlight, and starts down the path. She follows, a careful distance behind, heart thudding so loud she’s sure he can hear it. If she can just avoid talking, if she can keep her head down and her mouth shut, this will all be fine. Silence is golden. Silence is armour.

But Harry slows, matching his steps to hers. Their footsteps crunch over frostbitten grass. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally, voice low.

“Don’t worry about it,” she mutters, eyes fixed on the icy ground.

She can feel his gaze, heavy and searching. Her stomach flips. Butterflies - she hasn’t felt them in a long while, and now they’re fluttering frantically, refusing to be ignored. This is ridiculous. This is Harry. Been there, done that, threw away the t-shirt.

She blames the whiskey. These are not the feelings of a sober woman. They walk on in silence until the fence looms up ahead – tall black iron, topped with a crust of snow.

“So, this is it,” Harry says, voice rough. “Come on, I’ll help you over.” He glances away, looking anywhere but her.

But Taylor doesn’t move. The ache in her chest grows sharp and insistent. Her voice cracks the night. “Wait.”

Harry’s head snaps up, eyes finding hers in the dim light. For a heartbeat, nothing moves. Everything feels suspended, the cold forgotten, something fragile hovers between them.

Nobody would ever have to know, she thinks. One kiss. Just to prove she’s in control, just to see if the old spark is still there, nothing more.

Taylor steps between Harry and the fence. His lips trace her name, stunned, and she leans in and kisses him, quick and chaste. Almost innocent, but familiar. She steadies herself with a fistful of his scarf. Her cheeks burn; his eyes are molten, green fire fixed on her. The butterflies dissolve, replaced by a thudding ache low in her belly, want curling heat through her veins.

She moves closer, and suddenly it’s impossible to say who closes the distance. They collide, hungry now, desperate. His mouth opens under hers, tongue teasing, and she groans, helpless. She runs her fingers through his hair, feels his hands clamp her waist. The world narrows to his breath, his skin, the heat blooming between them. This is what she remembers. This is what she tried to forget.

Harry breaks away first, leaving her reeling, breathless, muscles fizzing with static. She’s a cliché - dazed, clumsy, lips tingling, stunned by her own recklessness.

This is Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. What is she doing? She should walk away, find Graham, go to Lena’s and let her talk some sense into her, anything to break the spell. Ask Lena to slap her a few times so she doesn’t feel quite so turned on. She should chalk this up as a lesson learned, vow to never repeat it, let things cool off between them until they slip back into their careful friendship. They’ll clap politely for each other at award shows. She’ll pretend this night never happened.

Except he’s still looking at her like that. Like she’s everything. And inside, her resolve is cracking, the warnings in her head drowned out by a reckless, tingling pull.

She launches herself at him again, tugging him down by the back of his neck, kissing him hard. It’s a rush, a wild, impossible thing. He kisses her back, fierce and disbelieving, and she can feel just how much he wants her. She thinks about how stupid this is, how doomed, and she doesn’t care. Not right now.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, tangled together in the shadows. When she finally tears herself away, she’s dizzy, heart pounding, lips swollen.

“We can’t… this is… this is so bad,” she stammers, but even she can hear how weak her protest sounds.

Harry’s eyes burn. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, Taylor. I want you.”

She can’t hear this, not when she’s already unraveling. “Please, Harry, can you just help me over the fence?” Her voice shakes; she’s angry at herself for letting this go so far, furious that she still wants him.

He studies her for a long moment, then sighs, pulls himself up and over the fence in one graceful movement, and drops down on the other side. “C’mon. I’ll catch you.” His arms are open, steady, and for once, she doesn’t hesitate.

She climbs the fence, balanced on the top rail, heart hammering as she looks down at him. He’s staring up like she’s every Christmas and birthday and sold-out stadium rolled into one. She shakes herself, breathes out, “Ready?”

He nods. She jumps, landing in his arms. He staggers, then pulls her in a little tighter.

“Ok?” he murmurs.

“Ok,” she breathes.

“I’ll walk you back to your car.” He sounds nervous, hands trembling as he lets her go. Without thinking, she catches his wrist, her fingers pressed to the flutter of his pulse.

“Thank you,” she says, meaning it.
They walk together down the dark street, her hand slipping naturally into his. Tomorrow, she’ll blame the whiskey.

Chapter Text

Taylor drops Harry’s hand as they near 71st Street.

Graham stands by the car, pale and tapping furiously into his phone. He looks up just as they approach, eyes wide. “What the hell?” he starts, but Taylor cuts in, breath rushing out in a tumble.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. We got locked in the park, my battery died so I couldn’t call, and we had to climb over the fence. I’m really sorry.”

She’s gabbling, words spilling faster than Graham can catch, but he’s wearing that pissed-off Dad face, and Taylor’s nerves coil tighter. This is a complete mess.

Graham’s scowl softens, and he pockets his phone. “You know I was about to call the rest of the guys in? Thought something terrible had happened. Jesus, Taylor. Don’t ever do that to me again.” His eyes flick to Harry, who’s stood awkwardly behind her, and he does a double take. “Hello again, Harry,” he says coolly. Taylor wants to curl up from the embarrassment.

“Hi, Graham,” Harry says, hand lifting in a casual wave. Taylor feels her face flame hotter.

“Shall I drive you home?” Graham asks.

Taylor nods mutely and steps back from Harry, but her feet feel like they’re filled with lead. Her hand still burns from his touch. Her eyes flick to that ridiculous 99p tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, and a memory floods her -

Running her hands over his bare chest on his couch, both of them naked and giddy.. Pointing to his tattoos and asking for the stories behind them, laughter spilling from both of them until it actually hurt.

She finds herself memorising him again, the longer hair brushing his shoulders, those late nights and early mornings watching him pretend to sleep, fingers threading through his hair till he rolled over and pulled her close.

Screw it. “Get in the car, Styles.”

Graham’s head snaps toward her but he masks it well and opens the passenger door without a word.

Harry’s grin is that naughty-schoolkid smirk, eyes gleaming. You knew, Taylor thinks. You absolute bastard, you knew”.

***

They pull up outside her apartment and Taylor almost loses her nerve and tells him to back to his hotel. But she doesn’t say it. Instead, she slides out quietly, shoots Harry a look over her shoulder, and motions him to follow. Graham trails behind but says nothing, waving off her apologies with a grunt and disappearing up the stairs two at a time.

She can’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to ride the elevator with them either.

They hover in the entrance hall, waiting for the lift. Taylor leans against the wall, impatiently pressing the call button like it’s a switch to make her courage appear. Harry stands hunched, hands shoved deep in pockets, eyes locked on her.

They haven’t spoken since the park, but her head feels stuffed with cotton wool - as if the start of a cold has dulled her thoughts - while her body tingles. She wants him.

When the elevator doors slide open, she steps inside, and call her crazy, but she can feel the electricity crackling between them.

Before the doors even close, Harry has her pinned against the wall, kissing her fast and urgent. Time warps, breath catches, and she’s in a place she swore she’d never find herself again, and she doesn’t hate it.

The doors open on her floor. She fumbles for her keys, hands shaking, fingers fumbling in her pocket. Harry’s behind her, lips brushing the sensitive spot behind her ear, hand gripping hers. She doesn’t notice that she’s trembling until he gently takes the keys and unlocks the door. A shiver ripples through her.

She steps back, pushing the door wide as if presenting her new home, her fresh start. They stand in the quiet, the weight of everything tonight sinking deep, and she has no clue what to do next.

Thankfully, Meredith, her cat, provides the perfect distraction. She strides over, purring, rubbing against Harry’s legs as if she’s glad of a house guest.. Even drunk, Taylor’s surprised Meredith remembers him.

“Meredith, hey,” Harry leans down, rubbing behind the cat’s ears.

“So… do you want a drink? Water, coke, or alcohol?” Taylor rattles off, voice fast, nerves spilling. Her ex here, in her apartment, in her fresh start - it’s messing with her head.

Harry’s playing with Meredith like he visits every week and they know each other. He looks up, smiling. “Just water, thanks.” Then pats the floor. “Come here.”

Taylor collapses beside him. He sits cross-legged, Meredith perched smugly in his lap, soaking up the attention.

He covers her hand with his and traces lazy circles on her skin. “I should get your water,” she murmurs.

His hand slides up her arm, under the sleeve of her jumper. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let’s just sit for a bit.”

Meredith leaps out of his lap, clearly bored now that his attention’s on Taylor, and shoots them both a dirty look as she stalks off.

They’re close enough that Taylor can see the whites of his eyes and the rhythmic bob of his Adam’s apple. His nervousness sparks courage in her.

“We don’t have to, you know,” she says, hand on his jaw, meeting his gaze steadily. “You can go. We can forget this. We’re complicating everything.”

His eyes don’t waver. “I like complicated.”

She grabs him by the neck of his jumper and kisses him hard. He responds with equal hunger, arms wrapping tight around her waist as she straddles him, thighs tightening, fingers threading through his curls.

He groans, hands firm on her hips, hard against her jeans. She grinds back, wild-eyed, every kiss frantic and desperate. Teeth nip at his ear as her hand slips lower, but—

He pulls back, lips swollen and bold against his pale skin. The sight makes her want to drag him down the hall, anywhere - floor, sofa, bed - it doesn’t matter.

“Love… I… I don’t think we should do this,” he says, voice catching. Her hand slips from his shoulder.

“What? WHAT?” she snaps, pushing herself off the floor. “You had me up against the elevator wall gagging for it, and now you don’t think we should?” She mimics his accent, half for effect, half to keep her anger from spilling.

He stays seated, breathing hard but eyes soft. “I want us to be more than just fuck buddies, Taylor.”

She blinks. “Well, what if fuck buddies is all I’m offering?” Her voice is sharp.

He stands, brushing down his jeans, then picks up a curious Olivia and settles on the sofa. “I’m prepared to wait for you,” he says with a grin. “Want to watch CSI?”
Taylor fights the urge to smother him with a throw pillow.

Chapter Text

He’s still here

Harry’s sprawled across Taylor’s sofa, horizontal and relaxed, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest, Olivia perched contentedly atop him like a queen surveying her domain. Taylor narrows her eyes at the cat. Don’t get too attached, kitty. He’s not staying.

She’s furious, madder than she can put into words. He instigated the walk, the feelings, the kiss, the elevator kiss… and now he’s got cold feet? Meanwhile, Harry’s laughing at some dude having their insides ripped out on CSI, and Taylor sits upright, legs crossed, back stiff as she tries to figure out how to have sex with him without the feelings, without begging, and definitely without this relationship he’s suddenly decided he wants.

“Want some popcorn?” Harry waves the bowl under her nose.

Taylor eyes the bowl instead. “Where did you get that from?” she snaps.

He looks confused. “Uh… your cupboard?”

“Making yourself totally at home, then?” Her tone is sharp. She grabs a handful of popcorn and sinks back into her seat.

He grins. “I thought we’d take it slow, but sure, I could move in.”

Taylor nearly chokes on the popcorn. The horror on her face must be obvious because Harry bursts out laughing.

“Tay, chill. It was a joke.”

Sure. A joke. Where’s her sense of humour? She forces out a shaky laugh, but it feels like several muscles in her face have frozen permanently.

“This doesn’t work, you know,” she says, voice tight. The exact line that’s been looping in her head for hours, and now she’s said it aloud - to him, of all people. Not her mom, not her friends, not in gentle musings with her guitar, but the very man she swore she’d never open up to again.

Harry jerks his head up. “What?” His eyes catch hers before she can look away.

“Us. We don’t work.” She forces the words out, bracing for his nod, his agreement.

But instead, he grins. That smile. The one that throws her off balance every single time.

“Says who?” he shoots back, like they’re on a debate team. His grin doesn’t fade. He was waiting for this. Waiting for her to crack, to fight him on this.

“Harry, this is not a joke. We’ve tried before. We’re completely incompatible.” Her defences are weak, her voice rising with panic. The truth is, she thought she was over him. She had shut him out, built walls thicker than before. But tonight, he’s pulled those memories back in a rush - the good, the bad, the heartbreak when she realised she had to be the one to call it and leave before he could do any more damage to her heart.

She freezes in the flood of recollections, unaware Harry has moved closer, sitting beside her, taking her hand before she can pull away.

“No, we’re not,” he says softly, fingers tracing slow circles on her wrist. “You’re the only girl I’ve never been able to get off my mind. Besides,” he smirks, “when you were on top of me on the floor, I didn’t hear you saying we were incompatible.”

She snorts. “That was when I thought you wanted sex, not a rehash of a messy, complicated relationship.”

“I’ve changed, you know,” he says steadily, eyes locked on hers, daring her to disagree.

“I know.” She swallows hard as he pulls his hand away and stands. He moves to the window—the same spot she stood earlier, proud of her life and singledom, unaware an avalanche named Harry Styles was heading her way.

“And so have you,” he says, voice low. He doesn’t turn to face her; she sees only his tousled curls reflected in the condensation creeping up the glass.

“Yes,” she replies quietly, rising from the sofa. She doesn’t know why she’s moving closer, but the warning bells in her head scream danger. Still, she’s drawn to him, desperate to understand what’s going on in his mind. She cradles Olivia in her arms, holding her like she’s a barrier.

“Why now, Harry?” she asks from just behind him, her reflection looming behind his shoulder. He takes her breath away, she wonders if he’s ever haunted by everything they left unsaid too.

He finally turns, lifting a hand to sweep along her collarbone, up her neck, resting it on her cheek. Shivers race down her spine. Her carefully constructed indifference crumbles; cheeks flush, breath catches. They drink each other in like it’s the last time - just the two of them, like it used to be.

He takes a small step back, clearing his throat. “Because if we don’t take this chance now, we’ll regret it forever. We’ll lose each other, find other people, and none of them will ever be enough. Any other love won’t be enough.” His voice is scratchy, hoarse “you know it. Stop pushing me away because you’re scared.” The last words hit like a knife.

“I’m not scared,” but she stammers, stumbling over words. “I’m realistic. We’re both going on tour. Paparazzi stalk our every move. We were trapped in a goldfish bowl before, Harry. I can’t - I won’t - do that again.”

“Not every day,” he counters softly. “And we weren’t as smart then. We had no plan. We were just naive, unprepared for the shit that comes with falling in love with another pop star.”

She smiles despite herself. He’s right. She’ll never forget stepping into Central Park that day, the flashing cameras, the frenzy. Every glance was a headline, every kiss a Twitter storm before the elevator doors even closed.

“We should’ve known,” he says, raising his arms in a shrug. “We were tabloid fodder long before we met each other.”

She feels something like sanity wash over her. Talking about the paparazzi grounds her, helps her rationalise why they never worked – oceans between them, cameras documenting their every move, and chaotic schedules.

“But now,” he presses, stepping closer, eyes burning into hers, “we know better. I was young and stupid and I didn’t fight for us. Give me another chance, and I will never make that mistake again.”

She turns away before tears fall, cradling Olivia tightly. She ignores his anxious footsteps behind her.

Two years ago, she’d have given anything to hear those words. She’d thought the door was firmly closed. But it crept open, and the bud of hope blossoms painfully.

“I think you should go,” she says, voice muffled in fur.

He starts to speak, “Taylor, I—”

“No.” She cuts him off, voice breaking. “I can’t do this. I’ve come too far. Please… just go.”

“Okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned.

She turns away, refusing to watch him leave. The door yanks open in the hall. She feels his gaze - on the girl holding the cat, the girl with the number one album, the girl who won’t let him in anymore.

“I love you,” he says firmly.

The door slams shut.

She waits until his footsteps fade down the stairs. Then she let’s the sobs come – wrenching out of her gut, tears falling free. Taylor remembers why she closed herself off to heartbreak.

Chapter Text

“Happy Christmas Eve eve!” Karlie bursts through the door like a whirlwind, arms full of bags and that big, unstoppable smile plastered across her face. “Are Mom and Dad Swift here yet? I brought mulled wine!” She pulls a bottle out of a bag and flourishes it towards Taylor, but she just looks at her, cautious, eyes tired and wary.

It’s been three days since Harry left - again. The initial flood of tears came, and Taylor let them fall. She let herself feel everything she’d been too scared to say out loud that night. On some level, it was relief. Not for the broken dreams or the fairytales she once chased, but for the boy she thinks she’s too afraid to love. She curled up on the floor, Olivia and Meredith keeping their distance, and dragged her duvet into the living room. That’s where she’s stayed, in her den of regrets. Reminding herself of all she let slip through her fingers - the men she kept when she should have said go, and Harry, who turned up to fight for her when she’d finally stopped trying. The man who came too late.

Before Harry, Taylor was buzzing with excitement for her first Christmas in New York. She had big plans. Since her Mom usually hosted, Taylor wanted to prove she could do it right. The biggest tree, the flashiest decorations, thirteen types of cookies because a host should never offer less than choice. Even reindeer onesies, so they could all look ridiculous opening presents. She had it all mapped out. But since that night with Harry, the sparkle’s gone. Her excitement for the season, for her family, has drained away. She catches herself staring at the elevator like she forgot she had plans. Karlie’s bound out just minutes ago, and Taylor’s still sitting in sweatpants, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Woah. Are you okay? No hug? No best friend excitement? No Christmas spirit?” Karlie’s voice drops, concerned. She eyes Taylor’s rumpled pants and messy hair. “Wow, Tay, have you left the sofa in days? Did you even sleep in your bed?” She weaves carefully around the duvet mountain, empty pizza boxes, countless mugs, and Taylor’s laptop teetering on top.

She drops her bags and meets Taylor’s gaze, concern etched across her face. “What’s going on, Taylor?”

Taylor forces a laugh, brittle and thin. “It’s Christmas, Kar! My time off. I just felt like slobbing around for a few days.”

Karlie arches a perfectly skeptical eyebrow. “Sure, but your parents are arriving today, and unless you want them to stage an intervention, we need to get this place cleaned up. And you need to get cleaned up.” She claps her hands, all business. “Shower. Bin bags are under the sink, right?” She was already striding toward the kitchen, and Taylor feels a wave of gratitude for her bossy, brilliant friend.

“Karlie Kloss!” Taylor calls out, and Karlie spins back, a question on her face.

“Love you,” Taylor says, making a heart with her hands.

“Love you too. Even though you’re living in squalor, Swift!” Karlie shoots back.

Taylor rolls her eyes, trudging toward the bathroom. “Get clean, then we’re talking!” Karlie calls after her.

Taylor laughs softly. Deflecting is her specialty. Karlie has no reason to think this is about a boy, especially not Harry. She’ll say she’s exhausted. Half true, the last months of promoting 1989 have been brutal. Isn’t it normal to hole up and not clean?

The shower’s cold water hits Taylor, a welcome shock. She didn’t realise how gross she felt until it washed over her. Lathering shampoo into her hair, his face returns. Harry’s words, the way he looked at her that night, looping endlessly. She wonders if she’ll ever be free of him.

***

Taylor loses track of time. Her skin’s raw from over-exfoliating, but the apartment looks better. Pizza boxes gone. Karlie’s a miracle worker. Taylor thinks she may be terrible at choosing men, but she selected her best friend perfectly.

Karlie’s on the couch, back turned, laptop balanced on her knees. Taylor sneaks up and ruffles her hair. “You’re amazing, Kar. This place looks normal-“  She stops, noticing Karlie’s frozen posture. Taylor knows what she’s found. In her darkest moment, 3 a.m., she just wanted to hear his voice. She was desperate. This will be hard to explain to Karlie. She’s probably pieced it together already. Even if Taylor’s not obvious, her search history is.

“It was open,” Karlie says defensively, pursing her lips, confused. “On YouTube. A search page full of Harry Styles interviews. So I’m kinda weirded out right now.”

“We’re friends,” Taylor shrugs, the words tumbling out before she thinks. “I just wanted to see how he’s doing.”

Karlie snorts. “Wait, you’re friends and you can’t just text him? You look on YouTube? That’s bullshit.” She snaps her fingers. “I need the truth, because things aren’t adding up.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the state of you, this place, your search history, and the fact you haven’t sent me a single smiling emoji in days.” She ticks off the points on her fingers. “Talk to me. I know something’s up.”

Taylor avoids Karlie’s eyes and stares out the window, the same one where he told her how he felt. It feels like a dream, but the weight in her stomach is a reminder that it wasn’t. He hadn’t contacted her since that night, but she’s on the edge of calling so many. And stalking Tumblr memes of Harry, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, always feeling the dull ache stronger.

“I saw him,” she blurts, mouth running away again.

Karlie gets it immediately. “Harry.”

“Yes.” Taylor meets her gaze.

“Okay.” Karlie hesitates, searching for questions. “What happened?”

“We went to the park-“

“The park? And there weren’t a zillion paparazzi? Were you in disguise?”

“11 p.m.,” Taylor says, flashing a small smile, the first in days. “Not disguised. Just the only idiots dumb enough to be out that late.” Karlie’s mouth drops; she’s struggling to process. She knows Taylor’s history with Harry but wasn’t around then, only heard her edited stories. Her promises she wouldn’t go there again. That she’s better single. Taylor believed it once too.

“So whose idea was the walk? I thought Harry was visiting someone…”

She knows who she’s alluding to and it reminds her that Harry was never here to see her. He was meant to be with Nadine. It unsettles her a little though it probably shouldn’t. So she shrugs. “They broke up.”

“Right. Then he invites you for a walk at midnight?”

Karlie’s smart. She doesn’t lose eye contact, coaxing the story out.

“It was supposed to be just friends. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, we were due for a catch-up,” Taylor says slowly, but she remembers the butterflies when his text arrived. She told herself, Friends, friends. Pushed the nerves down before grabbing her coat. But she knew. On some level, she knew.

“So we went, got locked in, and one thing led to another and-“

“You had sex in the park?” Karlie screams, bouncing on the sofa.

“What? No!” Taylor throws a cushion at her, laughing now. “We kissed!”

“Oh.” Karlie seems half disappointed, then motions, hurry up, next chapter, tell me everything.

So Taylor spills her guts. Karlie listens, no judgment. Taylor cries telling her how she asked him to leave. Karlie just says, “Oh Taylor,” like there’s no advice she can offer.

Taylor wipes tears with the backs of her hands, she hadn’t wanted to spill them in front of Karlie. She’s curled on the sofa, limbs folded, hands clasped, watching.

“Hellooooo,” a voice I recognise calls down the hall. “Taylor? Honey?”. My Mom.

“In here!” Taylor jumps up and smooths her skirt. Not perfect, but good enough. Karlie grabs the laptop, closes the offending page, and wipes Taylor’s tears with gentle fingers. “Smile,” she whispers.

Mom peeks in, bright and warm. Austin darts past, politely drops a kiss on Karlie’s cheek, punches Taylor’s arm. “What’s up, Sis?”

“Ugh, happy Christmas to you too,” Taylor swats him back. He laughs, disappears down the hall dragging Mom’s suitcase.

“Normal bedrooms?” he calls back. Taylor nods.

“Where’s Dad?” she asks, hugging Mom.

“Last-minute shopping,” Mom says, then claps her hands. “Early start. We need coffee.”

***  

Mom bustles in the kitchen, adding sugar, milk, chatting, tossing questions Taylor’s way. Karlie’s eyes burn into her back. She’s concerned.

“Do you?” Karlie whispers as Mom carries coffee in. She halts in from of her, blocking the door.

“Do I what?” Taylor whispers, balancing two cups and a plate of muffins, following her family.

“Do you love Harry? Like, for real?”

Taylor jerks, spilling tea onto the floor, shooting Karlie a dirty look. Not now. Not this. She needs to get through Christmas with her family. Then she can pretend the last few days never happened. Keep her career her focus. Karlie studies her, so Taylor stares blankly back. No more feelings talk. Harry and Christmas cannot co-exist in her mind.

“You do,” Karlie says, answering herself. “Oh my God. You do.”

Her voice rises; Taylor shushes her quickly. “Karlie, my Mom and Austin are here. We are not having this conversation now.”

Karlie rolls her eyes, shuts the kitchen door, turns back with sparkling eyes. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” Taylor says firmly. “I told him to leave, and I stand by that. I don’t want a relationship. I was fine before he came in here, declaring his love all over the place and trying to mess things up for me.”

“Uh huh.” Karlie hands her a cloth, smirking, pointing at the tea spill. Taylor crouches, mops it up, glares at her.

“You know that girl? The one who wrote ‘It’s a love story, baby just say yes’? I’m sad she’s so bitter now.

Taylor snaps, “I’m not bitter, Karl. I’m realistic.” No way Karlie’s pulling her songs into this

“Soooo, you’re realistic but you do love him,” Karlie says, twisting her hair around one finger, the smile back.

Taylor sighs, puts the cloth down in the sink, closes her eyes. “Yes. I think I’m still in love with him.”

Karlie claps, squeals, “I knew it, I knew it.”

She’s still bouncing when Taylor’s Mom walks back into the kitchen a minute later and laughs out loud at the sight. “What’s up, girls?”

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve! I’m excited!” Karlie beams, winking.

“Taylor?” Mom searches her face, concerned. She’ll want to talk later, figure out why Taylor’s so quiet when she was so excited on the phone only days earlier.

Karlie makes faces at Taylor as they walk out together. Taylor pulls them back, trying to lift her mood.

New York Christmas is on. No more heartbreak.

Chapter Text

Taylor pulls her legs up to her chest, curling into the window seat like a shell. Outside, New York’s lights flicker, a scattered galaxy of neon and amber that blinks back at her through the glass. The cold window presses against her cheek, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. She lets her eyes blur until the sharp edges dissolve into streams of colour - reds, yellows, blues swirling and melting together like spilled paint. She calls these sparkles, her little escape. When the world feels too loud or her thoughts too tangled, she watches the city below until the noise quiets, until the weight in her chest eases enough to breathe. Sometimes, the sparkles shift, transforming into fairy dust if she squints just right.

Tonight she’s been doing something else, too—people watching with purpose. Not just to distract herself, but to invent lives for the strangers scattered across the sidewalks and streets. She picks them out one by one, giving them names, imagining their stories. Is that woman on the corner waiting for someone? Does that man with the worn jacket have a secret heartbreak tucked behind his smile? She wonders if they’ve ever been shattered by love, how many times their hearts have cracked open and bled. And the big question she keeps coming back to: how do you know when it’s real? People say, “You just know,” but what if you don’t? What if you only find out when it’s too late, when the pieces are already scattered? What if you spend your whole life searching, hoping to find someone who will just do?

She’s lost in her thoughts, unsure how long she’s been perched here, the quiet in the apartment wrapping around her like a soft cloak. The faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant creak of the building settling, the muffled sound of passing cars — all of it blends into the background as she slips out of bed hours ago, unable to fall asleep, but trying not to wake her family. The questions from her mom have been hovering for days and Taylor isn’t ready to answer them. The clock on her phone glows softly - 3:21 a.m. Saturday, December 27th. Later than she thought, a brand new day already ticking over.

A soft shuffle snaps her back, her brother Austin, rubbing his eyes, sneaking through the dark hallway. The faint scent of peppermint soap trails behind him. “Hey,” he says quietly, peering at her. “What are you doing up?”

Taylor shrugs, her gaze drifting back to the street below. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He yawns, settling in with a tired slump. “Needed the bathroom. Then saw you here, staring out of the window like a crazy person. You okay?”

She pulls back inside herself, resting her chin onto her knees, the fabric of her sweater stretched tight across her elbows. Austin has been her go-to for relationship messes in the past, but this feels different. She can’t bring herself to share the latest twists with him - not yet. Karlie’s been on her case since she left four days ago, texting nonstop: “Call him,” “Make a move,” “Just wish him Merry Christmas,” and finally, “Taylor, get your shit together. YOU LOVE HIM.” The words echo inside her head as Austin watches, concern knitting his brow.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she says, voice brittle but steady. Half true. She’s felt worse, survived worse. This dull ache is just another bruise on a heart that’s already been through fire. It’s bearable, for now.

Austin doesn’t buy it. “Mom’s been worried too. She thinks something’s going on.”

Of course she does. Her mom’s been gently probing, trying to understand what’s stealing Taylor’s Christmas spirit. Taylor remembers the panic when Mom casually mentioned watching the Times Square Ball Drop on New Year’s. That night years ago, she and Harry had been there - hands clasped, hearts racing, believing it was the first of many New Year’s together. Now it feels like a cruel joke how fast everything fell apart, how “I love you” became “I can’t do this” within weeks.

Her dad didn’t seem concerned until Christmas Day Scrabble. Taylor’s usual competitive focus was gone, and she struggled to think of words that didn’t remind her of Harry. When she lost again, he joined her in the kitchen, half-joking but worried. “Mom’s thrilled,” he said. “But something seems off when she beats you in Scrabble. Everything okay?”

She brushed it off. “I’m just tired, ate too much.” Then put the last fork in and closed the dishwasher with finality. He didn’t push it.

Taylor pulls herself back. “I’m fine,” she says finally. “Mom always worries.”

Austin locks his fingers together and pushes them out, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan. He’s pulling the same moves she does when trying to coax information. Laid back body language and an act like the information he’ll glean is inconsequential. “Well I can’t blame her this time, you’ve been space cadet these past few days.” He pauses slightly, sucks in some air. “I wondered if it was boy problems.”

Taylor recoils and Austin laughs a little. She’s possibly just given him tacit confirmation so she says, “Why would you think that? You know I’m not seeing anyone.”

“I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. I’ve been trying to guess who it could be, but I can’t figure it out.”

“Good,” she snaps, a little sharper than she means. “Stop guessing.”

He smirks, snapping his fingers as if the answer is obvious. “I need to hear the truth.”

She curses herself inwardly. Way to open up to more questioning, she unfolds her legs from the window seat ignoring the tingling pins and needles. Her bare feet slap softly against the wooden floor as she moves away from her brother. “I’m tired, I’m going to head to bed,” she says shortly.

But he calls out as she reaches the hallway, in a loud stage whisper. “Hey Sis, don’t you want to know my top suspects?”

Oh god. She’s unable to stop herself spinning back. “What?” she hisses.

“My top suspects,” he repeats, but he knows full well she heard him. The smirk is back, the all-seeing, all-knowing smirk. “I went through all the possibilities, all the guys I know about at least, and I’ve narrowed it down to two.”

Taylor squares her shoulders and paces slowly back to him, careful to keep her voice low. The last thing she needs is for her parents to hear them talking and wake up.

“Go for it,” she says coolly.

He grins, “So you want to hear my thought process here as well, right?”

Taylor flings herself onto the couch and throws a dirty look his way. “It’s three in the morning, Austin, your thought process will not be necessary.”

She’s almost positive he won’t think of Harry, they’ve been dead in the water a long time as far as Austin’s aware. But she hates that he can tell she’s been obsessing over a guy.

“So, I thought about Matty-”

“What?” Taylor yelps in spite of herself. “What on earth? No!”

“I know, I know, you weren’t that bothered. But I just wondered if something had changed there?”

“Um, no. That was nothing, don’t be weird.” She scrunches up her nose. Two weeks in November, that was all it had been. It was hard not to gravitate towards Matty, she supposed; he was like an impossibly charming devil who sat on your shoulder and whispered sweet nothings. It never went past a few trips to see his show and several quick fucks back at his hotel. He so clearly wasn’t in the best place and Taylor knew she wasn’t the one to pull him out of it. Didn’t want to be the one, frankly.

Austin stretches out on the sofa and stares at her thoughtfully, the soft creak of the cushions beneath him punctuating the silence. “Okay, so my second guess… You know who was in New York recently?”

Taylor feels herself tense, the skin on her arms prickling as if the room has suddenly shrunk. She feels like she knows exactly where he’s going with this. Harry was photographed in the city, the images were in the tabloids and on social, and Austin was a chronic Twitter refresher. He’d have seen the pictures, she knew it. She didn’t know why she thought he’d never guess Harry - arrogance, she supposed.

She plays for time, “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

Realisation dawns in Austin’s eyes. “Right,” he says slowly, drawing out the syllables. “Harry. But you already knew that.”

Taylor exhales slowly. She knows she can’t keep it locked away. “I saw him,” she admits.

“What happened?” Austin asks softly, but his eyes have blown wide, like he can’t believe she confessed.

Taylor pushes her hand into the dip in her couch, looking anywhere but him. “We met up, kissed, he told me he loves me, and I told him to leave.”

The words hang between them. Austin blinks, processing. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling the fabric of the cushion under her fingers. “It was supposed to be just friends. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. But one thing led to another.”

Austin’s eyes widen. “Wow, ok. Please don’t tell me anymore, I don’t want to know.”

Taylor smiles faintly, the first real one in days. “It was very PG, don’t worry.”

Austin shakes his head, half in disbelief, half in awe. “Ok, and you told him to leave?”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He laughs, incredulous. “Man, he tells you he loves you, and you send him packing? That’s brutal.”

“I don’t know,” she says, voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was past this. I thought I wasn’t that girl anymore.”

Austin leans forward, earnest. “If you love him, why are you running from it?”

Taylor looks away, ignores the direct question, memories flashing like a bad slideshow - the flashing cameras, the angry boyband fans, the endless pressure. She remembers the nights Harry didn’t show up when he said he would, the broken promises, the pressure that finally cracked them. His reluctance to commit to her, to plan a bit further ahead.

“Harry and I together is like getting into a car knowing it’s going to crash,” she says finally.

Austin rolls his eyes, “That’s simultaneously fucking depressing and incredibly fatalistic. Jesus, do you hear yourself?”

“It’s not like we didn’t try, Austin, we did, for months. And it was awful.”

He cocks his head, looks skeptical. “Didn’t look awful from where I was standing. I thought you two were cute together.”

“You were the only one. That was part of the problem.”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “You’re so negative. You’re in love with him.”

“I actually never said I was in love with him,” Taylor says instantly.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence. Like you’d have been this miserable if you didn’t love the guy.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with him, Austin.”

“Of course it matters!”

“Just be quiet,” she says, and now she’s furious with him for treating this like it’s some straightforward matchmaking exercise. “You have no idea what it’s like in my shoes, or Harry’s for that matter. It never ends well with us, it never did, and there’s nothing either of us can do to change that, and besides,” she’s speaking softly now, “he left when I asked him to, Aus, just walked out.”

“He told you he loves you and you told him to fuck off. Cut the guy some slack, what was he supposed to do?”

Taylor stares down at her hands. As much as she’s loath to admit it, he might be right.

“I’ve been through this so many times, Aus. When does it stop hurting? Why can’t I have a crystal ball to see who I actually end up with so I can skip this bullshit?”

“Not how it works,” he says slowly, “although I like the idea of that myself.” He pauses, “What are you gonna do?”

“Right now? Well, I should probably sleep.”

He waves his hand impatiently. “I mean about Harry.”

“There’s nothing to do. He’s not exactly blowing my phone up, is he?”

“You should call him. Tell him you messed up and that you want to see him,” he says matter of factly.

“I never said I wanted to see him.”

“I know what you said. Stop making excuses and stop overcomplicating everything.”

“Oh, it is complicated.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “but he was just a boy standing in front of a girl—”

“Oh, do not quote Notting Hill at me tonight, I will end you.”

Austin’s grinning now and Taylor thinks she might be on the verge of it too, propelled by insomnia and hysteria.

She lifts her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “It’s too late for us.”

Austin’s grin fades. “Doesn’t have to be. Go to him and fix it.”

Taylor’s heart skips a beat. She looks at him, jaw dropping into a horrified gape. “There’s no way I could do that.”

Austin chucks her phone over. “Then live in regret.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, then turns and makes her way back to her room, closing the door softly behind her. Her heart races as she sits down on the edge of the bed, trying to untangle everything Austin just said. Taylor isn’t sure when he became so wise, or how he turned into such an authority on love, but damn - he made a lot of sense.

With fumbling fingers, she pulls open the drawer of the bedside table and reaches inside, retrieving a well-thumbed passport. For a few long minutes, she just sits there, her mind working frantically. She couldn’t, could she?

Chapter Text

Taylor sits in the car outside a pretty cottage in a quiet cul-de-sac. It’s pitch black outside, but she can just make out the roses trailing across the ridge of the front door and the family of wellington boots propped up next to a green shed. The air smells faintly of damp earth and wood smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. It’s everything you’d expect from a quiet country road in rural England, and for a moment she imagines that she lives here, in this tiny cottage. The thought feels strange and far away.

A foot nudges hers, pulling her out of her reverie. Austin is next to her, eyebrows raised and dressed casually in jeans and an old ‘The Eagles’ tour t-shirt. “Which house is it?” he asks. She raises a finger and taps lightly on his window, “That one,” she says softly, and they both stare across the road at the red brick house. It’s the largest on the street, but it also fits in perfectly with all the beautiful little cottages. Great care has obviously been taken to restore it sympathetically. Her eyes settle on Harry’s car in the drive. She knew he’d be here, but even so the confirmation is enough to restart the butterflies. Her stomach has been churning all the way here.

Austin dragged her onto the plane, coaxed her off the plane and into the car, and now she’s sat here trying to remember calling her management offices in the early hours of this morning to request her plane back into service. She’s not sure what possessed her to be so insistent on an early morning flight, but her exhausted brain clearly wasn’t working properly because with the time difference in the UK it’s actually 11pm right now. Not exactly a civilised time to turn up unannounced.

“Maybe we should come back in the morning,” she suggests slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s super late.”

“No way,” Austin says, taking off his seatbelt and turning towards her. “I’m not giving you a chance to back out. Anyway, they’re clearly still up.” He gestures towards the house where light glows warmly from the downstairs windows. She bites her lip, but he’s right. She’s taken a flight to England to talk to Harry and can’t turn back now. Snapping open her seatbelt, she reaches for the car door. “Ok, wish me luck,” she says quietly, pushing open the door and letting the cold air sweep in, sharp and bracing against her skin.

“Hey, Taylor?” Austin pipes up again, smacking gum against his teeth.

“Yeah?” she says, pulling back round to look at him.

He grins at her. “Considering you’re about to confess your undying love to Harry, you might want to check the mirror.”

She glares at him and slams the door shut behind her. Pulling her handbag onto her lap, she digs in and retrieves her makeup bag. The compact mirror doesn’t lie. Her hastily applied mascara has smudged, a faint drool stain clings to her chin from fitful attempts to sleep on the plane, and her hair isn’t tousled, it’s bed head. “You can thank me later,” Austin sing-songs cheerfully as she pulls items out of the bag and applies them quickly, finishing with a brush through her hair. She surveys the mirror one last time and frowns, not exactly the way she wanted Harry to see her, but it’ll have to do.

“Ok?” she asks Austin.

“Yeah.” He knocks his hand gently against her shoulder. “Now go get him, Sis.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the hammering in her chest. “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” she says softly. “Guess it depends…” She lets her sentence trail off, her gaze falling into the front seat where Graham is sitting. He gives her a tiny thumbs up and a small smile. So she squares her shoulders and steps out of the car. The adrenaline fizzing through her feels almost like stepping onto a stage in front of thousands of fans. She turns back to Austin one last time before closing the door. “Aus, if this doesn’t go well then I never want to talk about it again.” She burns her eyes into him, willing him to understand, but he just rolls his back at her.

“Taylor, stop being so dramatic. The only person who can fuck this up is you.” He waves his phone in her direction pointedly. “Now go, and if you try and leg it up the road, Graham and I will chase you and body slam you to the ground.”

Graham coughs slightly in the front seat, and she sees his shoulders shake as he tries not to laugh.

“Thanks for the support,” she says frostily and slams the door hard, shooting them both a final dirty look. She walks slowly away from the car, buying time, picking her way carefully across the road. There are no streetlights, just a faint glow from a light positioned over the garage that lights her path. Her stomach twists like she’s just done six loops on a rollercoaster, and she mentally scolds herself to keep her nerve, pushing her balled hands into the pockets of her coat to keep warm. England isn’t quite as cold as New York, but still, she should’ve packed gloves.

Not that packing for the weather was on her agenda at 3am this morning, as she sat on her bed with shaking hands, dialling up her team and asking for a 9am take-off. Then she put the phone down and pulled her holdall onto the bed, throwing in clothes from her fresh pile of washing without a real thought as to what she would actually need. Not daring to hope she may need more than just an overnight bag. Clearly she was louder than intended because Austin heard on his way back to bed and poked his head through the door, allowing himself a smug smile.

“Dude, are you actually doing it?” he asked, stepping over her pile of laundry to high five her.

Yes, and you need to come with me,” she’d said, almost desperately. “Please Austin, I’ll freak out otherwise.”

He folded his arms, questioning her sanity that they would leave their separated parents in New York alone without at least one of them there to keep the peace. But she begged and pleaded, and eventually he picked up a notepad and wrote a letter which detailed precisely nothing but promised they’d call, dropped it outside Mom’s bedroom, and then hotfooted it to the airport. They’d walked off the flight to countless missed calls and voicemails, and she’d gotten another call as they were driving here, her mom incandescent with rage, Dad yelling audibly in the background about a family Christmas and priorities. Austin shot her a glance, and she mouthed ‘just tell her’ before looking back out the window and watching the countryside flash by. He’d kept it brief, but she got the picture after he dropped in Harry’s name and their current whereabouts. Her mom had sent her one text straight after: “Follow your heart xxxx,” and she almost welled up.

Her feet crunch slowly across the gravel, and she winces at the sound. She turns back to look at the parked car. She can’t see through the blacked-out windows, but she can hear Austin in her head hissing ‘go on,’ and she remembers Graham’s discreet thumbs up. Boldly, she steps up and hovers her finger over the doorbell.

This close, she can hear the activity inside the house, excited chatter and laughter, and her chest tightens with a sinking feeling. Harry and his family are clearly not alone. She swallows hard against the lump in her throat and pushes her shaking finger onto the bell before she can second guess herself. She’s come this far. The only option is to see Harry.

The loud peal of the doorbell echoes through the house and causes a lull in the chatter. She strains to hear as a woman speaks. “Was that the doorbell or am I going mad? Isn’t it nearly midnight?”

She cringes a little as she recognises the voice. Harry’s mum.

“Could be Mike,” someone else, a man, says. “He finished work late, said he might pop by after for a few beers.”

“I’ll get it,” says another woman, Gemma, and Taylor hears her leave the room and walk toward the door, toward her. The chatter resumes, but Taylor freezes, trying to run words through her head, think of a coherent sentence to greet Gemma with as her footsteps draw closer. She hasn’t seen her since Harry and she broke up, and while she knows Harry is close with his sister, she doesn’t know how much she’ll know about the latest development in their relationship. She doesn’t know how to behave, or what to say, because she’s pretty sure nobody is expecting her to walk through this door, least of all Harry.

She hears the door twist open and at the last minute decides to stumble backwards off the step, realising she’s weirdly close to the doorway.

“Heeeeyyyy,” Gemma says brightly as she pulls the door open and fixes her gaze on Taylor. She’s blonde now, dressed in ripped skinny jeans and a black studded jumper. She’s smiling down at Taylor, but her eyes widen when she realises who she is, and her face snaps to shock.

“H-hi,” Taylor stammers, trying to fill the silence.

“Oh my god,” Gemma says quietly, interrupting her nervous stammering. “Oh my god, Taylor.” She’s still frozen, but a small smile creeps onto her face.

“I’m so sorry,” Taylor says quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. “It’s Christmas and I shouldn’t be here, but-“

An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Gemma as she grabs Taylor’s arm and pulls her into the warm hallway, slamming the door behind them both. “Oh my god,” she says again, and Taylor’s vision starts to adjust to the bright light.

They’re in a wide hallway with high ceilings, decorated in neutral tones like something out of a cosy home interiors magazine. Gold gilt frames line the walls, filled with pictures of Harry and Gemma in various stages of childhood. Tinsel in every colour is draped everywhere - over mirrors, around door handles, twisting up the stairs, and around a picture of Harry’s first day at school.

Gemma’s eyes search Taylor’s face and she grabs her hands, intertwining their fingers. “What are you-” she starts, then shakes her head. “I mean, does-” She stops herself again and just looks at Taylor.

“He’s been a mess,” Gemma says finally. “Come on,” and before Taylor can stop her, she tightens her grip and pulls her into a room full of people.

Twenty at least, filling every inch of sofa and floor space. Some faces Taylor recognises, but most she doesn’t. She spots Harry’s mum in the corner, champagne in hand and holding court by the Christmas tree, and her husband Robin, one arm balanced on the mantelpiece and the other around a friend’s shoulders.

A table pushed against one wall is lined with half-finished plates of food, and the coffee table is cluttered with champagne and beer bottles, mostly empty. The TV is switched on to Radio 1, with the new James Bay song gently filtering through the speakers. There’s a happy, giddy, festive atmosphere in the room, and Taylor curses her early morning decision-making. She clearly shouldn’t be here. This is Harry’s family time, and she should know better. She could have called him, arranged to meet after Christmas, sorted it all out somewhere neutral. Instead, she’s here, the ex-girlfriend turning up at a family party on a whim, not even managing the courtesy of a warning phone call.

Gemma is still clutching Taylor’s hand as they hover in the doorway, unnoticed. She gives it a supportive squeeze before dragging her gaze across the room. Automatically, Taylor’s eyes follow, and then she sees him.

Lying on the floor, flat on his stomach and resting on his elbows, he’s laughing with an older man who is reclined in an armchair. Long hair pushed behind his ears and a few days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, his smart shirt unbuttoned, exposing the tattoos on his chest. He looks good, hardly the mess Gemma said he was, and Taylor feels her pulse speed up automatically.

“He’s been depressing all Christmas and we knew it was because of you,” Gemma whispers. “Can you both please get your act together?”

Taylor pushes her fringe across her forehead and fixes her eyes back on Harry. He’s chatting quietly with a friend now, biting his lip every so often and leaning in to hear them talk over the music. He laughs suddenly, throwing back his head and grinning at his friend - and then he catches her eye on the way down.

The laugh dies on his lips, and he just stares at her, eyes wide.

Chapter Text

It might have been seconds since Harry locked his eyes onto hers, or it might have been minutes. Neither of them move. Taylor can’t read what he’s thinking or feeling. She sharpens her focus, pulling him into clearer definition. He’s trembling just a little, frozen in place, the subtle shake of his shoulders betraying his calm facade. His friend continues talking, gesturing animatedly and unaware of Harry’s distraction. Taylor’s breath comes in small, shallow bursts. They’re dancing around something too fragile to name, Harry frozen in shock, Taylor frozen in fear. She doesn’t dare show her hand, not yet. Not before she knows where Harry stands on her sudden appearance, what he makes of her unannounced arrival.

Then he moves, just an inch. Shakes his head slowly, blinking a couple of times like he’s waking from a deep sleep, trying to piece together where he is, what’s happening. Taylor bites her dry lips, painfully aware of Gemma standing beside her, her eyes flicking between them like a silent referee.

“I need some fresh air,” Taylor mutters, turning her head in Gemma’s direction but determinedly not looking at her. She doesn’t stick around and wait for a reply, instead turning sharply and slipping out of the room.

Her heart hammers in her chest, drumming out an erratic beat, and her mind races to catch up. She dissects that look Harry gave her, searching for something - hope, regret, anger, anything. Did she expect a different reaction? Or was she just hoping for one? She reaches the end of the hallway and pushes open the first door she finds, easing inside and closing it quietly behind her.

She finds herself in the kitchen. The pale moonlight pours through the windows, casting silver reflections on the floor. The soft quiet inside calms her slightly. The noise from the living room dwindles to a distant hum, and she moves toward the window over the sink, opening it to let in fresh night air. A cool breeze sweeps in, tangling her hair across her face. She winces, pushing it back impatiently.

Never in a million years did she imagine herself sneaking around her ex’s mother’s house because she’s too scared to be in the same room as him, too terrified to confess how she feels. To tear down every wall she’s built and risk starting over. For all Austin and Karlie’s romantic optimism, that pit of fear churns deep inside her. The gnawing “what if.” What if everything in New York was just the two of them caught up in the bad habits and the past? What if this is the end after all, the final chapter?

She’s terrified that Harry has changed his mind since he left her apartment last week. That he’s decided this is a bad idea and has already shut the door behind him after her harsh rebuttal. She closes her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that push on her lashes. Too late. They slide down her cheeks, dampening the collar of her coat.

Leave. She needs to leave now.

“Taylor?” A hoarse voice cuts through the quiet, footsteps soft on the floor.

She didn’t hear him come in, but she knows that voice anywhere. Hastily, she wipes her cheeks, brushing away the tears she didn’t expect to shed tonight. When she’s sure her face is dry, she turns.

Harry stands there, arms hanging loosely by his sides. His eyes are wide and searching - quizzical, apprehensive. His body is tense, like he’s bracing for impact, braced for whatever she’s going to say to him. The space between them is heavy with unspoken questions, with all the words they never dared say until last week, and those she’s never confided in him at all.

Taylor presses her back against the counter, grounding herself.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Harry says, his voice catching on the last word.

“You didn’t call,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper but edged with defensiveness.

He blanches, confusion flitting across his face and eyes dropping briefly to the floor, but then,  “I didn’t get the impression you wanted me to.” And there’s a challenge in his tone.

“I don’t know what I want, Harry. Let’s start there,” Taylor admits, sadness threading through her words. It’s true. Despite her impulsiveness, despite hopping on that plane, she still doesn’t know. She wants him in her life, but as a boyfriend? That question still catches in her throat.

“If you don’t know what you want, then why are you here?” His gaze softens but his voice stays firm. No nonsense. And she knows she’s hurt him every bit as much as he’s hurt her over the years. They’ve made a mess of everything good between them and Taylor struggles to see how they could ever have a happy ending at this point. How they could change their fate. But she owes him honesty. And herself.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” she blurts out. The words rush out before she can stop them. She sees a flicker of light, a spark in his eyes. She’s just echoed his own words from the park last week. If she was hoping to keep some pride, hold her cards tight to her chest, then she’s just given it all away. Game on, Harry.

He moves closer to her, careful, like approaching a skittish animal. She can’t promise she won’t bolt, but she holds her breath as he moves into the moonlight streaming through the window. His skin glows under the pale light, every detail sharp. He tilts his jaw and she notices the thin scar beneath his chin, the remnant of the snowmobile accident years ago. It’s a tiny mark that faded almost to nothing, but it anchors a memory far away. This Harry is not the curly-haired boy who once stole her heart and broke it. He’s a man now.

Still, beneath it all, that boy is there. The cheeky grin. The way her skin burns at his touch. The easy familiarity, the inside jokes and glances only they understand. She wonders how she ever thought it had disappeared, as memories of their encounters since the breakup flood back. The rehearsed lines she whispered to herself in front of her bedroom mirror: “Don’t get drunk. Don’t kiss him. Stay on the other side of the room.” The parties where their friends overlapped, and she danced around his gaze, brushing a quick kiss on his cheek before retreating to safety.

And then there were the moments she didn’t see coming, the ones she couldn’t prepare for: the look he gave her during her AMA acceptance speech, almost making her lose her train of thought and forgetting exactly how she’d planned to word her thanks to the fans. His eyes had burnt with such a mix of pride and something else she couldn’t place at the time. She’d jumped in the car with Karlie straight after and headed to party with her friends all the while playing the way he’d whistled as she’d left over in her mind as she spun around the dance floor. She spent two years running, hiding their friendship from the press and fans, terrified of rumours, scared to lose the respect she’s worked so hard for. But that look, she’d thought about it again as she’d left the after party, it felt like longing. She’d allowed herself to acknowledge that for a beat at the time and then she’d forced herself to burrow it in her mind. It had frightened her to think about what it really meant. She wonders now if  he caught her up just in time before they shifted again and drifted out of each others lives for good.

His hand reaches for hers, fingers weaving through her cold ones. She flinches, surprised by the sudden contact.

“What are you so scared of?” he whispers, voice low, urgent. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared of letting you in,” she exhales slowly, voice trembling. “But I’m even more scared I’ll lose you and never know what we could have been.”

“Don’t you think I’m scared too?” His eyes flare with something fierce. “But I can’t spend my life feeling like you’re the one who got away. We owe it to ourselves to try. We can’t not try.”

The pleading in his voice hits her like a punch. It’s the same way she begged her brother not to push her, the same way she told Karlie to drop it when she insisted Taylor call Harry. The weight of hope and fear presses on her.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Her bottom lip trembles and she bites it hard, fighting back tears.

“Then at least we tried,” he says, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “And that’s all we can do.”

“I keep thinking this is a bad idea,” she confesses softly, “but then you kissed me last week and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

He grins, cheeks creasing into dimples. “You could’ve said that at the time.”

She shrugs, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “I was in shock. You asked me to go for a friendly walk, I didn’t know what to think.”

He laughs, warm and easy. Then his expression shifts, brows furrowing. “You’ve been crying.”

“I freaked out a little. Wondered if I’d done the right thing by showing up here,” she admits, gripping his hand tighter.

He exhales and brushes fingers gently across her cheek. “I shouldn’t have walked out last week, but you did reject me pretty forcefully. I’ve been a mess, didn’t know what to do”

“Gemma said,” Taylor teases, tugging a curl behind his ear.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course she did. I might’ve asked her for advice.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me I’d blindsided you and I was an idiot to expect your reaction to be any different” he says, deadpan.

“Really?” she feigns shock.

“Really,” he says, laughing now. “But god, I’m glad you’re here now”. He leans over and kisses her shoulder gently. “Let’s do this. I’m all yours.”

She nods, fingers tracing his jaw. His stubble feels rough beneath her touch. His smile softens, as she runs her hands through his hair.

“Promise me,” he says quietly, “we’re both in this together?”

“Yes.” She bites her lip, holding back a smile.

“No cold feet?” he warns, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I won’t if you won’t.” She leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss, a promise of more to come. His eyes darken.

Without warning, he lifts her onto the counter like she’s nothing. Her legs wrap around his waist as she looks down at him. “What now?” she murmurs, voice husky.

“Well, we could talk... or kiss... or...” He wiggles his shoulders, running his hand down her thigh, touch smooth over tights.

“Or?” she teases, knowing exactly where his mind is but unwilling to rush. Her thoughts flicker to Austin and Graham waiting outside. No hotel plan, no return flights. But none of that matters right now. Here, with him, even in a kitchen piled high with dirty plates and empty canapés boxes and even with tear tracks down her cheeks, it feels like a fairytale.

“Harry,” she says softly, “my brother and bodyguard are waiting in the car.”

“Right.” He presses his forehead to her chest briefly, then pulls back. “We should get them. You’ll all stay here.”

“You can’t just offer your Mom’s house. She doesn’t even know I’m here!” She taps his shoulder in protest.

He waves her off. “She’ll be fine. She adores you. Besides, there’s no hotel nearby... unless you want to sleep in the car?”

“Staying here sounds perfect, thank you,” she says quickly. He grins and sets her down, their legs brushing.

They share a long look, drinking each other in. His hands snake around her waist, and he kisses her - slow at first, then deep, urgent. Her fingers tease the buttons of his shirt, not pulling them open, but teasing. He groans against her lips.

Taking control, she presses harder, as if fusing their skin together could make their bond inseverable. The counter hard against her back, his hands tangled in her hair, lips trailing down her neck. Her breath catches as she throws her head back, gripping the waistband of his jeans to steady herself.

Their mouths meet again, and after so long they’re no longer lost in translation. They both know exactly what this is, what is means.

They melt into each other, limbs tangled, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins. His hands cup her jaw, slowing the frenzy to a soft, lingering kiss. When he pulls away, his eyes glassy, breath uneven, she’s gratified to see he looks just as undone as her.

“Wow,” he breathes, fiddling with a button on her coat. “Just wow.”

“Wow,” she agrees, palm flat against his chest, heart pounding in sync.

They smile until the front door slams, making them jump.

Harry grins, holding out his hand. “Taylor?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes meet his, warm and steady.

“I lov—” he starts, but she presses a finger to his lips.

“Harry, no… Not yet. Can we take it slow? We don’t need to rush anything”

He nods, uncertain but willing. Takes her hand, leading her out of the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Morning breath is gross. Taylor knows she shouldn’t care, but she does. She shifts to the end of the bed and slides out quietly, every movement deliberate and soft. Tiptoeing across the room, she crouches down and roots through her handbag, hunting for the mints she always keeps on her.

What are you doing?” the duvet seems to ask, and she pauses, glancing back at the bed.

“Just, uh… you know,” she stammers, stalling for time and -  bingo - finds the box of mints and pops one into her mouth.

“The duvet shifts again, and Harry emerges from its depths, rubbing his eyes. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across his face.

“You look beautiful,” he says, voice rough from sleep.

Taylor pushes her hair back, suddenly self-conscious. She hasn’t been in this situation for a little while. Sure, she’s had casual flings over the last few months, she guesses Matty was the last, but nothing real. Nothing that had any potential, that she wanted to go any further. They all ended the same way, someone slipping away in the early hours. This is different. Meaningful, familiar. She shuffles back into bed, curling into his back like they’ve been doing this every day for months.

“Morning,” Harry whispers, lips nibbling gently at her ear. He pulls the duvet back around them, curving his body into hers, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Morning,” she replies softly. “How did you sleep?”

“Amazing… How ‘bout you?” His breath is warm against her skin, and she shudders slightly. She wants him, but no rushing this time. Slow and steady. She satisfies herself by running her hands across his arm, brushing the fine hairs down and back in a calm rhythm.

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages,” she whispers.

“Good… Taylor?” His words trail off as he drifts back toward sleep, breathing deep and steady, his arm slackening on her.

“Hmmm?” Her own eyelids flutter, pulling her back toward rest.

“How long can you stay?” he murmurs.

“Maybe a couple of days. I have to get back and rehearse for New Year’s.”

“We’d better make the most of these two days then.” His squeeze is tight and warm before they both drift off, wrapped up together.

***

The woods behind Harry’s Mom’s house seem endless, stretching for miles ahead. Bare branches claw at the sky, frost clings to the ground, and the blue sky as far as the eye can see. The only sound in the air is birdsong and the crunch of their footsteps.

Harry and Taylor stroll in comfortable silence, fingers laced tightly together. For an hour they’ve walked without seeing a soul, and it feels like they’re alone in the world.

“What’cha thinking?” Harry’s voice nudges her thoughts.

“Just loving how peaceful it is out here. Like, this could be our private garden or something.” He laughs, releasing her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She spins and hooks her arm around his waist.

“It’s always quiet here. Small village, and I guess lots of country walks. People round here are spoilt for choice,” Harry says.

“I guess, but I didn’t believe you when you said we wouldn’t be spotted,” Taylor teases.

Harry points up into the nearest tree. “Unless that owl’s about to whip out a camera, I think we’re fine.”

“There’s an owl up there?” Her voice rises with excitement. She’s never seen one in real life.

“See? Third branch up. Looks a bit pissed off”

“That’s awesome. I need to get a photo.” She pulls her phone out and switches to camera.

“Can I be in the picture?” Harry grins.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The owl doesn’t want to share his portrait with you.” She waves him aside.

“Sure? Because I could just…” He jumps into the frame, posing ridiculously. She laughs and snaps two pictures - one with Harry goofing off, the other just the owl, regal and unimpressed.

There, happy?” she asks, showing him. He smiles and kisses her gently.

“Very happy.”

She pulls away slightly. “What kind of owl was that anyway? I’m sending the picture to Ella. Gotta look knowledgeable.”

“Barn owl, I think.” Harry squints at the photo. “Yeah, Barn owl. Learned about them in school.”

“Cool.” She disentangles her arm from Harry’s waist and taps out a quick text to Ella: Barnaby the Barn Owl says hi! Miss you xx.

“You named him?” Harry’s face looms over her phone. She snatches it away with a mock glare, slipping it back into her coat pocket.

“Well, he can’t just be some sad little nameless owl. That’s tragic.”

“So tragic,” Harry mimics solemnly. “I thought he looked like a Nigel myself. Barnaby’s a cop-out.”

“No. It. Is. Not.” She smacks his arm playfully, making him yelp and raise his hands in surrender, so she mirrors him, presses her hands on his, pushing him back slightly.

“Say Barnaby’s a nice name. Say it!”

Grinning, he leans in and whispers, “It’s a nice name.” His eyes catch hers, and he presses his lips to hers. She lets him in, pushing back gently as their mouths move together, soft and teasing. Hands tangled in hair, fingers tracing jawlines, lips biting lightly. She flutters her eyes open, breath uneven.

“I forgot how much I missed that,” she says.

She means it. No second-guessing this time. When you know someone feels the same, that they’re equally in love with you, somehow fear fades. It makes you brave.

Not that she’s ready to say “I love you.” Not yet. She’d stopped him last night when he tried. This time, she’s determined to keep expectations in check and not rush ahead.

She fell asleep wrapped in his arms, backed into his chest, wearing his old purple hoodie. Butterflies danced in her stomach, but she told herself to stay sensible. Being with Harry here, in the middle of nowhere, feels like a slice of heaven, but real life isn’t far away for either of them. 

Harry kisses her forehead, lingering, fire burning through her cold skin. It’s anything but chaste.

“I missed it too,” he says, pulling back and linking fingers with hers.

They stroll again, arms swinging in exaggerated motion, both careful to avoid horse droppings. The countryside is glamorous in its own way, and Taylor laughs as Harry leaps over a puddle, pulling her with him.

“So, does Ella know where you are?” Harry asks, voice quick and nervous. Like he’s been holding onto the question.

Taylor looks up, noticing his eyes darting away from hers.

“Well no. She probably thinks I’m in Nashville, with the nature and the owl and everything.” She gestures around, wonders where he’s going with this. “Would you want me to tell her? Or were you asking if I was going to?”

“I dunno, how do we do this?” He says slowly.

“Do this?” Taylor cocks her head.

“Us. Are we telling our friends or…?” He trails off, looks a bit pensive.

He’s right, and it hadn’t crossed Taylor’s mind.. Beyond the pact to keep this under the radar publicly, they haven’t discussed what to tell friends. Karlie is already over invested, of course.

“Let’s not rush” Taylor hears herself say, “let’s just keep it between us for a few weeks, figure out how we’re going to do this before we tell anyone”

“You mean keep it a secret?” Harry says slowly, almost like he’s testing out the words as they run through his lips.

“Well, we weren’t planning on shouting it from the rooftops yet, right? And the less people that know, the less chance there is of it leaking”’she tilts her head to look at him “what do you think?”

He flips a cheeky grin her way in response, and Taylor feels the catch in her breath release. “Guess it could be kind of exciting, sneaking around undercover with my hot girlfriend”.

“Really?”

“Yeah, think about it. Secret rendezvous, dinner parties on the floor of hotel rooms, sex in afterparty bathrooms, and then one day” he nibbles at her lip, “we’ll be together openly like it’s no big deal. We’ll walk into every event, every awards show, together. It’s just like this for a little bit, yeah?”

His eyes are so hopeful, and Taylor’s heart beats a little faster. The vision is so clear in her mind, it feels like a premonition. The two of them sitting next to each other at the Grammy’s. Harry’s hand wrapped around hers while they both collect awards, loudly and visibly supporting each other.

She can almost hear the audience roar as Harry stands up to accept best album-

“Yeah” Taylor says, focusing back on him. “I like your plans, Styles”

Harry winks “There are people that’ll need to know though, if we’re going to pull if off”

“Well, Graham already knows,” she says, running a hand along his coat. “So he can help.”

“Could be stressful for him,” Harry jokes. “Might need to give him a raise. He spent a freezing night outside Central Park when you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

Taylor throws her head to the sky in mock frustration and then lightly punches him on the arm. “Do you have anyone  on your team you trust enough?”

“Yeah, Mick. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Are you going to tell the other guys?” She asks haltingly.

Harry stares at her for a long minute, “I don’t have to yet, not if we want to keep it to ourselves for a bit” he says finally. “But I do spend every day with them Tay”’

“I know, I just….. want it to be just us for a little bit”

“Ok”’ he says, smiling now. “C’mon let’s walk this way, we can loop back to the house through the woods”’

They walk deeper into the woods, surrounded by silence and trees. Harry clutches her hand, stopping often to marvel at small pieces of nature and kiss her.

Taylor thinks of Austin leaving this morning, hot-tailing back to New York with Graham. Austin had slammed the boot, pointed between them and said “I told you so”. Before fist bumping Harry and slapping his back. He’d then hugged Taylor, whispering, “You can thank me later.” Graham had been reluctant, worried for her safety without security, but Taylor insisted. “It’s not like I’m doing anything exciting,” she’d joked, while Harry coughed in mock offence. “We’re just hanging out here and no one knows where I am”

In the end, Anne and Robin persuaded Graham to leave. “She’ll be fine here,” Anne said. “There’s barely anyone around, and Harry has security on standby if they need.”

Taylor feels surprisingly comfortable here, more than she expected. Harry had been uncharacteristically shy last night, re-introducing her to his mum. Anne’s eyes went wide, then she’d clasped her hands together with a big smile and hugged Taylor warmly. Gemma had been in the now empty lounge finishing up a glass of champagne on the sofa, and giving them a thumbs up.

It couldn’t have gone better.

But the future loomed. Taylor had to be back in New York in days. Harry had plans for New Year’s in LA. They’d agreed to keep things secret, sure, but they actually needed to figure out the logistics.

Harry’s hand tightens on hers, fingers tracing her palm.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

Taylor nods, eyebrow raised.

“This is the most perfect day I’ve had in a long while.”

“Me too,” she smiles wide.

Slowly, he leans in, lips teasing against hers. The kiss starts gentle, then grows hotter. Taylor thinks she can almost feel the air change around them, there’s an anticipation thrumming under her veins. The kiss deepens, growing more frantic as she pushes back, matching his urgency with her own.

She’s barely aware of the rough bark at her back as they stumble against a tree, but she can feel the way the world narrows to this – the heat between their mouths, the friction of his stubble, the low moan when she tangles her fingers in his hair. For a moment, it’s achingly innocent, like two teenagers in the woods, breathless and giddy.

But then her hands move, almost without thinking, slipping under the edge of his coat, searching for warmth. She finds it, skin hot beneath layers, and pushes his shirt up, sliding her palms over his stomach, feeling him tense and shiver. He moans low in her ear, and the sound sends a shock straight through her. Her hands roam, greedy, mapping the lines of his chest, and she finds herself grinding against him, caught in a rush of desire that leaves no room for caution.

His hands are everywhere, under her shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipples, tentative at first, then bolder when she arches into him. He tugs her bra down, mouth hungry as he finds her, and heat blooms beneath his touch, wild and dizzying. Taylor gasps, every nerve ending alight, tingling down to her toes. She glances up and catches Harry watching her, his pupils blown wide, lips parted in awe and a trace of apprehension in his eyes. His hands are shaking.

He hesitates, just for a second, searching her face for permission. Taylor nods, hardly trusting herself to speak. She’s never wanted anything so much, not in this moment, not ever she thinks. He shrugs off his coat with fumbling hands and spreads it on the ground, turning back to her with a look that is almost reverent, as if he can’t quite believe any of this is real.

They sink to the forest floor together, Harry’s grip slipping in his haste, so she lands with a graceless thump, leaves crunching beneath her. She laughs, breathless, but there’s no time to feel embarrassed, he’s kissing her again, fierce and desperate, his hands gripping her arms, his hips pressing into hers. It’s messy and imperfect and perfect all at once.

“Do you… do you have-“ Taylor’s voice comes out in short, ragged bursts. Her heart is pounding so loud she can barely hear herself.

“Yeah,” Harry manages, but he’s shaking so hard it takes him a few tries to dig through the folds of his coat. Finally, he fishes out a condom, hands trembling as he rips open the packet.

They strip each other clumsily, both shivering in the cold, fumbling with buttons and zippers, jeans tangled around their ankles. There’s nothing graceful about it, but Taylor doesn’t care. All she can think about is the way Harry looks at her as he lowers himself over her, the way his breath catches, the way his whole body seems to tremble with want for her.

She watches his face as he enters her, sees the way his eyes flutter shut, the way his mouth drops open in a silent gasp. His hands find her, one on the small of her back, pulling her closer, the other tangled in her hair, lips tracing a feverish path down her neck to stifle his moans. Every thrust is a new kind of pleasure, shattering, relentless. He never looks away, watching her as if she’s the only thing in the world.

Taylor is lost, her body arching into his, sweat slicking their skin despite the chill. He touches her with quick, urgent strokes, and she remembers how he showed her what it meant to be undone, how he taught her that pleasure could be something holy, something that leaves you gasping for air. She moves with him, matching his rhythm, whispering promises she barely understands, things she’ll do to him when they’re not sprawled out in the middle of the woods, half-dressed and wild with need.

She forgets everything - the cold, the dirt, the fantasy she once had of taking it slow and doing this withbchampagne and candlelight. There’s only this: Harry above her, inside her, the world narrowing to the space between their bodies.

“Baby,” he groans, voice hoarse and desperate. “I’m close… fuck, I’m so close—”

“Oh God, Harry—” Her nails dig into his back as she teeters on the edge, every nerve burning. When he comes, he falls apart with a broken sound, collapsing onto her, still moving, still touching, determined to take her with him. He murmurs her name, a litany of soft, ragged endearments, biting at her skin until she shatters, arching into him, a wave of pleasure crashing through her so hard she’s left gasping, clinging to him as the world goes quiet.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, tangled and uneven, the rustle of leaves beneath them.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters, voice rough as he props himself up on one elbow, still shaking. “That was… fuck, Taylor. That was-“ He breaks off, grinning, raising an eyebrow. “Unexpected. Fucking amazing, but definitely unexpected.”

Taylor laughs, breathless and wild, running a hand through her hair. “That was the hottest thing ever,” she says, still stunned, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t believe we just did that. Imagine if someone-“ She mimes little walking legs with her fingers, and Harry’s grin turns cocky.

“No one ever comes here,” he says, and she can’t help but swat him lightly on the head as she pulls her jeans up, giggling.

“Hey, baby?” His voice is gentler now, and she glances back at him, still flushed and shaky.

“Yeah?” She leans in, lips brushing his ear.

He grins, slow and wicked. “Do you think we’re out of the woods yet?”

Taylor kicks him, and the woods echo with his laughter.

Chapter Text

Taylor whispers to herself, a nervous habit she can’t shake. First sign of madness, she thinks. “You got this, Taylor. You absolutely got this. You can do this. You will. It’ll be fine. No one will see you… DUCK!”

“What the hell?” A petite, dark-haired girl jerks her head around from the passenger seat, eyes wide.

Taylor stays low on the floor of the blacked-out SUV, gesturing wildly up at Selena. “I’m not here, I’m not here.”

“What?” Selena furrows her brow. “Tayl-”

“Turn around!” Taylor hisses, banging the back of Selena’s seat. “Turn around. They’ll see!”

Selena’s eyes finally widen. She whirls back around, just in time. Taylor presses herself flat against the corner, willing herself out of sight. The usual banging on the car’s side begins, bright flashes light up the darkness, and Graham slows to inch through the swarm of paparazzi.

 “I’m a sacrificial lamb up here,” Selena says dead pan, elbow propped on the window, twirling a perfectly manicured nail in her hair. “Ten points if you can break a pap’s toe, Graham.”

“No, because then we’d have to stop and pretend to care. And I would be discovered and that’s not ok!” There’s a final bang on the bonnet and then Graham hits the accelerator, clearing the scrum and hitting the freeway.

Selena turns to look at Taylor with amusement. “Wow, that’s some attitude. Now, what are you even doing?”

“Just chilling. On the floor,” Taylor says, jerking her hands in a loose rap imitation . “You know how it is.”

“Taylor, can I recommend you get off the floor and buckle up?” Graham cuts in from the front. “We’ve got a forty-minute drive out of town.”

Taylor pulls off her oversized earrings, wincing as the sharp metal burns her lobes. “Any cars following?”

“Nope, we’re in the clear,” Selena replies, then narrows her eyes. “Wait. Where exactly are you going that’s forty minutes outside LA?”

Taylor ignores the question and asks Graham, “Can we drop Sel off on the way?” She slips back into her seat, yellow chiffon billowing around her as she pulls out her phone, aware of Selena’s gaze drilling into her.

“Um, excuse me?” Selena’s fingers click in her face. “You better not be going to some mad house party without me?”

“Oh please, as if!” Taylor rolls her eyes but avoids eye contact, scrolling through her messages.

“Well I don’t know! You’re being so shady right now.”

“Am I?” Taylor smirks, knowing it’ll only rile Selena. Selena huffs loudly and, unbuckling her seatbelt, crawls into the back with her. Graham’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, and he shoots them a tense look in the rearview mirror.

“Can we be careful, please?” he pleads.

“Sure,” Selena quips brightly, snapping her seatbelt back on. “Sorry, Graham. So, why’d we leave the party early only for you to ditch me?” She’s all sass and narrowed eyes.

“Ditch you? You said you needed sleep, so I’m dropping you off,” Taylor says, shaking her head slowly. Selena raises an eyebrow.

“Please. I thought we were getting In-N-Out and watching TV. It’s only 9:30 p.m., you cannot be going home.”

Taylor fumbles for words, snapping her phone back into her clutch. Trying to leave the InStyle party discreetly in canary yellow hadn’t been easy. Her friends were less than impressed as she tapped them on the shoulder one by one, explaining she had an early start so she had to go. They were pissed but understood, though her phone buzzed nonstop with pictures. Jaime, Este, and Danielle posing with fizzing cocktails, Alana planting a kiss on a mystery mans cheek. Selena had appeared from the restroom and bumped into Graham and Taylor as they slipped out the back. “We’re making a break for it,” Taylor had explained quickly while Graham shielded their conversation. “Sorry to be a buzzkill, but I have such an early start.” Selena had flung one look back at the packed dance floor, crumpled her white dress up in one hand, and insisted on coming with them. Taylor couldn’t be honest there and then, so she shrugged and let Selena tag along.

 “Something’s going on,” Selena says, she’s right next to her, seatbelt fastened, eyes sharp. Graham raises his eyebrows at Taylor in the mirror, jaw tight with discomfort.

Selena clocks it and points an accusing finger at the drivers seat. “Graham obviously knows and I don’t?!”

“This is crazy!” Taylor snaps, hands flying down to her lap, sending chiffon fluttering. “I’m just staying closer to the photoshoot tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Selena says bluntly.

“What?”

“I’m calling bullshit. Come on, Taylor, how long have I known you? What’s going on?” Her eyes pin Taylor to the seat.

Taylor swallows hard. This is Selena. She can’t keep secrets from her. She’s always been the one she tells everything.

“Um… well… I just…” She stumbles over the words. Selena’s waiting, expectant. So Taylor spills it out: “Harry has this house, and I’m going to stay with him for the night.”

Selena just stares. Like Taylor just dropped a bomb she never saw coming.

The car falls silent. Graham hunched over the wheel, trying to ignore the conversation. Taylor and Selena frozen in the backseat.

Finally, Selena explodes, voice rising until she’s practically shouting, “Harry? Harry Styles?”

Before Taylor can speak, Selena waves her hands, cutting her off. “Of course, Styles. Like you know any other Harrys. Wait. Hold up! Are you, like, fuck buddies?” An incredulous smile spreads across Selena’s face, voice almost normal again.

“Not exactly,” Taylor says, twisting her fingers together, lips pursed. She’s wondering where to even start. She hasn’t told Selena about the Central Park walk that made her pulse race or the impulsive dash to England when she was on the verge of losing Harry forever. She hasn’t shared with her about how they lost control in those deserted woods and it was wildest, craziest, hottest, thing Taylor has ever done. She doesn’t know about the secret Skype calls between their crazy work schedules. Or that Taylor missed him so much last week that she ended up sitting in the bathroom of her plane, headphones in, watching fan made videos of him.

But she doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she says, “We’re just trying. Like, we want to give things a shot again.”

“By things, you mean a relationship?” Selena whistles, eyebrows raised.

Taylor nods.

“Taylor, this is huge. Crazy. You wanna take all that on again, really?” Selena’s voice falters, unspoken worries hanging between them. Selena knows the pressure more than most, fans and media, the difficulty of keeping a flame burning when you both have jobs that keep you oceans apart.

“I’m not even thinking about all of that right now. We’re just taking it one day at a time.” Taylor pulls at her rings anxiously, willing Selena to understand..

“Okay, but when did this happen?” Selena looks overwhelmed, hands to her temples.

“Before Christmas we met up and he told me he still has feelings for me, and I just-” 

“Wait wait wait, when did you meet up?” Selena interrupts, confusion plain on her face.

“We’re here,” Graham announces, pulling the car to the curb in a deserted residential street. Relief floods Taylor - she hadn’t even thought to duck down.

Selena looks at her a long moment, then rolls her eyes and swings her legs out of the car grudgingly. “This is not over!” She points an accusing finger. “I’m seeing you this week. We’re having wine. I want more details! Text me.” She stalks up the driveway, key out, gown trailing behind. At her door, she turns, shoots Taylor one last all-knowing look, then the door slams.

Taylor sinks back into her seat, watching Graham program the sat nav. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. The blissful two days in Cheshire feel distant now. She closes her eyes, feeling him pressed against her on the couch watching Home Alone, sneaking kisses between laughs. Anne had popped in to tell them she and Robin were running errands - errands that didn’t exist, just a kind ruse to give them space. They’d bolted from the couch to Harry’s bed before the door closed, tearing clothes off each other. Not discreet at all. Taylor flushes, imagining what Anne must have thought.

They’d played Scrabble by the fire side. Robin high-fived her for an eight-letter word while Gemma stormed off, furious at Harry’s cheating, tossing her letters at his face. Anne and Taylor had dissolved into laughter, wondering if you could actually haemorrhage from laughing so hard.

And when they’d picked themselves up off the ground and walked back through the woods, breathless and dazed, catching each other’s expressions and laughing, in disbelief that they’d been that reckless. Taylor teased Harry about the condom he’d luckily had in his coat; he flushed bright red, insisting he was responsible but hadn’t expected it. She’d pushed into him for a teasing kiss, whispering she was glad he’d had it.

Wrapped in each other, she’d kept telling herself to hold onto the feeling, it wouldn’t last once she boarded her flight to New York. They’d stayed up late the last night, watching hours pass as he held her, pretending reality wasn’t calling.

They hadn’t planned for him to come to the airport, they knew they were playing with fire, but he came anyway. Bundled in coats in the back seat, arm locked around her shoulders, eyes never leaving hers. She’d poured everything into their final kiss, her hands clutching his neck, his head nuzzling her neck.

“I promise,” he’d said fiercely. “I promise we’ll make this work.”

Taylor tore herself out of the car and under Graham’s arm, who whisked her through check-in and onto her jet. His words echoed in her mind as she pulled off her beret and clipped in her seatbelt. Despite all her earlier protests, she’s in too deep. She couldn’t stop this train even if she wanted to.

“I’m pretty sure this is it,” Graham says, breaking her reverie. They pull into a parking bay by the coast. Below, the beach stretches wide and empty. There’s a lone house, a sprawling mansion set into the cliffs, tucked away in its own cove. There’s not a soul in sight and the closest houses seem miles away. Their lights sparkle in the distance. Taylor shivers. As long as no one spots them, they can disappear without suspicion.

She waves off Graham’s offer to help and pulls her holdall from the boot, slinging it over her shoulder. She bounds down the steps two at a time, sea breeze tangling her hair, butterflies rising in her stomach, anticipating.

She saw him eight days ago. Exactly. Karlie lent them her flat and made tracks to her boyfriend place. Harry snuck into New York wearing a comically large hat and blanket coat. They explored each other again that night,  wrapped in white sheets afterward, holding each other through breathless rounds. She’d found him sitting by the window as dawn broke. He smiled and pulled her into his lap.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, trailing a finger down his chest.

He shrugged, lips already on her shoulder. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to do anything but be with you.”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t be honest and tell him she felt exactly the same way, she thought that might break apart the fundamental pact she’d made to herself to take things slow. And nothing about this made her want to take it slow, but she needed to think with logic not lust, not love. Instead, she took him again on Karlie’s cold wooden floor, looking deep into his eyes as he came, and she knew he understood everything she wasn’t saying.

Now, he waits for her. A dark silhouette against the rock face, shirt billowing in the wind. She can’t see his face yet, through the darkness, but she knows he’s grinning. He’s down the beach house steps in a flash, running toward her, lips immediately on hers. He pulls her bag from her shoulder, taking the weight.

“I missed you.”

A giggle bubbles from her lips, disbelief and happiness swirling inside. This is insanity. “I missed you” she tells him.

“You look beautiful. This dress…” his fingers trail down her shoulder over the gown. “How was the party?”

“It was fun. The girls are still there,” she breathes, fingers resting lightly on his jaw, breathing him in - vetiver and sage.

“Yeah?” His lips work into her hair, hands playing gently at the base of her neck.

A cough behind them startles them both. Harry’s hands drop chastely to his sides. Graham stands flushed, awkward.

“I’ll be back. Call me when you’re ready, Taylor.” She nods, smiling, hoping he knows how grateful she to him for helping to shield their romance. “Thanks Graham” she says, simply.

Graham disappears into the distance, headlights lighting the empty road. Harry turns back to her.

“Come on,” he says quietly, lacing fingers with hers, leading her up the steps to the house.

“Whose place is this?” she asks, stepping onto a wooden veranda with the house behind and beach stretched before them.

“One of the executives at the label. I told him I needed to get out of my place, find inspiration for the album. He’s skiing in Europe with his kids.”

He flashes a cheeky smile, running a hand back through his hair. “Do you like it?”

Taylor throws her arms around his neck. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

He holds her gaze, smiles, then catches her hand in his. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

They step down to a smaller veranda. Her eyes adjust to the glow - candles everywhere, flickering on every inch of decking, arranged around a steaming hot tub.

“You did this?” she asks in surprise.

Colour blooms in his cheeks. He places his hands on her waist, pulling her close. “Yeah, I wanted it to be special. We don’t get much time together. Is it okay?”

“Harry, it’s so…” She trails off as his lips find hers. And then they’re gone.

***

Later, Harry cooks for her. The kitchen glows warm against the hush of the house, candlelight dancing across marble and wood. Taylor perches on a stool at the counter, still flushed from the hot tub and the tangled hour on the couch, hair damp and curling at her shoulders. She watches him move, barefoot, focused, humming something under his breath as he drains the pasta and stirs sauce into some fancy kitchen pan.

She feels a prickle of disbelief, a quiet awe at how easy this is. The world narrowed to the small circle of light they’ve made for themselves. Harry turns, catching her gaze, and grins. “You’re staring.”

Taylor shrugs, cheeks warming. “Thinking about naked chef puns,” she says, and he raises a brow, glancing down at his bare chest.

“Are you objectifying me while I’m cooking?,” he says teasing, and she rolls her eyes, but she can’t stop smiling.

Dinner is simple; pasta and salad that Harry grabbed on the way to the house. They sit at the breakfast table, Taylor on Harry’s lap, their plates balanced on their knees. Their legs tangle together, her skin brushing his.

She takes a bite, sighs. “I told Selena tonight,” she says, voice soft, almost casual. But her heart skips, she’s not sure why. It feels like letting something out into the room, like testing how safe this new world is.

Harry glances up, fork paused mid-air, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Taylor leans back a little, watching his expression, nerves fluttering in her chest. “She was, um, pretty surprised.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to play it off.

He laughs, low and warm, and the sound settles something inside her. “Is pretty surprised an understatement?” he whispers, leaning closer, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Taylor can’t help it, she laughs too, the tension slipping away. “Yep. I have to meet her this week to, in her words, explain everything. And I have to bring wine.”

“The wine part sounds fun…” he says, picking up his glass and trailing kisses up her bare arm, his lips soft and teasing. Taylor leans into him, shivering as his mouth finds the curve of her shoulder.

“She is not going to be impressed that I’ve been hiding you…” she says, throwing her hands up in mock despair. “This….us.”

He meets her eyes, steady and sure. “Selena gets it,” he says quietly, confidence in every word. “She’ll understand.”

Taylor knows he’s right. Selena always understands. Still, a part of her aches at the thought of letting go of this secret to another person. If she could, she’d hold onto this, keep it between just the two of them, forever.

“I know we said we weren’t going to tell anyone else yet. I just couldn’t get it around it without outright lying to her” Taylor says slowly.

“S’ok” Harry says easily “we said we’d keep it to ourselves for a few weeks, and, well, it’s been a few weeks. And look at us, we’re making it work”

The beam he gives her is so wide, Taylor thinks it might be contagious. She feels the corners of her mouth lift, involuntarily and unforced. There’s something she wants to say to him, something that’s been almost forcing its way out every time she’s with him, or even just thinking of him. It doesn’t feel like they’re rushing, not anymore. She’s given it weeks, but she’s known the whole time, she realises.

“I love you” she blurts out.

Harry stills for a second. Then that grin is back, his hands are on her face, “say that again”

A giggle bubbles in Taylor’s throat, “I love you, I love yo-“

Harry stops her with a kiss. “God, it feels good to hear you say that”

“I mean it. I’ve meant it for weeks, I was just trying to be sensible”

Harry laughs, “one of us has to be. I love you”

Taylor answers him back with a kiss, slow and sure. Then lifts her wine glass, swirling the deep red, gaze drifting out to the sea beyond the deck. The waves are just visible, silver lines against the black. Harry’s hand rests on her thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns over her skin. Taylor feels the warmth of his touch, the steady beat of his heart under her palm, and lets herself sink into the moment - the laughter, the softness, the fragile illusion that nothing exists outside this room.

Saying it’s love out loud, admitting it to herself, gives her a stable feeling in her chest. So why is it, she wonders, that she still wants to keep them under wraps forever?

*** 

Taylor wakes on her side, sunlight soft through the curtains. She feels Harry curled around her, his arm heavy over her waist, breath warm at the back of her neck. Everything is still, and for a moment, all she can think about is coffee.

She lifts his arm with practiced care, slipping out of bed, feet sinking into thick cream carpet. There’s a dressing gown hanging on the door - silk, quilted, pale blue - and she pulls it on, snuggling into the unfamiliar softness. A trace of jasmine lingers in the fabric, delicate and expensive, and for a second, Taylor wonders what the executive’s wife would say if she saw them now - their bed rumpled, Harry asleep and tangled in sheets, Taylor wandering hallways in her robe like this house is hers.

She smirks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and pads into the kitchen. Morning light spills through the windows, casting patterns across the mosaic floor tiles. The world feels impossibly quiet here.

Taylor hums as she opens the fridge, pulling out bacon, eggs, avocado. She moves from cupboard to cupboard, searching for pans, her movements easy, unhurried. There’s a simple, perfect joy in this: making breakfast for someone she loves, safe in their private world.

With the food sizzling, she finds her notepad in her holdall, flipping to a fresh page. Her handwriting sprawls everywhere - thoughts, fragments, lyrics, some slashed out, some circled twice. She grabs a pen, tongue caught in her teeth, and lets the memories of last night tumble out. Her hand flies, words coming faster than she can catch them, the thrill of how she could combine this with a melody. For a moment, she forgets about coffee, about the world outside. Here, there’s only this: the steady hiss of bacon, the scratch of pen on paper, the afterglow of his touch. Her confession of love.

A soft voice behind her makes her jump. “Morning.”

She spins, notebook snapping shut. Harry stands in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only his boxers, hair a rumpled mess. He looks so sleepy and so heartbreakingly hot that for a second, she forgets about breakfast entirely.

But his eyes light up at the sight of the bacon in the pan, and he pads over to her, reaching for the cafetière. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her gently. Taylor feels colour flood up her neck. His eyes flick to her notebook, and his smile creases his face, tender and knowing. He kisses her again, arms around her back, the cold glass of the cafetière pressed to her skin.

Then, a low, mechanical roar cuts through the morning air. Taylor freezes. The whir of rotors, closer and closer, rattling the windows. A helicopter. Dread explodes in her chest.

She looks at Harry; he’s already moving, eyes wide with recognition. Paparazzi.

He grabs her arm, pulling her away from the windows at the speed of lightening. They scramble through the hallway, back to the bedroom. Harry yanks the blinds down with a force that’s almost violent, plunging the room into a artificial twilight. He’s back by her side in seconds, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her down onto the bed, never taking his eyes off the window.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “We’re fine in here.”

Taylor’s heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts. Her throat is tight, rage and fear tangled together. “Who would have said anything?” she blurts, the accusation sharp, cutting more than she means it to. “Who could you have told that would leak it?”

Harry recoils, injured. “The only person that knows is Mick, and he wouldn’t say anything. He’s signed confidentiality agreements up to his eyeballs - and even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t do it.” Hurt flashes in his eyes, and guilt tightens in Taylor’s chest. She knows he’s not to blame. She’s the one who ducked on the floor of the car, leaving one of the most hyped events of the year, bright yellow dress and all, convinced she could slip away unseen. A fit of optimism, and now this.

“They obviously saw me last night.” Her voice is shaking. She’s gripping the sheets, knuckles white. “I was so stupid, how could I think—”

He’s beside her again in an instant, hands cool and steady, cupping her face. “It’ll be fine. They haven’t seen anything, so they don’t have a story. We’ll just ride it out, and they’ll go.” His voice is calm, but his eyes keep darting to the blinds, and she sees the worry there. “It’ll be fine,” he says again, but she hears the tremor beneath it.

The helicopter circles overhead. Taylor digs her fingernails into her palm, willing her pulse to slow, wishing she could crawl out of her own skin. All the warmth and safety of the morning has vanished, replaced by the old, familiar panic. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to loving someone in the open, if she’ll ever stop thinking the world is waiting to pounce.

Chapter Text

Taylor sits cross-legged in the dim bedroom, the air still heavy with panic. Harry kneels in front of her, hands gently cradling her jaw, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as if he could physically steady her pulse. “You ok?” he asks, searching her eyes, voice low and careful. “Breathe, Tay. Just breathe.”

She wants to answer, to come up with an exit plan, out of this room, out of this house, but the words won’t come. Her thoughts spiral, scrambled and jagged, heart still hammering as if the threat is just outside the door. All she can do is focus on Harry’s touch, the rise and fall of his breath.

Then, almost as suddenly as it started, the whirring above them quiets. The helicopter’s roar dims, muffled by thick glass, fading with every second. Harry and Taylor sit frozen, listening, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of camera flashes and shouted questions. But nothing comes. Just the distant thrum of rotors slipping away, swallowed by surf and sky.

Harry’s hand moves to trace slow, soothing circles on her back. He’s quiet too, tension humming beneath his skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, listening intently. “I don’t think-“ He pauses, waits, then finally breathes out, relief in the sound. “It’s not them. It’s just a random chopper, Tay. Not for us.” He presses his lips to her shoulder, an act of reassurance, but Taylor is still wound tight, every muscle braced for disaster.

She tries to exhale, slow and controlled, forcing air in and out as if that alone could flush the panic from her veins. “Ok,” she manages, but her voice is brittle. She swallows, tries again, “Sorry. Just… got spooked. I’m fine.”

Harry slips off the bed, padding to the window. He parts the blinds, squinting at the clear morning beyond. Satisfied, he turns back, concern etched deep in his brow. “You’re not fine. It’s shit, what this has done to us.” He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.

Taylor gives him a wan smile, trying to disguise the way her hands still shake. She slides off the bed, draws the dressing gown tight around herself, and heads back to the kitchen. She fills the cafetière, holding it under the tap a moment longer than necessary, focusing on the simple mechanics of coffee. Anything to distract from the echo of adrenaline.

Harry follows a moment later, wrapping his arms around her from behind, grounding her with his weight. She tries for lightness, tossing over her shoulder, “Really desperate for my caffeine fix now.” Her voice is thin, but Harry just hugs her closer. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just freaked.”

He rests his chin on her shoulder, murmuring into her hair, “S’ok, love. We’re good. I love you”

“I love you” she says, and she feels the pounding in her veins start to dissipate.

***

The morning drags its feet, time stretching in strange ways, a luxury for them to be free from schedules and commitments. Taylor tries to lose herself in the easy rhythm of small domestic tasks, pouring coffee, washing plates.    Harry fumbles with the vintage record player, finally coaxing Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusk” from the speakers. The gentle thrum of music and the clink of dishes should make things feel normal, but Taylor can’t quite shake the sense of being watched. She glances at the windows, half-expecting to see a lens glinting in the sunlight.

The beach house is beautiful, all white linen and pale wood, every detail curated for comfort. But the perfection of it - the lack of clutter, the untouched cushions, the absence of anything truly lived-in - makes Taylor feel even more like an intruder. She thinks of her house in LA, too big and too empty, more a prop than a home now. Kept for practicality, because she thought she probably should have a home here, it made things easier for work at the very least. But Harry did call LA home, and she wonders, not for the first time, where they would live if they ever made it to the long term.

Mid-morning, Harry wraps his hands around his mug and grins at her, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Do you think that helicopter was rescuing a cat from a palm tree?” He waggles his eyebrows and Taylor manages a reluctant smile.

“Harry, it’s too soon to joke about that fucking helicopter,” she says, but her voice is fonder now. She reaches out, smoothing his hair from his face. “You’re absolutely nuts.”

He shrugs and flicks another mischievous look her way, leaning into her touch. “You never know, love.”

She wants to laugh, to let his silliness break her tension, but the panic isn’t as easy to shake as she wishes. She keeps her smile on the surface, unwilling to let him see just how rattled she still is.

***

Later, they make their way out to the pool. The California sun is a balm after weeks of New York cold, and Taylor slips into the heated water, letting the warmth soak into her muscles. She closes her eyes, floating for a moment, trying to let the sun and water erase the memory of the morning. Harry cannonballs in, sending a wave crashing over her. Taylor shrieks, spluttering, but laughter bursts out of her, real and unexpected. Harry grabs her, pulling her under, linking their fingers.

For a moment, she forgets. She forgets the world waiting just beyond the hedges, forgets the headlines and cameras and fear. She lets herself be held, lets Harry’s hands slide over her skin, lets desire drown out anxiety. When he tugs her bikini loose and presses her against the pool wall, she can’t help the groan that escapes her lips.

“Harry,” she murmurs, drawing out his name, smiling into his ear. “Not sure I can do this in the deep end love” he smirks against her wet breastbone, hands gripping her thighs.

He ends up towing her over to the roman steps, and they make out. Harry’s hands are moving lower causing Taylor’s breath to quicken, when the sprinklers click on, sending a fine spray across the lawn. They break apart, startled. Harry laughs, rueful, adjusting her bikini bottoms. “We probably shouldn’t, baby. Not out here.” He glances up at the sky, brows knit over his sunglasses. “Later,” he promises, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder.

They dry off on the loungers, sun-warm and languid, music drifting from inside the house. Harry props himself up, watching her. “You’re a million miles away,” he murmurs, thumb brushing her cheek.

Taylor shrugs. “Just enjoying not thinking.”

He snorts. “Liar. You’re always thinking.”

She rolls her eyes, flips over, nudges his legs with her toes. “Can’t you just let me relax?”

Harry just grins and pulls her in, kissing her slow and soft, like he’s anchoring them both back to the moment.

***

That afternoon, they curl up together on the couch under a blanket and Taylor tries to read the novel Lily gave her. The words blur and drift. She can’t seem to focus. The day has been gentle, easy, full of Harry’s laughter and touch, but she can’t shake the lingering sense of being trapped. Panic still claws at the edge of her thoughts, a heavy, invisible weight.

She sighs, shifts in the cushions. Harry looks up from his notebook. “Alright?” he asks, “what’s your book about?”

“Two sisters in World War two who are trying to resist the Nazi’s. Lily said it’s a tough read, but worth it”

“Sounds heavy” he says, and waggles his fingers to request the book.

“I think it’s based on a true story” she says, and frisbees the book to him. Harry catches it in one hand with a satisfied smirk.

“The Nightingale” he reads from the cover and flips the book over to read the spiel on the back. “Sheesh…. Looks like a light read”.

“Hmm, possibly slightly more intense than I’m up for right now. What are you reading?”

He glances down, as if caught. “Just working on some lyrics with Ross and Johan. Not finished yet.” He flips the notebook closed with a wink. “I promise I’ll show you when it’s at least eighty percent there.”

Taylor smiles, nudging his toes under the blanket. “Will you tell me the title?”

He taps his pen against his nose, thinking. “TBC. Maybe ‘For Your Eyes Only.’ Dunno yet, we still need to polish it a bit.”

“Proud of you,” she says softly.

“Huh?” He squints.

“For learning to write. It’s a skill, I don’t think I was nearly this good so early on.”

His mouth slowly spreads outwards into an incredulous grin.

“Bullshit, you arrived in this world knowing how to do this. It’s in your DNA.”

He laughs, ducking the pillow she throws at him. “How are the guitar lessons going?” She asks.

“Good, yeah. Niall’s patient. Not like you.” He says cheekily and yelps as she kicks him gently in the ribs.

***

They drift from pool to kitchen to couch to bed. It’s almost too easy for Taylor to settle into this fragile bubble of ‘us.’ But every time Harry reaches for her hand, every time he talks about future plans, something clenches inside her. Because she hates that every moment they have together feels like borrowed time.

They climb into bed early and Harry pulls her close, his chest warm and steady against her back. “We could do this forever, you know,” he says, voice low but playful, the kind of tentative joke that carries an ache beneath it. “Just disappear. Stay here. Screw everything else.”

Taylor laughs, trying to keep it light. “You, me, and a lifetime supply of cookies?”

He grins, nudging her with his shoulder. “You joke, but I’m serious. We could let them guess. Never give them the story. Just… live.”

“Sounds like a dream,” she says, forcing a smile. “But what would the world do without Harry Styles in One Direction?”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, a slow smile spreading. “I can’t be responsible for that kind of turmoil. It’d probably crash the global market, fuck the economy, ruin live—”

She slams a pillow onto his face and he bursts out laughing. “You’re so full of your own shit,” she teases, but she’s laughing too, thankful for this, thankful for Harry’s ability to break the tension.

“Hmm, maybe we have to go the other way and rule the music industry together,” he says, voice softening, eyes alight. “Like Bey and Jay.”

Her mouth drops open. “You mean Beyoncé and Jay-Z? I didn’t realise you were on casual terms with music royalty.”

They’re both laughing fully now, the kind of laughter that makes everything feel easier. It’s in these moments, light and unguarded, that she doesn’t feel a shred of doubt that Harry is the one.

He folds her back into his arms, and she studies him - the way his hair falls over his forehead, the strong curve of his jaw, the way his green eyes pierce into her. She wants to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and run off with him, give the vultures nothing, but she doesn’t. Neither of them is built for secrecy and hiding.

Instead, she curls closer, letting him hold her, telling herself they can overcome whatever comes next, whatever hurdles they need to face.

But when he falls asleep with his arm heavy over her waist, she lies awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what happens next. Wondering how they’ll change their ending this time.

***

Morning light filters in slow and soft, blurring the edges of the room. She’s tangled in sheets and Harry’s warmth when he shifts beside her, stretching out like he owns the whole bed. She watches him for a long moment, the way sunlight plays along his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“We should get going,” he says, waking and rubbing his eyes, voice low, almost reluctant. Today is the day they have to peel back from this bubble and return to the treadmill.

She nods, sliding out of bed. Kneeling on the soft carpet, she rifles through her holdall for clothes, stiffening as the reality settles in. This is probably the last real slice of ‘normal’ they’ll share for weeks. Playing house, the easy silences, waking up beside him instead of in different countries.

They sit side by side at the kitchen table eating breakfast, coffee steaming between them, calendars open on their phones. Fingers flicking, scrolling through endless days filled with work, travel, commitments that seem to stretch endlessly between them.

“Four weeks,” she says quietly, the weight of the words pressing down. “Until we’re together again”

Harry’s smile falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough. She sees the disappointment flicker in his eyes, mirroring her own sinking feeling.

“I hate that,” he murmurs. “Four weeks is a lifetime.”

She bites her lip and nods. “Yup.”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “I’ll talk to my team,” he says finally. “Try to swing a few hours, maybe sneak out before Australia. I want to see you.”

Her stomach twists. “Harry, if you change your plans it’ll raise questions. Suspicion. You know how that goes.”

He looks at her, hurt flashing across his face. “I know. But I want to see you. And how long can we really keep this quiet?”

She shakes her head, voice softer now. “It’s not forever. Just… right now, it’s easier this way. For both of us.”

He sighs heavily. “Maybe we’re making a big deal out of this,” he says gently. “Maybe if whispers start, if people gradually find out, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

She doesn’t want to entertain that thought, not yet. “That’s a conversation for down the road,” she says firmly, avoiding his eyes. “And it’s never gradual with us, not with how chronically online everyone is. It would be an onslaught. And not for you-“ She stops herself, swallows hard, still avoiding his gaze. “No, it’s only been a few weeks. Right now, it’s less complicated this way.”

He nods reluctantly, like he’s swallowing something bitter. They sit in silence a moment, the space between them seems full of everything they’re not saying. Taylor scrolls her calendar again, looking for a gap, any space where she can see him, for a few hours if that’s all she can swing. She hovers over early February, wondering why it feels like she’s forgotten something important.

“It’s your Birthday”’she says slowly, realising she didn’t put it in her calendar, feels awful that she didn’t.  “In a couple of weeks, I’ll move some things around my end, we have to celebrate”

“Can you do that?” He asks.

“I’ll figure something out, come up with an excuse to move this interview I have. It’s your 21st, I’m not missing it” she says firmly.

“My party’s on the Saturday” he nuzzles her neck, “if you were there, it’d make my entire Birthday”.

Taylor stiffens a bit. A public party in Los Angeles, a load of high profile friends, certainly a ton of cameras. It would essentially be them going public, there was no way they could pretend to be just friends, no way that would be believable for anyone in the room. Or outside the room, her brain supplied, and the thought made her feel slightly sick.

“Okay” Taylor says out loud, doesn’t think she can really face opening up the can of worms that this conversation will turn into. “Let me see what I can do with my calendar”.

He gives her a hopeful smile, then reaches for her hand. Their fingers twist together, and the world shrinks to that touch.

“I love you,” he says, voice sure.

She squeezes back. “I love you too.” .

They lean in, lips meeting, and she melts into him, desperate to lose herself in him, to quiet the pounding narrative in her head starting up again. Camera flashes, headlines, the vast gulf between who she was and who she was pretending to be. The girl she’s projecting to the world – single, confident, independent – back in bed with him. Stop, she tells herself, trying to silence the diatribe. Just stop. Harry’s tongue slides gently against hers, and she tries to relax..

***

They gather their things in silence. The weight of the morning settles heavy between them, the calm before a storm neither of them wants to face. Outside, the sun is high, bright and indifferent. Beautiful California, Taylor thinks, she loves it in small doses. She pulls her shades down from atop her head and slings her holdall over her shoulder.

Harry locks up the beach house, sliding the keys into the lockbox by the door. Then he takes her hand, leading her toward two black SUVs waiting side by side. Their glossy surfaces swallow the sunlight, windows dark against the sunny day. She spots Graham and Mick, both silent, vigilant, watching for any sign we have company.

Harry turns to her and pulls her in, kisses her deeply. “I love you” he says. Taylor closes her eyes, she doesn’t think she can properly look at him, not when she can tell by his voice he’s as close to breaking as she is.

“I love you so much” she responds softly, kissing him again. “We’ll figure out your Birthday, okay. I’ll make it work”.

He nods and Taylor steps backwards, into her SUV, the door closing with a finality. Harry stands there for a second, then blows her a kiss and moves towards his car.

The engines roar to life, and their vehicles pull away in unison, carving separate paths out of the quiet cove and back toward hectic schedules, long flights, and stolen moments on the phone.

She watches his SUV disappear around the bend in the rearview mirror, a knot tightening in her chest. Suddenly, even two weeks feels impossibly long.

Chapter Text

Taylor watches Selena tuck her legs beneath her, sinking deeper into the loveseat like she’s settling in for the night. Phone clutched in one hand, a glass of white wine in the other, Selena wears her serious friend face - the one Taylor knows means she has some things to get off her chest.

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all I care about,” Selena begins, voice steady but edged with concern, “but I feel like maybe I should have a little chat with Harry at some point.”

Taylor rolls her eyes and drains half of her own glass, the wine burning a little too sharply against the knot tightening in her chest. “That’s unnecessary, Sel.”

This is the debrief Selena insisted on. Taylor had stayed behind in LA while Selena showed up armed with cookie dough, bags of sweets, and a growing list of pointed questions that have clearly been brewing since the last time Harry and Taylor imploded.

“Look, I can’t really talk, given my track record,” Selena waves her glass lazily in a circle, her tone light but her meaning clear. “And Harry is, like, objectively...” She trails off, shrugging. “A nice guy you obviously have great chemistry with but, Tay, c’mon. What is this, the fourth reconciliation?”

She leans in, conspiratorial, and Taylor can almost hear the tally ticking off in her head. “First time, Harry messes up. Second shot, Harry messes up. Third go…” Selena’s voice drops, “Months of the situation-ship from hell.”

Taylor’s jaw tightens, a frown curling her lips. “From hell?” she repeats, voice coming out as almost a yelp. “Selena.”

Selena’s eyes soften but her tone doesn’t waver. “From hell,” she says again, firmly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Taylor shrugs, avoids Selena’s gaze. “I don’t see it going that way. And I really don’t think Harry wants to hurt me.”

Selena’s expression softens further. “I don’t think Harry ever sets out to hurt anybody. But he’s…” She hesitates like the word tastes bitter.

“Say it,” Taylor nudges, voice low.

“He’s flighty.” Selena shrugs apologetically. “But look, he’s also older now and he probably is ready for something steady. Got the whole boy in a band thing out of his system.” But her lips twitch in a skeptical half-smile, as if she’s not fully convinced.

She sighs then, her eyes locking with Taylor’s. “And I get why you’re keeping it a secret. But for how long, Tay? What’s going to change in a few months?”

Taylor clutches a cushion to her chest, as if it might anchor her swirling thoughts. “I’m hoping things will calm down for us both, give us a shot at figuring out the long term.”

Selena doesn’t look convinced. “That’s unlikely. Isn’t he heading on tour soon too?”

“I want this to work, Sel. He does too.” Taylor knows her voice has taken on an almost pleading tone. She’s not sure who that’s intended for. Selena or some higher power who could reweave their fates so they actually make it this time.

Selena offers a small smile, but her eyes tell a different story. “Not trying to be negative. I just know how complicated it gets, trying to have a relationship with someone else who does this job. It’s tough.” She grabs another sweet, biting her lip thoughtfully.

Taylor thinks about that, knowing at her core Harry doesn’t want to hurt her.. Maybe that’s why she’s forgiven him so many times. Why she never hated him, just the mess he left behind for her to clean up. Somehow, people like Harry leave heartbreak in their wake without any ill intent, without ever truly knowing what they did to leave such a wreckage in their rearview mirror. Sometimes Taylor wonders if she’s the same - if she’s overdue for her own reckoning, her own romantic karma for the hearts she’s broken trying to find the Prince Charming destined for her.

Selena snaps her out of the reverie by throwing a sweet at her. It bounces off the bookshelf behind Taylor, and Selena laughs. Taylor bends to pick it up, shaking her head with a smirk.

“You know, with all these chances you’ve given Harry, you could’ve made your way through the rest of the band,” Selena teases.

Taylor snorts, flicking the sweet back at her. “Gross, Sel!”

Selena’s laughter ricochets off the walls and Taylor wonders, not for the first time, why her love life can’t be as easy as this. Why it always has to feel like she’s on a tightrope without a net instead.

***

Taylor flies into Nashville from LA, a quick pit stop before a whirlwind of European promo. She has a management team meeting first thing. It’s early, the office quiet except for the soft hum of air vents and the reassuring presence of her security team stationed just outside the door. She slips into a chair in the boardroom, Starbucks in hand, scrolling through the agenda on her phone: promo, tour, PR updates from Tree. The usual.

Tree breezes in, juggling a stack of papers, breathless but still the first to arrive. “School run,” she jokes, flashing Taylor a tired smile. The rest of the team trickles in, Frank closing the door behind him. “Okay if we start, Erica?” Mom asks, nodding at her laptop.

Erica smiles, ready with her notes. “Absolutely.”

“Great. Let’s kick off with tour merch. Robert?”

Robert gestures toward a pile of prototypes spread on the floor. “We’ve got five days to request any changes before we absolutely have to green light production.”

“Oh, show me!” Taylor catches a sweatshirt tossed her way, fingers brushing the soft fabric. They move fast - design, quality, price - as if they’ve run through this a hundred times before. Because they have.

Between agenda points, Taylor steals a glance at her phone. A message from ‘H’: “miss you, beautiful xxx.” She fights down a smile, tucking the screen away. Harry’s already across the Atlantic, deep into tour rehearsals. Moments to talk are rare, but they’re making it work.

“Tree, PR next?” Mom prompts.

Tree plugs her laptop into the screen. “Let’s do it.” Slides flip over the wall - press clippings, shots of Taylor stepping out in a sleek black peacoat and burgundy boots leaving her apartment. She may have moved to New York craving life in a big city and a fresh start, but it hadn’t hurt to drive forward her reinvention as the ultimate twenty-something New Yorker, a real-life character from Girls or Sex and the City but with more Spotify streams. Confident, relatable, aspirational.

“You’re the ultimate New York girl making the pavement her runway,” Erica says with a smile. The table hums with agreement.

Tree nods. “You’re projecting a global superstar who’s transparent, unapologetic. Fans love it. So does the public.”

Harry’s face pops uninvited into her mind, and it’s all Taylor can do to force her expression to remain neutral. Mom’s eyes lock onto hers across the table, silently reminding her that they should’ve told their teams by now to avoid being blindsided if the press catches wind. Taylor deliberately looks away, focusing on the graphs instead: engagement rising, comments glowing, followers climbing.

“People are so obsessed with you being single and independent,” pipes up Harper from down the table. She’s Frank’s niece and interning before college. She’s sweet, young, and online 24/7. Taylor’s known her half her life, and that thought makes her feel older than she is. “My girlfriends talk about it all the time, and there’s loads on Snapchat too, about how cool it is that you don’t need a man.”

A few people around the table laugh, and Taylor smiles too. “Thanks, Harper, I appreciate your insight. Guess single New York Taylor is the winning formula,” she quips, and the room chuckles. Mom, however, stays stern.

Taylor can hardly believe how far she’s come. How carefully she’s reconstructed her image - no public flings, no tabloid chaos, just the music and the work. Every boyfriend had insisted they didn’t care about the headlines, the online noise, the ever-present paparazzi - until suddenly, they did. Even Harry, she reminds herself, even Harry found it too much then.

“I wish people had been this positive a few years ago,” Taylor murmurs, and the room nods in agreement.

After the meeting, she sidesteps Mom and walks with Tree down to the garage. “Just so you know,” Tree says, raising an eyebrow, “you don’t have to avoid dating.”

Taylor shrugs, stepping out of the elevator. “I don’t want to date anyone.” It wasn’t a lie, not from where Taylor was standing, just gentle deflection. She and Harry were not dating, not casual - they were so deep in that Taylor thought voicing it out loud to anyone was terrifying.

“But if you did, you should,” Tree insists.

“The stats say otherwise.”

Tree exhales slowly, her gaze steady. “Those stats exist because we live in a deeply misogynistic society that loves to build up beautiful, successful women, and then tear them down. Judging your love life is just the easiest way to tear you down.”

Taylor feels a heavy weight settle in her chest, a familiar ache. The words sting sharper than she expected, even though she and Tree have had this conversation a million times before and she has her back, hates how chauvinistic it is all is even more than Taylor does. She bites her lip, swallowing the lump that rises in her throat, her fingers curling tightly around her bag strap. It’s exhausting, this invisible pressure, this constant balancing act between being admired and being scrutinised. Sometimes it feels like no matter what she does, she’s never enough - not for the public, not for the press, not even for herself.

They reach Taylor’s car. Her security team stands ready nearby.

“It feels like shit being on the receiving end of that,” Taylor admits quietly.

“I know,” Tree says softly, “but don’t shut yourself off. You might meet someone wonderful.”

Taylor smirks. “Tried that.”

Tree grins. “Maybe next time, skip the boyband heartthrob. Anyone else, I got you.”

It’s a joke, but it lands like a punch in her gut. “Noted.” She forces a laugh and slides into the backseat.

As the car winds toward the airport, Taylor’s mind drifts between the persona she’s selling and the life she’s living. The gap between them has never felt wider. She wants Harry, more than anything, but to herself. He’s the boy every other girl in the world seems to want, and Taylor has him to herself behind closed doors. The thought of giving the world an opinion again on whether she’s really good enough for him fills her with dread.

Her phone buzzes. A text from Mom: “Honey, we need to talk x.” She swipes it away. Not now. Not today.

The car stops. Taylor straightens, fixes her smile, and steps out to greet the airport ground team.

***

New York again. The flight was bumpy, they’d hit air pockets somewhere over West Virginia and it hadn’t really smoothed out. There was a Z100 radio interview arranged for the afternoon; she gave it from the back seat of the car on the way from the airport. That was the trade-off for an empty apartment and a scalding shower, a moment to attempt to wash away the mess in her head. These days, she feels like she’s tripping over lies, unsure who she’s supposed to be for which room, which camera, which person. She told her dad she’d booked a girls’ holiday, to celebrate being young and single. Only when he looked at her strangely did she realise he knew about Harry. That look stayed with her, a quiet reminder that she needed to keep her shit together or risk exposing her dual life to the wrong person.

It’s midnight in London, but Harry promised he’d call, and this is their first moment alone all day. Taylor tucks her NYU sweatshirt over her knuckles and pads to the sofa to wait.

Her phone lights up. Harry.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, a little rough around the edges, like he just woke up. Taylor’s breath catches, and for a moment her chest feels too tight to breathe. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend he’s right there with her. That the eight-hour flight, the ocean, and the endless work commitments between them don’t exist.

Sometimes she lets her mind wander, dangerously. Thinking about a future with him. A pretty house in a New York suburb. Her cats, the dog Harry had always said he wanted, kids playing in the backyard. A life where they’d wake up in their own bed, weaving in and out of the spotlight together on their terms. The thought almost makes her ache with longing.

She shakes her head slightly, as if to dislodge the fantasy. A dream so far from their reality, it’s delusional. She doesn’t know what the future holds for them, but in no dimension do she and Harry live a normal, quiet life together. She’s never quite sure what to do with this daydream when it always circles back in her head to cold reality.

“Hey,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, pushing it all down. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

“Where are you?”

“Sofa, waiting for my takeaway. I wish you were here.”

“Me too.” Her fingers tighten around the phone, wishes she could climb through it and have this conversation in person.

They talk about small things first—Harry’s dinner order (sushi), her day (long), his day (longer), a song one of them heard that reminded them of the other. The mundane chatter feels like the kind others have, Taylor thinks, debriefing their day in front of the stove, cooking together.

“How was your meeting?” he asks.

“Good. Just the general stuff, you know how it is.” She hesitates, the lump in her throat swelling until she has to swallow hard.

“Oh, yeah?” She doesn’t even think he’s asking it as a question, not really. He yawns.

Then: “Harry?”

He’s quiet, waiting.

She swallows hard once more. The tightness spreads down her throat, and she forces a laugh, desperate to sound light. “The PR updates were interesting.”

“How so?” She can almost see him sitting on the phone in her mind’s eye, knotting his brows together.

“Independent, single, New York City Taylor is setting positive engagement records, apparently. For me at least.” She forces a laugh, wonders if she struck a light enough tone.

A pause stretches between them. When he speaks, his voice is flat, stripped of warmth. “Is that more important to you than us?”

It lands like a gut punch, knocking the air from her lungs. Her chest tightens painfully, and she presses the phone closer, as if physical contact might anchor her to him.

“No.” Her voice cracks, barely steady. “It’s just… fuck, it’s complicated.”

He sighs, long and heavy. “Is it?”

“To me, it is.”

“Tay, it’s just fucking optics. It’s not real life.”

“Don’t you think I know that? You think I like feeling like I’m playing a game just to win some kind of fucking public jury vote?”

“Then stop.” He says firmly.

“That’s so easy for you to say.”

Her words hang in the air, raw and ugly, and she hates herself for the bitterness. Her fingertips tremble against the phone, and a shiver runs down her spine.

“Is it?” he says finally, voice low and hard.

She ignores the weight behind those two words. Instead, she looks down at her hands clenched in her lap, nails digging into her skin.

“I feel like if I can just get through the next few months, maybe… I don’t know… people will just, maybe not care so much.” Her voice falters, and she swallows again, tasting the bitterness of her own uncertainty.

“But you’ll still care.”

His words slice through her, colder than she expected. “I can’t do this forever,” he says quietly. “Sneaking around and lying. God, my mates don’t even know I have a girlfriend!”

Her chest tightens more, breath catching in her throat. Fiercely, she blinks away tears pricking at the edges of her eyes.

“This isn’t ideal timing for either of us.” Her tone shifts, suddenly weary, drained. “We’re both about to head on tour. This isn’t the moment to make any hasty decisions.”

“Hasty decisions? Tay, it’s been weeks.”

His words hang between them, cold and sharp. Taylor can tell his anger is building, fuelled by hurt. She hates what this industry has done to her sometimes, hates having to admit how much she cares about her image and the lengths she’ll go to cling to success. She hates saying it out loud to him, it sounds so clinical and calculated.

“Exactly! It’s only been weeks, Harry.” She pushes back, feeling the tremor in her voice. “If the public conversation becomes about us, especially ahead of tour, your team will be pissed and the boys will hate it.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “They’ll deal with it.”

“It’ll be a whole load of shit for everyone involved. It’s not that simple,” she insists, voice breaking.

They fall silent, it feels suffocating, not anything like how it is usually with them. Taylor wants so badly to reach through the phone, to shake him, to tell him to open his eyes and see the reality for them both. But the silence sprawls between them, thick and impenetrable.

“Right,” he says quietly. “I love you, but I don’t even know where we go from here because I can’t keep going like this.”

She swallows hard, her throat raw. Confusion twists inside her like a knot. She knew how this conversation would go, knew he’d be hurt, but to know he can’t see her side at all. Taylor wonders if someone threw a rock at his head and gave him amnesia, so he can’t remember everything they went through. The shit and the awful comments, the vitriol directed at her. She doesn’t know how he can act like she’s being unreasonable after everything they went through, and everything she’s built in the last few years.

She takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to make anything worse tonight. She figures she probably needs to do some internal soul searching before she raises anything like this again.

“Let me think, okay. I love you, I’m just really in my head on this,” she says, clutching the phone like a lifeline, fingers curling so tight the plastic on her phone case creaks.

She can hear him soften slightly. “I love you too. Look, my food’s arrived. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? We can talk more.”

The line cuts out.

Taylor lets the phone slip slowly from her fingers, the weight of the conversation settling over her like a heavy cloak. She leans back against the sofa, eyes closing for a moment as exhaustion and uncertainty wash over her. She knows with a sinking certainty that she can’t let Harry go, but she can’t be his girlfriend in public. At least not right now. She has no idea where that leaves them.

Chapter Text

Taylor lies awake long past the hour she should’ve fallen asleep, the darkness pressing down around her like a weight she can’t shrug off. Her mind replays every word Harry and her exchanged during that call, the sentences looping over and over, twisting tighter around her chest until it feels hard to breathe. She feels terrible, no, worse than terrible. Angry at herself for even bringing up the damn public image stuff, for turning what was their one sacred moment together that day into a battlefield. Harry was clearly wounded, and Taylor feels like shit for that.

But beneath the guilt there’s something sharper, colder. She feels like she’s drifting farther away from the girl she was just weeks ago—the one who remembered who she was, the girl who chased her happy ending with reckless abandon. Now, she can almost feel herself pulling back, sabotaging their chance at happiness with her relentless need to control the story—the narrative of their lives, carefully curated and guarded.

Taylor knows Harry doesn’t want them parading around as a couple for fans and cameras. What he wants is for their lives to intertwine quietly, without the need to hide. But she also knows that once they let their guard down even a little, they’ll become public fodder again. And she’s not sure she has the strength to survive that storm a second time.

Love used to feel simple to her. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve, thrown herself headfirst into new romances with wild abandon. But somewhere over the last few years, something inside her shifted. She closed herself off, wrapped herself in walls of self-preservation. Even though she knows it’s a defence, a shield. She also knows it’s not healthy—not if she and Harry are ever going to build something real.

Morning comes too soon, and the relentless pace of her life pulls her forward. The next day is typically busy, a cycle of radio promo ahead of tour, a photoshoot, and a script sent over ahead of an SNL appearance. There was nothing to do apart from red pen it and send it back, adding in a few footnotes, but it was another thing on her seemingly endless schedule.

She hadn’t heard from Harry; she didn’t know if she should reach out or if he actually wanted space. She didn’t want to give him space if he was going to interpret that as her not caring. She knew she was probably overthinking it—he was busy and surrounded by people at rehearsals, he didn’t have the time or likely the privacy to send her messages. Especially not after last night, not after Taylor threw a grenade into the middle of their relationship.

But the silence felt unnatural. And as the hours passed and Taylor moved from commitment to interview to the car and to the shoot, she felt like she might openly crack if she didn’t hear from him soon. She put her sunglasses on as the car crawled through traffic towards Brooklyn, thinking she might say something stupidly honest if anyone looked at her tired eyes and asked if she was okay.

Harry sent a quick clipped message while Taylor was in makeup for her shoot. She tried to tell herself he was back to back and he’d sent what he could in the moment. She forced herself to send a goofy mirror selfie—tongue out and holding up a peace sign. She looked mildly ridiculous, but it seemed to break the tension. Harry texted back almost immediately: “You’re such a freak, but you’re my little freak xx.” Taylor snorts, making Jemma miss the extension she was trying to attach. “Argh, sorry, Jem!”

“It’s okay, we’re almost done. What do you think?”

Taylor barely glanced at herself in the mirror. She’d put together the mood boards for this shoot with her team and knew what she should look like. The extensions were just for volume, and she trusted Jemma implicitly. She was more interested in the dots on her screen - Harry was typing again.

Another message popped up: “I miss you like crazy. I’m sorry about last night xx.”

Taylor closed her eyes. He wasn’t the one who should be apologising; this one was totally on her. She didn’t know how to broach the subject again though, not without a repeat of last night. And she knew she had to. With everything running through her head, she needed to verbalise it to him. She needed it to make sense to him, for him to understand the battle she was fighting in her head.

He texts again: “Speak later? Xx.”

She mulls it over, deciding their next call isn’t the right forum. She needs to apologise to him properly, make things right between them before they dive back into the hard conversations.

She taps back three quick messages in succession: “I’m sorry for last night too, it was my fault, not yours xx.”

“I miss you insane amounts, I can’t wait to be with you xx.”

And: “I’m out for dinner with Cara & Karlie tonight, I won’t be home until late and you’ll be in bed? X.”

He messages back instantly: “Call me at midnight your time? I’ll get up earlier xx.”

“You’d set your alarm earlier for me? Xx.” Taylor knows she’s fully grinning now, and Joseph sends her a wink from across the room. She tries to pull her face under control, but she’s just so relieved it feels normal again with him.

“Anything to speak to you xx.”

Taylor flips her phone over as Lorrie appears next to her with a palette of lip colours. She just wants to mend things tonight - to get back to where they were, to hear his voice and feel normal again.

***

Taylor meets Karlie and Cara for dinner at Il Buco, a cocoon against the biting New York wind that nips at her ankles on the way inside. The glow from low-hanging lights melts into the brick walls, making their semi-private booth nestled in the corner feel even cozier. The air hums with chatter and the soft clink of glasses. She’s feeling better than she did earlier—the easiness between her and Harry has returned—but she knows a difficult conversation is looming. Now that the genie is out of the bottle and they have opposing views on how to navigate their relationship, the tension is real. Tonight, Taylor craves distraction, and Karlie and Cara are exactly the duo to provide it.

Her phone buzzes the moment she slides into the booth, almost synchronized with the squeak of the leather seat as she adjusts her skirt. It’s Harry, of course—his name lighting up her screen like a beacon. “Have fun, talk to you later beautiful x.” She can’t help but smile, the message a tiny, invisible thread tying her to him. He should probably be asleep too, given the time difference. She wonders why he isn’t. God, she misses him. The ache settles stubborn and familiar in her chest.

Taylor’s still staring at the message when Cara bursts through the door, a flash of energy in human form. Her bag thuds onto the seat before she wraps her arms tight around Taylor. Half-laughing as she squeezes her, Cara says, “Oh my god, sorry I was distracted and left late. Why the fuck am I late when I wasn’t even working today?” The nearest tables turn at the sound of her voice—her presence impossible to ignore.

Taylor laughs, instantly lighter. “Hey to you too, babe.”

Cara grins, eyes glinting. “Oh hey, I missed you, babe. I feel like I’m going to have to tag you to know what you’re doing, you’re everywhere.”

Taylor smirks. She’s exhausted, exactly like someone who’s everywhere all at once. Still, the success of the album made it worth it - she’d do it all again. “Stop. You’re not exactly quiet right now. We have to talk about the Chanel campaign - you look incredible. It’s on the conversation list for tonight.”

Cara rolls her eyes affectionately. “Conversation list, my god. You’re so type A, it’s embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” Taylor laughs, swiping jokingly at Cara across the table.

Karlie reappears from the restroom, pausing just inside their orbit. Her eyes widen as she takes in the two of them mucking about. “Caaarraaa,” she drawls, shaking her head with a slow grin. “Look at you, I’m obsessed.” Cara’s in a sheer black blouse and mini skirt, the kind of look that seems effortless because it’s her - like she woke up and threw it on without a second thought.

Taylor turns, receiving a tray of Negronis from a waitress. She’d ordered them on the way in to save a long wait for drinks. She thinks Cara’s right - she is far too type A and should probably relax, especially tonight. “Anyway, what were you distracted by?”

Cara taps on her phone.

“Do we have to do the phones thing?” Karlie says, half exasperated.

“No, no,” Cara says instantly, chucking her phone back into her bag like a scalding potato and holding up her hands. “We’re good here. Now, what are we having?”

Karlie points down the menu. “We should do the kale. It’s delicious.”

“Oh Jesus, please can we order some real food?” Cara whines good-naturedly.

“No, I promise, it’s so good. It doesn’t taste anything like actual kale.”

“You said that about the asparagus at Boucherie and it did, in fact, taste exactly like asparagus,” Cara teases.

“Wait, wait, before we get into an argument on the menu,” Taylor interrupts, “you were late tonight, so you owe us a round of drinks. But you also said you were distracted by something, so please - your audience is waiting.”

Cara slams both hands down on the table dramatically. “Oh god, okay. I was on the cesspool that is Twitter.”

“Tsk, is your brain rotted yet?” Taylor jokes.

Cara makes her eyes go really wide. “It might be, after what I just listened to.”

“Tell us,” Karlie says instantly.

Taylor feels her curiosity prickling. She leans further over the table. “Is this another viral thing I’ve missed?”

Cara’s lips curve into a smirk. “It’s viral if you’ve wandered into the wrong corners of fandoms on the internet right now. But I bet it’s bloody everywhere tomorrow.”

Taylor laughs. “Oh god, as long as it’s not me.” She knows it isn’t - Tree would’ve called already.

Cara tosses her hair over her shoulder and cackles a bit. “No, it’s these horny bloody boybands. You wouldn’t believe the stupidity.”

Boyband. Taylor flinches, hoping it’s not obvious. It’s so unlikely to be anything to do with Harry. So unlikely.

“It’s from years ago,” Cara continues, “but it’s Zayn and Harry.”

Fuck.

Karlie’s eyebrows shoot up. “As in, Zayn and Harry from One Direction?”

Cara fingers her phone in her bag, then thinks better of pulling it out and shoves it back. “Yeah, and there’s no way I can play it here, but they’re basically inviting fans up to their hotel rooms for sex. It’s honestly grim.”

Karlie scrunches her nose in disgust. “Ew.”

Taylor forces a light tone, but her pulse hammers against her skin. She can feel Karlie looking at her. “When’s the recording from?”

Cara is casual. “God, like 2012 or something. Not when you were together, babe. Summer-ish, I think.”

Taylor feels a quick rush of relief, then her mind backfills the timeline. That was the summer Harry wouldn’t leave her alone - telling her to leave Connor, promising he’d do anything for a chance. She remembers the intensity of him chasing her, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in focus. Apparently, she wasn’t the only thing after all. The thought stings.

“So, three years ago,” Karlie says, swirling her drink, “you’d hope they’ve grown up a little since then.”

Cara snorts. “Yeah, right. The things those lads get up to on tour - don’t get me started.”

Taylor starts to feel uneasy. Not only is Cara Harry’s friend too, but she has no idea they’re back together. Because if she knew, she wouldn’t be handling the situation like this - as some big joke that’s nothing to do with any of them. Cara would likely not have even told her. She’d expect Harry to tell her. And there wasn’t a shot in hell Harry wasn’t aware this was out there. His team would have sniffed it out, they’d be on damage control - trying to avoid it hitting mainstream press, trying to protect their status as role models. She wonders when he found out - surely before sending her sweet texts only fifteen minutes ago. The asshole.

“Girls back to the hotels every single night. Security picking them out of the crowd, like literally based on who the boys are into that week. It’s sick.” Cara continues, her voice almost fascinated. Taylor can’t tell if she means ‘sick’ in the gross or admiring way.

Karlie’s face is a picture. “Don’t some of them have girlfriends?”

Cara shrugs. “Doesn’t seem to stop them, from what I’ve heard.”

Karlie’s lips thin. “Wow. Classy.”

“And they’re going back on tour soon. Harry has, like, a girl in every city and their phone numbers saved for ‘convenient access.’”

Taylor wonders how this could get worse. And directly from Cara, someone Harry would confide in, share banter with about it. Even if it’s exaggerated, it feels sleazy, cheap, disgusting. The idea of Harry, her Harry, dialing random girls for meaningless quick fucks makes her want to vomit.

“I really need to text him and give him some shit about this tomorrow,” Cara says, almost as an afterthought before picking back up her cocktail.

Taylor tries to keep her reactions under control, sipping her Negroni like she doesn’t want to throw the glass. A wild part of her wants to tell Cara, to push her for more detail, to know everything about Harry’s behaviour over the years - his conquests. Karlie watches her, steady and silent. Cara slips away to the bathroom, leaving the table quiet.

Karlie leans in the moment Cara’s gone. “You need to ask him about this,” she says quietly, urgency sharpening her voice.

“Kar-” Taylor stabs at an olive, deliberately avoiding Karlie’s eyes. She feels deflated. She hates that Karlie has heard this about him, knows it will change how she sees him.

Karlie doesn’t back down. “Tay, that’s vile behavior, and it’s everywhere online. He’s your boyfriend-”

“Ssh.” Taylor grabs her wrist, looking around to see if anyone is listening. They’re tucked away in a booth, but it’s still a packed restaurant and anyone could be listening.

Karlie lowers her voice to barely a whisper. “Tay, you, of all people, know what he’s like. All those other girls over the years -you told me about the withheld numbers when you were together.”

Taylor flinches, the memory surfacing. All those late-night calls in 2012, Harry insisting they were just fans who had got hold of his number. But now, with this swirling around, she wonders how many fans he deliberately handed it out to, how many girls he invited up to hotel rooms to meet a need. Anger creeps in, but she forces herself to say, “That was ages ago. He’s grown up.”

Karlie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. But all this stuff - girls in different cities - Tay, is there ever smoke without fire?”

“People say things, Kar. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Karlie hesitates. “Cara’s his friend, Tay. This isn’t some online troll making things up.”

Taylor slips her hands under the table so Karlie can’t see them shaking. “He promised me, Kar. I have no reason not to trust him,” she whispers.

Karlie leans closer, voice barely above a breath. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I was at Nina’s the other night and Nadine was there. She told me Harry dumped her while they were on vacation together in New York in December. Apparently, he finished things with her, then went out for a walk and didn’t come back for several hours. When he finally returned to grab his case, he was in a bad mood and wouldn’t speak to her. She said she was pretty sure he’d been with another woman.”

Taylor goes cold - the kind of ice that turns your blood. “He told me they were casual.”

Karlie gives her a pointed look, tone matching. “That’s not what Nadine thought. She said he was supposed to meet her family after their New York trip.” She covers Taylor’s hand with hers. “She was transparent with me, she had no idea about you and him.”

Taylor’s eyes sting. “I can’t believe he’d be that much of an asshole.”

Karlie squeezes her fingers. “You need to ask him, Taylor. About all of it. If he wants you to be his girlfriend publicly, you deserve to know exactly who he is. You have to be able to trust him.”

Taylor nods slowly. She’s right. Maybe she’s been doing everything she can not to see what’s in front of her. Who Harry is. Who he has always been.

Cara reappears, smile bright and oblivious. “What’d I miss?” she chirps.

Karlie’s voice flips breezy and practiced as she raises her menu, waving it at Cara. “We’re debating main courses.”

Taylor leans back, scanning the menu, buying herself a few more seconds to breathe. She knows she needs to talk to Harry. Ask him about everything Cara told her tonight, push him on why he didn’t tell her himself. But she doesn’t know if she wants to hear his answers.

***

Taylor’s apartment feels colder than it should as she sinks onto the bed, phone in hand. She found it on Twitter, just like Cara said, in the murky, dodgy corners of the fandoms where nothing stays hidden for long. The comments beneath the video are a mess of outrage, jokes, and disbelief, but Taylor ignores them all. She presses play.

Harry’s voice is in the background, quieter. Zayn leads the conversation with the girls on the other end, but it’s obvious Harry’s feeding him lines, pushing him along. The recording is all at once worse and not as bad as she’d feared. Hearing it makes her feel tarred, like the seediness sticks to her just from listening. Still, at least now she knows what she’s dealing with before she has to face him. Maybe that’s why he was up hours ago - a guilty conscience.

Meredith is curled beside her, paws twitching in dreams, while Olivia paces at the foot of the bed, restless like Taylor. The city’s distant traffic hums, punctuated with frequent sirens. The last cocktail from dinner still lingers on her tongue, warm, buzzing just beneath her ribs - a little courage, maybe, for the talk she knows she has to have.

Just after midnight, the phone lights up. Harry’s name fills the screen. Taylor answers before she can talk herself out of it.

“Hey you,” his voice low and rough. He must’ve just woken up - it’s 5 a.m. in London. His car arrives at 6 a.m. for rehearsals, and Harry normally stays in bed until the last possible minute. He clearly really wanted to speak to her, and the clarity creeps in as she starts to sober up; there’s only one reason he’d be anxious to talk.

“Hey you,” she whispers back, voice soft so the cats won’t bolt. The call feels like a fragile thread stretching from her Manhattan bedroom to Harry’s Hampstead home, halfway across the world.

A pause. Just his breathing. She pictures him in his kitchen - hair tousled, boxers low, exhaustion from rehearsals etched in his face.

“How was your day yesterday?” Taylor asks, filling the silence.

“Yeah. Got back a bit early, actually. Rehearsals ended sooner than planned. Some… drama.” He sighs, fatigue threading through his words.

“What kind of drama?” she asks gently.

“Zayn and Liam had a bust-up,” he says, voice tight.

Taylor sits straighter. “Shit, like an actual fight?”

“Yeah.” His tone is flat, tired. She imagines him rubbing his temples, phone pressed to his ear.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t one thing, I don’t think. Just tension that boiled over. Zayn didn’t like the way Liam said something and he went for him.”

She pictures the rehearsal room - five lives tangled, expectations mounting, exhaustion pressing down. “Are you okay?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. It’s hard right now, feels like we’re all at odds constantly, pissing each other off. And Zayn and Liam are both dealing with their own shit, and neither wants to talk about it.”

“Are they talking to anyone?” Taylor asks.

“Doubt it, and no one’s forcing them while they keep showing up for work.”

He falls silent. She pictures his face, half-lit, shadows under his eyes.

“Lou’s not himself either. Think he and El are on a spiral, again.”

“God,” Taylor breathes. She can’t imagine juggling that weight on top of everything, having to keep in mind four other people’s welfare on top of an already intense job.

“And I’m probably not helping,” Harry adds. “Niall’s the one trying to keep us focused. He probably wants to murder us all.”

A small laugh escapes her but dies quickly. “Are you okay?” she asks again, slower this time.

He pauses for a long moment. “Not really. It’s like we’re not on the same team anymore. Everyone’s so quick to snap at each other. It never used to be like this.”

“Maybe it’s just everyone finding their rhythm again after the Christmas break,” Taylor offers.

“Maybe.” He sounds unconvinced. “I just don’t want things to slide towards a crap end for us all. Not after everything.”

Taylor closes her eyes, feeling the weight of his words, things she can’t help him fix. Before she can speak, Harry cuts in, voice suddenly taking on a different tone.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He almost stumbles over the words.

For a second, she’s right back in 2012 -knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched tight, listening to him talk about a model. He’d said they were just friends and it was a friendly goodbye kiss. He’d said he still wanted her. There were photos online that night. The two of them on a doorstep, looking like far more than friends.

Her heart pounds. “Is it about the recording of you and Zayn online?”

A long pause. His breath catches. “Did you… hear it?” His voice cracks.

She can’t lie. Her brain is playing the recording on repeat. “Yes.”

He swallows hard. “Who told you?” He knows she’s not online, that she goes out of her way to avoid this kind of thing.

“Cara.”

He goes quiet, then, “Fuck. I’m so sorry.” There’s a pause, like he’s gathering up all the words he wishes he could take back. “I know it’s disgusting.”

“Was this why you wanted to speak to me at the crack of dawn this morning?” Her voice is cold, the earlier fury flaring again.

“Yes. I didn’t want you to hear about it from anyone else.” His voice is thick.

“When did you find out?”

“About it or that it was out there?”

“That it was online. I assume you knew about it before then.” She knows there’s venom in her voice. She’d almost feel sorry for Harry having this aired in public if it wasn’t so vile he’d acted like that in the first place.

“Late yesterday. Wanted to call straight away but I knew you were busy with work and then you were out.” He sounds defeated, almost mournful.

“Was Zayn with Perrie then?” she blurts, needing to know if infidelity is the unspoken rule on the road, something they all turn a blind eye to and accept.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“What a great boyfriend,” she mutters, bitterness curling inside.

“No one thinks it’s okay,” Harry says quickly. “But it’s not our place to tell him what to do.”

Her disgust sharpens. “So did you just pass this girl around? Or take turns? What?”

There’s such a long silence, she wonders if the call has dropped. “It was three years ago,” he says finally. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You know what else was three years ago, Harry? You calling me all the time, telling me to leave my boyfriend and be with you.”

His voice is instantly defensive. “I meant it.”

“I know you did. You always do. Every feeling you have is the biggest thing in the world… until it isn’t.”

He bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t answer. He should know exactly what she means. He’s a hurricane, full-force and all-consuming, until he’s gone, leaving wreckage behind.

“The night in Central Park. You told me you and Nadine were casual, nothing serious.”

He goes still, and she can almost hear him holding his breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Apparently Nadine thought it was more serious than you let on.”

There’s confusion, a flicker of anger. “Where are you getting this?”

“Karlie told me you were going to meet her parents.”

He exhales, slow and heavy. “She was more into it than I was. I tried to let her down gently.”

“You took her on a romantic weekend and dumped her?” Her voice rises. Meredith shoots a dirty look, hopping off the bed.

“It was supposed to be a casual weekend away. We weren’t even properly together.”

“That’s shit, Harry.”

He makes a frustrated noise on the other end of the line.

“What, did you just leave her at the hotel and come meet me?” She pushes, feeling reckless.

“Why do you care?” Now he’s angry, voice tight.

“Because it makes me look awful. And it’s a shitty way to treat someone.”

“I didn’t promise her anything,” he insists.

“Great. That makes it all better.” Sarcasm drips.

He bristles. “Why is it always your friends talking shit about me?”

“Because they care about me.”

He starts pacing, voice speeding up. “This is why you won’t tell anyone about us. Because you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t want to be humiliated, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t,” he says immediately.

“You did before.”

And because the words are burning a hole in her chest, she finally asks, “Do you still have all those girls’ numbers in your phone?”

A stunned silence. “What?”

“The girls you hook up with in every city when you’re away.”

“Taylor, that’s fucking bullshit you’d even say that.”

“Is that a denial?” she demands.

His words come out in a rush, furious. “You go to dinner with Karlie and Cara, and then you come back and throw all this at me out of nowhere-”

“There’s a recording of my boyfriend online, Harry. Getting groupies up to his hotel room for sex. Do you know how that feels?”

“It was three years ago!” he shouts. “I can’t undo it!”

She spits the words out, voice breaking. “You’re an idiot. How am I supposed to do this with you, have everyone know, when this stuff keeps coming out?”

He’s breathing hard, voice raw. “You’re right, I am an idiot. But I’m trying, Taylor. I’m trying for us, and it feels like you’ll never trust me, no matter what I do.”

“Don’t turn this around on me,” her voice trembles. “This is on you.”

He goes quiet. “You know what? I don’t need this right now. I had a shit day yesterday. I’m going to go before either of us says something we regret.”

Taylor stays silent, she doesn’t know what else to say. The steam has run out of them both. He says, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” and hangs up.

Taylor sits in the dark, the city lights flickering weakly on the ceiling. The warmth of the cats is gone. The silence presses in. They never even talked about the fractured call from last night. Now, there are further, deeper, cracks between them.

***

The next morning, Austin arrives in the city. He was using Taylor’s apartment as a crash pad to attend a friend’s house party and a bar crawl with his university crew.

“Yo, Sis!” he yells, dumping his bag and slamming the door back open. “Bye, Sis!”

“Wait!” Taylor calls after him. “Am I even gonna see you while you’re here?”

He pops his head around the door. “Probably not, unless you fancy a 2 a.m. snack in the kitchen,” he snaps his fingers at her. “Later!”

“Don’t get so drunk you throw up in my hallway again,” she yells after him.

Later, she hears him sneak back in, dropping his key quietly on the entrance hall console table. Alone, thank fuck. She beats him to the kitchen and stands in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Well, it’s only 11 p.m.,” she says, tapping an invisible wristwatch.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed then?” He grumbles, rubbing his eyes and stumbling toward the fridge, clearly hunting for snacks.

“You said you were gonna be late late. Thought I’d come check on you since your stamina clearly isn’t what it was.”

Shoo,” he laughs. “Don’t you have a cat to spoon to sleep?”

“Fuck you,” she fires back, laughing too. “How was your night anyway?”

“We went too hard at happy hour. Mason fell asleep in the toilets, and Arn passed out, like, on the bar. I got a rickshaw back.” He’s now eating ham straight from the packet.

“Classy.”

That’s what we aim for.” He grins at her, and she pushes a glass of water over. “Drink. Especially if you wanna come to Good Morning America with me tomorrow.”

“I do not. Isn’t that a 4 a.m. wake-up call?”

She nods, and he shudders. “Hell no. You go, do your job thing. I’ll be in bed.”

“Fine.” She waves him away. “Enjoy your ham.”

“Sis, don’t go to bed yet. I don’t know what’s happening in your life,” he wheedles, younger brother tone slipping in. “How’s lover boy?”

He wasn’t joking when he said they went hard at happy hour. He’s definitely drunk.

Taylor drags her hand over the marble countertop, thinking. “He’s okay.”

 She doesn’t really know. They haven’t spoken. She texted him earlier, but no reply. Classic Harry, the minute things get difficult, he disappears. Hiding is easier. She’s always known it. It’s textbook him. But this was his mess to deal with, and that pisses her off. Which is exactly why she’s not messaging him again - at least not until he can call, face his fuck-up head on.

“Okay?” Austin pulls himself onto a counter stool. “That sounds incredibly average. And I didn’t think Harry was an average sort of guy.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes and chucks a tea towel at him.

“Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise.” He’s taking the piss, but Taylor’s face falls anyway. He catches it.

“Oh, actually?” He pauses mid-crisp shove. “You wanna talk about it?”

She looks at the countertop. “Have you been on Twitter lately? Or any dark corners of the internet?”

“Dark corners of the internet?” He gives her a weird look. “Like porn?”

“Jesus, Austin, c’mon!”

“That’s on you! What else is in the dark corners of the internet, you weirdo?”

“No, I mean like fan stuff.”

“Can you just say what you mean, please? Because I had shots and I don’t understand this cryptic shit.” His head tilts.

Taylor looks anywhere but him. “Have you heard anything about a One Direction voice recording?”

“Like a song recording?”

“No. Like a phone call recording where they ask fans to come to their hotel rooms to have sex with them.” She says it bluntly.

Austin freezes. “Holy shit, what?”

He scrambles for his phone and opens Twitter. She snatches it from him.

“Hey!” he exclaims.

“Stop. Don’t find it. Don’t play it.”

“Have you listened to it?” He asks, snacks forgotten.

“Yes.” She says it glumly.

“And? Is Harry on it?”

“Yes.” She pauses, holding her hand up because Austin is rising like he’s about to start a bar fight. “It’s from years ago, Aus.”

He sits back down quickly. “Right. So the issue is?”

“It’s vile. They’re treating her like a piece of meat being passed around. And I asked Harry about it, and he was defensive and-“ She stops, Austin rolls his hand like ‘keep going.’

“And then Cara told me Harry has numbers of all these girls in every city and uses them for casual sex.”

Austin’s face is a picture. Then he shakes his head fast. “Fuck. Did he admit it?”

“No, he just said my friends are always talking shit about him”

“Right, of course he did.” Austin says slowly, crunching a crisp thoughtfully. “Do you trust him?”

“I want to.” She answers honestly. “But this week has been tough. He told me he doesn’t want to sneak around anymore, but then this all comes out, and I don’t want to look like a fool again.”

She sighs, leaning forward on her hands. “It was all so perfect when we were in England. I thought we could do it this time. Harry was telling me he was all in, and I wanted that so bad.”

“Do you believe he’s doing that stuff now?”

She thinks. “I don’t know.” She says in a small voice.

Austin is silent, “he’s young and he has girls throwing themselves at him, that has to fuck with you”

I guess,” she says softly. “But I feel like he’s taking no responsibility. He hasn’t responded to a single message today. It’s like he just buries his head in the sand and expects me to move on too.”

Austin whistles slowly. “You need to protect yourself, Sis.”

“You told me to follow my heart and run after him to England!” she accuses.

“I stand by it.” He says instantly. “What, were you supposed to ignore how you felte about him and not follow your heart?”

She gives him a look.

“That wasn’t a question.” He says, slurring a bit. She thinks about how fucked it is that he’s seriously pissed and still trying to give her profound love advice. “Just because it’s hard and scary doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow your gut.”

“My gut is rooting for self-preservation.” She says, and Austin snorts.

“Is this just a dumb mistake from years ago? Or is this who he is?” she says helplessly.

Austin looks at her. “He’s twenty, Taylor. I think he probably still has a lot of growing up to do, a lot of figuring out who he actually is.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “But so do we all.”

“The question is,” he gestures with his water, spilling some over, “can he be who you need him to be right now?”

“Those are some wise words coming from a guy who has a ketchup stain down his tee.”

“Awww no,” he whines, giving it a half-hearted rub.

“Are you sure you can cope with going out again tomorrow?” she teases. “You’re a mess.”

“No, you’re a mess.” He shoots back with a grin. “I’m just drunk. Anyway, don’t deflect. Back to you.”

She watches his face as he turns serious, definitely not what she expected. “I feel like you guys need an honest conversation, Tay. All this back and forth, but your communication is shit.”

Her mouth drops open. “We talk every day.”

“About the hard stuff? I think you think you’re these shiny new versions of each other just because a few years have passed and you’re still into each other. But how do you move on and make it work if you don’t talk about why it didn’t work the first few times?”

She blinks. He’s right, obviously. It’s not conversations either Harry or she bring up because it feels heavy or like it would taint the here and now. But was it tainting them anyway?

“But either way, Tay,” Austin continues softly, “it probably shouldn’t feel this hard. You deserve someone who is all in.”

She breathes in, thinking about what to do next.

She thinks back to how different she’d hoped things would be this time. How she believed they’d both grown, changed, matured. But now, maybe they weren’t so different after all.

***

Taylor’s alarm blares at 4 a.m., sharp and insistent. “Okay, okay,” she mumbles, rolling over and smacking her phone off. She lies there a moment, telling herself she’s not exhausted, then fights the rising irritation that there’s still no message from Harry.

By the time they’re out the door - Austin’s bedroom door firmly shut with no sign of movement - Taylor is swept up in the early morning chaos of Good Morning America. Her entourage hustles her along, the streets outside already lined with fans. She steps out of the car, heels clicking on the pavement, and smiles warmly, waving as flashes pop.

She poses for pictures, eyes bright despite the hour, fans shouting over their merch and signs. But beneath the surface, her mind churns with Harry - no message, no call for over twenty-four hours. The knot in her stomach twists tighter, her anger flaring hotter. His silence makes her feel like she’s the unreasonable one, as if she’s created this situation in her head and blown things out of proportion. She oscillates wildly between being desperate for him to make contact and, the next moment, wanting him to stew in his own silence.

The interview runs smoothly, but still no word from him. The car snakes through the chaos of Times Square, and her mom casually asks, “What are your plans for Harry’s birthday?”

Taylor shrugs, eyes on the window. “Still figuring out what to get him.”

Her mother watches her, waiting for more, then picks up her laptop. Taylor can’t bring herself to voice the tangled mess that’s been circling her mind. She’s done rehashing it on repeat.

Taylor moves through the day like her legs are set in cement - press interviews, cross-checking tour plans. There’s almost no time to think of anything but work, yet there she is, having furious, one-sided conversations with him in her head.

It’s 8 p.m. in New York City when her phone finally buzzes. She’s eating quick noodles she whipped up, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim kitchen. She’d almost given up on hearing from him today. The message is brief: “Can we talk? x”

She pushes her bowl aside and messages him back, ‘okay’. She’s pissed; she wonders if that’s apparent to him in the brevity of her text. Her phone rings less than a minute later.

“Tay.” His voice is thick, his accent stronger than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“Where have you been?” she asks, biting her lip, trying not to let her frustration spill over immediately.

A pause. “I should’ve called. I just… freaked out after our conversation.”

She closes her eyes. “How does going radio silent fix anything?”

“It doesn’t, I know that. But it’s been a shit week, babe, and I didn’t know what to say when you lost it with me.”

“Harry—”

“I deserved it,” he says quickly. “You had every right to be angry. I should have handled it better. I really am sorry.”

“Why didn’t you call before then?” Her voice is still pissed off, but she can’t let him off the hook that easily - not when he hasn’t called her, not when that god-awful recording is likely still running rampant on the internet.

“I didn’t know what to say-”

“So you chose silence?” she interrupts.

“I’m really trying, Tay. Please believe me. I should’ve called, I know that. Tell me what to do to make it right.” He pleads.

“You could start by talking to me and telling me the truth.”

A ragged breath. “About what?”

“The other girls, Harry.”

“I’m with you. I’m not doing anything with other girls,” he says insistently.

“Right, but you have a reputation,” she says, her voice harsh. She needs him to understand how this affects her before she can move on. “And I feel that it isn’t totally unwarranted. I get these drip-fed bits of information about you and all these other women, and you act like it’s all crap I should ignore.”

“It’s not all fair,” he admits. “But I get that it doesn’t look great. I just need you to trust me.”

“Okay.” She steadies herself, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“I’ve been on the road for four years, and I’m twenty. What do you want me to say, babe? There’s always someone waiting for me to trip up, hunting for dirt to make me look bad.” He inhales sharply. “Have I slept with groupies? Yeah. Have I sometimes treated girls like they’re disposable? Yeah. I’m not proud of it. But you and me? Nothing else compares, Tay. I’ll do anything to make this work.”

“Okay.” She exhales slowly, blinking back the sting in her eyes as she tries to think.

“It’s hard when I’m not with you,” he admits haltingly. “Feels like I’m going a bit nuts. I fucking hate having these conversations over the phone.”

“I know. Me too.” She feels herself soften, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

“When are we seeing each other again?” he asks wryly.

“I’ll be in LA on Sunday,” she says quietly. “Managed to move a few things around. Couldn’t miss your 21st.”

“But you’re not coming to my party,” he says softly, already knowing the answer.

“I can’t get out of my schedule on Saturday, Harry. It’s been planned for months.” She pauses. “I’ll see you at your place on Sunday, and we’ll celebrate then.”

She closes her eyes, the weight of everything settling over her. Is she imagining they’re limping along, or is it a catastrophe building in her head? It feels like riding a high with him - crazy in love - then getting shot and slowly bleeding out. She knows it’s a negative spiral, a self-fulfilling prophecy with Harry. But every time it feels too good to be true, and then they crash. She shakes herself, frustrated at how often she goes straight to this place in her head, so fatalistic about the two of them.

She knows he’s disappointed she won’t be at his birthday, and there’s nothing she can say or do to fix that. Except maybe popping up through his cake as a surprise guest, she thinks wryly - and that would be a terrible idea.

“I really love you, you know,” he says, voice lighter now.

“I really love you too.” She tries to let those words sink in, calming the anxiety knotting her chest.

She glances down at her freshly painted toenails as the call ends. Both of them know this isn’t over - that there’s more to face when they’re finally in the same room again.

***

Taylor moves through the next few days on autopilot, everything surrounding her feeling more intense than ever. She can’t figure out if she’s in a funk or work is just piling up faster than normal, deadlines and meetings crowding her hours. Still, Harry has again reverted to that familiar, funny, warm version of himself - sending memes and playful messages she knew he thought would brighten her day.

If he’s still wrestling with the pressure of work and the boys, he doesn’t mention it. That thought unsettles her, she can’t imagine the tension between the band and his worries around it have gone away over overnight. And the idea that he has so much bubbling away under the surface that he’s not telling her, makes her feel unnerved. Like he’s putting on an act for her, the last person he should ever have to perform for.

She buries herself in planning an intimate celebration for Harry’s birthday. Just the two of them, the day after his big LA party. He’s clearly excited, but Taylor notices how little he mentions it to her - like her absence from the main event is a silent wedge between them. She knows Jeff and his LA crew are running the big bash, handling every detail, while she’s stuck on the sidelines. Secret girlfriend, she reminds herself. Harry wanted her there and she said no. It’s the smart move - they both needed to be careful - but the pit in her stomach won’t quit. She feels shut out from a huge part of his life, she wishes things were different, that she could stand proudly by his side as he blows out his candles. Lead the Birthday cheers as he grips her hand.

In her kitchen, Taylor grabs her mixing bowl and runs her finger down the recipe book. She’s canceled dinner with Lily tonight, there’s no way she had time for baking and dinner tonight. She has to make Harry’s birthday cake before she flies out to LA. The chocolate ganache is rich and glossy, she thinks he’ll love it. As she tries to multitask - mixing icing, scrolling Tumblr, replying to fans - she wipes flour on her pyjama pants, quicker than a trip to the sink. She fills a piping bag, and hover over the cake.

Her phone buzzes. A message from Harry. A selfie in the mirror, all dressed up and ready to head to his party. Taylor sighs, the familiar ache tightening in her chest. She knows exactly why it makes her feel like shit, but still, she can’t change it and she’s going to make tomorrow special for him instead. She taps back quickly: “You look so hot. Have an amazing night, I love you xxx.”

He pings back a message instantly: “I love you xxxxx.”

Taylor flips her phone face down on the counter. No more obsessing tonight. He needs to have fun, enjoy every minute of his bash without feeling pressure to keep in constant communication with her. She pushes her fringe back off her forehead and takes a deep breath, then picks up the piping bag again, and gets back to work.

Chapter Text

Harry’s place in Los Angeles feels like stepping into a cold, sterile gallery. The walls are vast white planes, broken only by massive modernist art pieces that feel more like trophies than décor. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with harsh morning light, offering no refuge from the feeling that anyone, anywhere, could be watching in. It’s everything Taylor despises in design, but she gets the sense this is Harry’s ‘I’ve made it’ house - probably a near replica of some of his friends’ places, based on what he’s told her. She thinks he said he used Jeff’s interior designer, which tracks. She’d never say any of this to Harry, of course - he adores the sleek minimalism, how the house perfectly blends in with its neighbours in the trendy hills. Taylor doesn’t know exactly why it makes her skin crawl; it just feels worlds away from the cozy New England aesthetic she’s crafted for her own homes. And Harry looks at home here, softer somehow. Against the severity of the art and harsh white walls, she sometimes thinks he feels like a different version of himself.

Harry gave her a key, said he wanted her to have access to his places. He’d handed her one to his London house too, though she’d never asked. It felt slightly pointless, Taylor’s own LA home was just minutes away, but the sentiment, the way his eyes softened as he slipped the keys into her bag, had been sweet. Balancing the cake and her shopping in one arm and Harry’s birthday presents under the other, Taylor unlocks the door, shoulders it open, and drags her case inside.

She almost calls his name but remembers he thinks she’s landing later this morning. This early arrival is supposed to be a surprise, and she smirks to herself. She’s wearing the sexiest lingerie she’s ever bought, scraps of black leather so indecent they barely qualify as underwear. But it’s Harry’s birthday, and she knows this will drive him wild. She pads up the stairs, her footsteps light and careful, building her own anticipation. Silence. No way he’s up yet. She’s going to crawl in and wake him with her mouth.

Except his bed is empty. The sheets are made, untouched. Taylor runs her fingers over the pillow, as if she could will him back. He said he’d be here, coming home after the party. Sure, she expected him to get in at the early hours, but it’s nearly 8 a.m. Where the fuck is he?

She dials his number. Straight to voicemail. Again. Same result. His battery died, she guesses. She heads back down to the kitchen and scrolls online for a bit, nearly talks herself into taking off the thong - it’s essentially dental floss at this point - she thought she’d only have it on for three minutes once she was in the house. God. She checks her phone again; 9 a.m. Surely he’s awake by now, at least enough to notice the phone’s dead and plug it in. Maybe she should call one of his friends, reach out to Cara, ask if she knows where Harry ended up last night. But no one knows about her, the secret girlfriend, and it feels crazy to open that can of worms right now. Besides, he’s not a missing person; probably crashed at a friend’s. Still, the gnawing in her stomach twists between worry and anger, and she can’t tell which is stronger.

Her eyes drift to the bag of breakfast items she brought, lying on the marble countertop. She should refrigerate it all since he’s not here. She starts putting everything into the almost empty fridge, just a pint of green juice in the door. Taylor wrinkles her nose; it’s Harry’s latest hyper-health fixation. The champagne goes in the fridge door last.

Around 10, the sound of a key turning in the lock makes her freeze. A few unsteady footsteps echo down the hallway. Taylor inhales deeply, closes her eyes, and lets a small smile tug at her lips. “Hi, birthday boy.”

Harry appears in the kitchen doorway, eyes bleary, hair tousled in every direction, clearly dressed in last night’s clothes - an unbuttoned black shirt showing his pecs and a crucifix hanging from his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he says first, eyes flicking over the empty food carrier bags, the cake tin, the small pile of gifts. “I thought you’d be here later. I stayed at Jeff’s.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Taylor says, her voice calm but tight. She’s trying not to lose her shit entirely. She’d had a late night, followed by an early flight. She’d brought all the things she knew he loved for breakfast and baked him a fucking cake. And here he was, looking like he’d slept in a hedge.

He crosses the room, wraps an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Well, I’m here now, and I’m so happy to see you.”

“Happy birthday, babe,” Taylor breathes, pressing her cheek against his. She tries to will away the prickling irritation. “Do you need a nap? I can make you brunch instead of breakfast.”

“Only if you’re coming to bed too,” he replies, stepping back and lacing their fingers together. He tugs her gently, and Taylor smiles despite herself. “Let’s go.”

She drops her phone on the counter as they move toward the stairs. Halfway up, Harry slips off his shirt and bends down to kiss her. “It really feels like my birthday now you’re here,” he says softly.

Taylor wraps her arms around his neck and jumps onto his waist, legs hooking tight around him. Harry laughs in surprise, a deep, throaty sound bubbling up, then carries her backward into the bedroom, flinging her onto the bed and climbing on top, bracing his arms on either side of her. The morning light filters through the blinds, casting stripes across them both.

Why is it so easy with him? He melts her into jelly in the best possible way. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she whispers, gripping her dress and shimmying it up, revealing the daring lingerie beneath.

“Fuuuccckkk,” Harry groans appreciatively, grinning wide. He slides the tiny leather patch aside and lowers his mouth, sucking gently at her nipple. “You look so hot, babe.”

Taylor almost relaxes into it - he’s always so focused on her pleasure. But today is about him.

“You first,” she whispers huskily in his ear, eager to drive him wild.

She nudges him onto his back and crawls down the bed, feeling his hands grip the sheets tight in anticipation.

***

They spend the morning tangled in bed together, the sheets rumpled around them like a cocoon. Harry’s head rests against Taylor’s collarbone, his breath shallow and slow, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead betraying his heavy night or rather how hard they’d gone for it this morning despite his hangover. The underwear had been a hit, though she wasn’t sure she could ever wear it again, Harry had ripped it off in a fevered tug, desperate to get access to every inch of her body. It was somewhere on the floor now, probably beyond repair and she didn’t care. It had got exactly the reaction she wanted. She strokes gentle circles on his back, her fingers tracing the familiar curve of his spine, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm.

Harry shifts slightly, blinking sleepily as he stretches out, his  hair falling over his eyes.

Taylor leans down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Still feeling rough?” she murmurs, voice low and tender.

Harry grins, voice thick with sleep. “A bit. Jeff made me do three tequila shots, one after the other. Thought I was going to vom on his shoes.”

She smiles, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Well, it was your 21st.”

Harry grins and kisses her neck. “It was a fun night, but I much prefer being in bed with you.”

“I thought you were hungover, are you sure you can go for round three now?” She teases, seeing the familiar hunger cloud his eyes. “Or would you like brunch first?”

“That’s not a fair choice” he says slowly, hands moving up her thigh. “Because I’ll pick round three with you every time”

“Even if I made you hash browns?” Taylor says slyly.

Harry’s head flips up from her chest so quickly it’s comical. “You didn’t?”

“Oh, I did.”

He’d made a thing about hash browns and full English breakfasts one of the first nights they’d spent together. He’d been living in his friends converted loft and had convinced Taylor to leave her hotel and come out to North West London to stay with him. Ben and his wife were away, he’d told her on the phone, they’d have the place to themselves. He’d showed her his vinyl collection, given her the best oral of her life up until that point, and then made her breakfast in his boxers. He’d asked if she wanted baked beans and had laughed when Taylor said it was a weird thing to have for breakfast. “Okay, I’ll let you off the beans” he said, waving a spatula at her, “but I insist you have a hash brown”.

“You know we have hash browns for breakfast in America?“ she’d teased.

“Not like ours” he’d said, pulling the tray out the oven and dropping it on the counter.

“Aren’t these just store brought ones you’ve heated up?” She’d asked, going up for a closer look.

He’d flashed her a look of mock hurt, “I’m a very busy popstar, I didn’t have time to make them from scratch.”

Taylor grinned at him and hopped onto the worktop, grabbed one from the oven tray in spite of Harry’s protests and blew on it to cool it down. “Well, maybe one day this also very busy popstar will make you some herself”

“I’ll hold you to that” he laughed, grabbed her by the waist and pulled in for a kiss.

Harry’s voice pulls her back to the present, “I think, upon reflection, maybe brunch first. For energy”

Taylor snorts and swats him. Then leaves him in bed and heads to the kitchen.

***

Taylor moves the trays and empty plates off the bed after they’ve eaten brunch. She’d done as close to a full English as she could, but she’d held the beans. She still thought it was too weird.

“That was so good, love. I could eat another thirty of those hash browns”

Taylor leans over and kisses him. “I’m glad you enjoyed. Can I give you your presents”

“You got me more presents? I thought what you were wearing earlier was my Birthday present and next Christmas’ too.” He grins wickedly.

“Well the lingerie set was, I regret to inform you, a one hit wonder due to your enthusiasm.”

He sends a heat filled gaze her way.  “I’ll buy you a hundred more of them”

Taylor kisses him deeply, hand round his jaw and her body hovering just above him. Harry responds quickly, kisses her more assertively, starts to rock his hips, into hers. God it would be so easy to just, but no, “presents” she says firmly “I want you to open your presents”.

She sits up and Harry is panting slightly. His dick is hard again. She thinks the pair of them might actually be insatiable.

Taylor brushes a hand over him, and he groans, “we can get right back to it once you’ve ripped off the paper”’ she whispers in his ear. Then she leans over the bed and picks up the pile of presents from the floor.

Harry is still lying there, eyes closed and hand scrunched in the sheets like he’s holding himself back from something. Taylor smirks and gently flicks his torso.

Harry snaps one eye open and takes a peek at her holding the presents, then sits up quickly in one fluid movement and waggles out his hands like an excited kid.

“Okay, go… wait, this one first,” she says, picking it up with both arms and handing it off with a small smile playing on her lips.

Harry’s arms sag slightly under the unexpected weight, but he grins as he rips the paper away. His eyes widen when he pulls out the sleek electric guitar, running his fingers reverently over the glossy blue body and smooth fretboard. He’d said he’d wanted to learn piano properly a few weeks back, and she’d fully intended on buying him one and installing it in his living room as a surprise gift. But they were meant to be sneaking around and there was no way she’d have got one delivered under the radar, not without help from an unsuspecting member of Harry’s team. So she’d moved to plan B, headed to her favourite guitar shop in the East Village and picked this out.

“An electric guitar?” he asks, voice filled with awe. “How’d you know?”

Taylor shrugs, amused. “How’d I know what?”

“That I wanted to learn? This is mad. This is perfect,” he gushes, leaning over to brush his lips against hers.

She laughs, remembering the first guitar she gave him, the one from their first and only Christmas together. He still has it, though his collection has grown since then. “I know Niall’s your preferred teacher now,” she teases, “but I could kick things off with a lesson, free of charge this time, as its your Birthday.”

“That’s so generous of you,” Harry replies with a low chuckle, his hand sliding to cup her breast.

Taylor bats him away, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not yet. Open the rest of your presents.”

She watches as he unwraps carefully: Saint Laurent accessories - a belt and a scarf that feels a little ridiculous but perfectly Harry - and then a slim book of love poems. She suspects she’s more into poetry than he is, but with him writing more these days, she likes the thought of it sitting on his bookshelf or tucked in his suitcase for inspiration.

Harry looks up, eyes softening. “I love everything.”

Before she can respond, he pins her gently beneath him, the wrapping paper rustling beneath their bodies.

“Now about that third round” he says throatily into her ear and Taylor pulls him down for a kiss in response.

***

“Ok, close your eyes,” Taylor says, her voice soft but teasing.

“Ok,” Harry replies, a grin tugging at his lips.

“No peeking. Let me just-“ Taylor quickly strikes a match and lights the 21 candles scattered across the cake. She swears she spots him sneaking a look through his fingers.

“Harry!” she scolds playfully.

His mouth quirks into a crooked smile as he pulls his fingers back together. They’ve finally made it downstairs. Taylor’s wearing one of Harry’s old tour t-shirts.  

“I like you having my face over your tits, babe,” Harry had whispered in her ear as she’d pulled it on.

“As well as the other boys, yeah,” she’d replied slyly, pushing back into him with a smile. He’d snorted and given her bum a light slap.

Taylor finishes lighting the candles, blows out the match, and holds the cake out in front of her. She sings “Happy Birthday” from top to bottom. It feels a little ridiculous, just the two of them in the kitchen and her singing at the top of her lungs, but she wanted to do it properly.

Harry’s enthusiasm makes the late-night baking worth it. “It’s amazing. God, you’re amazing, love.”

“You should cut it,” Taylor says, fingers hovering over the cake slice.

“Nah,” Harry says, grabbing a fork and digging straight in. Chocolate icing dips and starts to slide down, but Harry catches it expertly and dips in again. “Mmm, babe, that’s so good. You’re a genius.”

He sits down in the middle of the cool kitchen floor like a little kid, his cake next to him. He pulls Taylor onto his lap, and they settle there, feeding each other cake. The sweetness melts on her tongue, rich and comforting.

Taylor thinks briefly about the calories but pushes the worry aside. She’ll go hard in the gym tomorrow, eat less than usual. She hates that she even thinks that way. Harry’s got his own fucked up relationship with his body, too. Not something they talk about, ever. Probably another thing to add to their long, unspoken list. She worries about him sometimes. LA’s weird health culture can be brutal, there’s always a fanatic pushing the latest craze.

Harry jumps up to refill their champagne glasses, and Taylor finally remembers to ask about his party. Not that she hasn’t wanted to, but the morning’s been full enough.

“Was good,” he says, pausing by the fridge. “Would’ve been better if you’d been there.”

Taylor tries to ignore the weight behind those words. She doesn’t know what to do with them really, not when it’s ground they’ve gone over a hundred times recently. Not when her boyfriend didn’t make her 21st and it made her feel like complete shit, so she should maybe have more empathy for Harry, she thinks. But this isn’t that situation. Harry knew she wasn’t coming. They agreed it was for the best. Except hungover and vulnerable Harry apparently feels differently now, in the cold light of day.

He’s a little sulky and reflective for the rest of the day. Makes a thing of it when she suggests pulling up calendars to plan ahead.

“Sick of it being this difficult,” he grumbles, clattering a bowl into the sink.

Taylor waits for him to continue.

“It’s like, wouldn’t it be amazing if we were just in the same place, always, without it being a fucking effort?”

She folds her arms, eyes on the floor. “But that’s not how it is for us.”

“Yeah, I know. Just saying.”

What’s the point in you just saying that? Taylor retorts angrily in her head. But she knows he’s hungover and not feeling his best, so instead she says, “c’mon babe, let’s go chill out.”

He smiles then, grabbing her bum and pulling her into his hips.

They choose The Little Mermaid, something familiar in the background. Taylor finds it comforting, a soft anchor from childhood.

“Gem and I used to watch this about 200 times a day in summer holidays. Drove Mum mad,” Harry says, voice slightly raspy.

Taylor smiles at him fondly. “Us too. I wanted to be Ariel so bad.”

Harry ruffles her hair. “Think that makes me Eric.”

“Yeah,” she says, giving him a wink.

They doze on the sofa on and off while the film plays. Taylor tucked into Harry’s chest, she pulls out her phone as he squeezes her tighter.

“No work today. You’re mine,” he says, but she can feel the smile in his voice against her hair.

“It’s not work. You haven’t shown me any of your party pictures, Styles. I’m forced to look on the internet.”

“Arrggh,” he laughs. “Major oversight. Let me message Jeff and get some to show my girl.”

Taylor swipes through the pictures on People anyway: Nick, Alexa, Cara, Jeff - the usual suspects. Then, oh.

“Oh, I didn’t realise Kendall would be there?” she asks, voice light but curious.

Harry shifts uncomfortably behind her. “We’re mates, you know that.”

Do I? Taylor thinks. Because it feels like new information.

“Yeah,” Harry continues, “’cause of Jeff and their families, y’know. It’s not awkward.”

Harry would frame it like that, Taylor thinks. But why does it always feel like he keeps his options open with a long list of girls who aren’t pissed at him, even though they probably have a stack of reasons to be?

“Sure,” Taylor says finally, with a shrug. Harry seems pleased she doesn’t seem bothered. He stretches his legs down the couch and rests his head on her lap, eyes back on the TV.

Taylor combs her fingers through his hair absentmindedly. It doesn’t feel right to challenge him, not when things are already feeling a bit off after his comments today. Not while they’re meant to be celebrating.

“Just so you know,” Taylor breaks the silence, anything to stop thinking about Kendall Jenner at his party, “you had every right to get smashed and crawl in this morning.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, you get a pass because you only turn 21 once.” She smiles wide and flops over onto his chest.

“Maybe we’ll go on holiday next year instead of me getting wasted,” he deadpans.

“That would be nice,” Taylor says, and she means it.

***

Taylor can feel it coming, a heaviness pressing down as the day inches forward. She knows she has to say something, wonders if Harry’s feels the same weight tied to the conversation they’ve both been dodging, the one they’d do anything to avoid. But after the last week, the tense calls, the recording, fuck, everything - it’s inevitable. Today’s been like a rosy sitcom: light, fluffy, nothing feels too much, and the leads don’t have any messy real-life shit going on. She knows that’s not their reality, despite how fucking perfect everything seems when they’re just left alone.

In the end it’s Harry who unknowingly sets the wheels turning. She asks about the plans for tour, voice light, trying to catch a moment of normalcy. He talks animatedly about the set list, what the stage will look like, but when he gets to the schedule, his voice hitches. Just a flicker, but Taylor catches on.

“Babe,” she says, sliding her hand over his.

A few tears slide down his cheeks. He brushes them away in frustration.

“It’s just a lot. I’m alright.”

He stands and moves to the window, hand pressed flat against the glass, like he’s posing for a teen magazine, or trying to smash his way out. Taylor follows, her steps soft on the poured concrete floor.

“You’re not okay,” she whispers. “I think that the pressure of the distance, with how hard we’re both working right now. It’s too much.”

He turns his head to the side to look at her, his eyes are rimmed red. “I just want to get to a place where I can breathe. Make my own choices, decide myself what bloody country I’m going to visit on tour and how long I want to be on the road. And be able to see you whenever we want, without having to play tetris with our fucking schedules just to snatch a day together”. 

Taylor leans back against the wall, looking out at the hills beyond. Harry’s house might not be her style, but she can’t deny the views are breathtaking - rolling, endless mountain, it felt like a metaphor for freedom itself. So why did it feel like the walls were closing in on them both inside.

“I want all of that for you, for us” she says finally. “But that isn’t the world we live in right now.”

“Babe, I don’t-“ Harry pauses, searching for words, “I don’t think the lads and I want to do this forever.”

“You don’t say,” Taylor teases lightly, a small quirk on her lips. “So no singing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ together at 70 in Madison Square Garden?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, but there’s warmth in it now. “Dunno… maybe just to show our kids, I would” he darts a shy side long smile at her.

His casual mention of a future with hypothetical kids twists something inside her, a tender bud of hope. Maybe, maybe, that was could happen if they were smart about this, if they played the long game. Taylor feels the corners of her mouth turn up to match Harry’s smile.

“I think some of the other lads are close to being done. We all need a decent break, at the very least” he says next, forehead wrinkling.

“What about you?” Taylor asks, deliberately looking at the hills rather than him as she asks. “How do you feel?”

Harry grips his mug tighter. “I don’t want to jump before we’re properly done. I don’t want them to say I broke up the band.”  

He bites his lip, lost in thought. She thinks he’s probably spent a lot of time turning over the Robbie Williams and Justin Timberlake of it all in his head. The narrative’s already out there, that Harry will be the first to go solo. Everyone expects it, which is why she knows he won’t do it, even if it would give him an advantage to jump start the first solo career.

“But I also want to wake up next to my girlfriend every day and make some music that’s just mine.”

He pushes off the window, hooks a hand around her waist and pulls her to him.

“I think it’ll be easier for us when the band’s over. We just need to make it through another year or so like this, yeah. Manage the bloody schedules and try to see each other as much as we can,” he says, his other hand brushing her jaw.

Taylor chooses her next words carefully, the weight of them heavy on her chest. There’s no part of her that wants to start this conversation on his Birthday. But if not now, when? On a phone call when he’s in Japan and she’s in London? On a snatched night together in New York?

She can feel her hands are clammy, her throat dry. But she makes herself force it out, for the sake of both of them, she reminds herself.

“Harry” she says finally, and he looks quizzically at her. “Things are nuts right now. We’re both running on empty already, and it’s only going to ramp up once we head on tour. And I’m worried about you, about the amount you’re dealing with with the boys, it’s a lot. And I think…….” She stumbles a bit, tries to gather herself to continue. “I think we need to make a sensible decision about us, however hard that is.” She can hear the words come out of her mouth as if she’s listening to someone speak a different language.

Harry’s brow creases, his grip around her waist loosens. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe we take some breathing space. Just for a bit, while everything is this intense.”

Harry stares at her for a second.

“No.” There’s a tremble in his voice, he pushes back from her. Taylor feels terrible.

“Harry-“

“If it’s about about the band, I can quit tomorrow” he says, mouth set in a thin line.

Taylor has a vivid image of a press headline comparing her to Yoko Ono.

“No you can’t. No more than I can cancel anything my end. Harry, you’re going on tour! People are counting on you.”

“Are you dumping me on my birthday?” His voice tries to joke, but he won’t meet her eyes. Her heart feels like it might shatter.

“I’m not dumping you.”

“So what then?” His eyes burn into her, furious and filled with tears.

“A short break. Just until our tours are done. To take the pressure off.” She says evenly.

He exhales deeply, stepping back, rubbing his eyes. Taylor knows he hates this - the confrontation, the hard truths. Especially when it comes to them and the wheels coming off. Sometimes she wishes she could flip them into an alternate dimension where they meet at a water cooler in work. She thinks she’d hold onto him for eternity in that world.

She watches him run her suggestion over in his mind, hesitant before he even knows what he feels. He pushes hair from his face, sighs.

“I finish tour in October. That’s eight months away.” He pauses. “When are you done?”

“December 12th,” she breathes.

“Right.” He grimaces, finally meeting her gaze. “That’s a really long time.”

He doesn’t say it’s a bad idea. That’s how she knows he’s struggling.

“I know. But I think it’s the right thing for both of us. And it’s not forever.”

“I don’t want to see you with anyone else, Tay.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like the idea of it is painful.

Taylor knows the feeling. Thinks of all the models he’s been with - the ones she knows about and the ones she doesn’t - and wants to handcuff him to her forever,

“There’s no way I really have time for a boyfriend now,” she says slowly. “Harry, if it’s not you, it’s not anyone.”

The relief in his smile feels like a balm. “I feel the same. Only want a girlfriend if it’s you.”

“And we can still talk. It’s not like we have to go radio silent.”

“Think I’d go mad if I didn’t have you to talk to.” He pulls her close, like they haven’t just decided to put space between them.

“I’d miss your shit jokes too much,” she says, grinning. He nips her neck, playful despite the heaviness.

Later, he pushes her deeper into the sofa, knees braced. They make love like they’re trying to capture it on film. Taylor tries to hold onto everything: the heat of his skin, the roughness of his breath, the way his hands move with both urgency and tenderness. She wants to capture it all, lock it away for the days when they’re not together.

She tries to keep it light, to make these ticking moments the best they can be, but sadness creeps in, prickling at her eyes. Fuck, Taylor, she tells herself. Not now. Just enjoy.

Harry finishes with a sharp gasp, collapsing onto her, his weight warm and heavy. When he pulls back, he sees the tear falling down her cheek.

“Babe,” he murmurs tenderly, brushing his hand to swipe it away. “Don’t. It’s okay.”

“Sorry. Just- I'm okay.”

“Are you? I’m not.” His honesty makes her feel worse.

“Have I made this a really shit birthday for you?” Her lip trembles.

“No. You were here. That’s all I needed.” He rolls off her, pulling off the condom. “You gave me the perfect day, love. Wish we could do this forever.”

Taylor feels sticky, overheated on the couch, like she could claw her own skin off. She wonders if she should leave, skip the night, confront their looming goodbye tonight.

“C’mon, love. Let’s go to bed.” He reaches for her hand, still naked, chest taut, hair brushing his shoulders. Taylor wants to burn an image of him like this onto the inside of her eyelids.

Instead, she follows him upstairs, gripping his hand tight.

***

Sunlight streams in through the window, harsh and unfiltered, and Taylor immediately remembers one more reason she hates this house. The interior designer clearly didn’t care about rest because the blinds were fuck all use, letting in every golden ray like they’re mocking her one lie in for weeks. She squints, rubbing her eyes, then turns to Harry, who’s still face down on the pillow, deep in sleep.

She lets her fingers trail gently down his back, memorising how he feels, the steady rise and fall of his breath. There’s something sacred about this quiet, the kind of stillness where time doesn’t rush and no one’s chasing them. “I can feel that,” he murmurs, voice rough and muffled against the pillow. He shifts slightly, pushing his hair aside so she can see that familiar smirk curling on his lips.

With his free arm, he pulls her closer, dragging the sheet over both their heads like a fortress. “Let’s stay here so they can’t get us,” he whispers, breath warm  against her face.

Taylor answers with a slow, lingering kiss, the kind that starts to stir something in her. “Okay, or that,” he chuckles, as she slides on top of him.

Harry ends up bringing fruit and coffee into bed, spilling more than a few drops while trying to steal kisses between sips. Taylor watches, amused as he uses a towel to dab at the stains, wondering if he’ll change the sheets later - and then remembers, of course, they have people for that. She catches herself wanting to do normal things sometimes, the kind of everyday stuff that feels so out of reach now. But maybe she’s romanticised that too, like so many other things.

Taylor cups her hands over her eyes while Harry’s in the shower. She wants to join him, to let the hot water wash over them as they kiss and pretend for a little bit longer. But the sand timer in her head is running low and letting things sit is probably the smarter move. They’ve already done it three times this morning, and that definitely wasn’t something she thought you should do in this situation. But she was really trying not to think about that.

She pads downstairs, phone in hand, scrolling absentmindedly. Harry had taken her suitcase down while she showered - always the gentleman. Graham’s on his way, she wants to crawl into the car and cry, to shed this skin and try to remember why she suggested a break. Harry’s house keys dig into her palm.

In the living room, Harry’s sitting in that ridiculous chair that looks more like a sculpture than a seat. She wonders who convinced him to buy it. Everything in this place is a world apart from Anne and Robin’s cozy, lived-in home and actually maybe that’s the point. She doesn’t know what they’d do if they ever worked this out long term, she couldn’t  imagine LA ever feeling like home again.

Taylor sets his house keys down on the coffee table. “Don’t,” he says, voice thick with something she can’t quite name.

“It’s just for now… I’ll get them back off you later,” she replies softly, although every reflex in her body is fighting to pick back up those keys and run back up to his bed and never leave.

He offers a weak smile, then jumps up, wrapping his arms around her so tight it’s almost a plea. His lips find hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, like he’s trying to pour months of upcoming separation into that moment. Taylor loses herself in him, grips onto his neck, hands in his hair. Breathing in every inch of him. She knows she needs to be the one to pull back, to hold her nerve for the both of them. She gently disentangles herself and pulls back from him. Both their eyes are glassy, she can tell he’s trying to hold back the tears too.

“I’m gonna go now, make sure I’m on time.” She says quietly, voice cracking just enough to betray her.

“Okay,” he says, running his hand over his cheeks with his back to her, before stepping back and taking her hand.

He kisses her again outside, while Graham loads her case into the trunk. “I love you” he says, voice low and urgent “I know we’re meant to be on a break and that’s probably not what I’m supposed to say, but god I love you. Don’t you forget it”

“I won’t”’ she whispers, and traces a hand over his jaw. “What’s ten months anyway? It’ll fly by”

If he hears the uncertainty in her tone, he doesn’t show it. He just stares at her for a beat, drinking her in like she might vanish any second. Then he kisses her hard, claiming her, marking her. They break apart, breathless, and Taylor is now sure that this definitely isn’t how this should be going. But he’s her person, he’s the one she ends up with, she’s so sure. So fuck the script, to hell with the advice the relationship columnists give, she couldn’t play by the textbooks with him.

“I love you” she says quietly. “It’s always you.”

Tears start to trail down Harry’s face, and Taylor can feel wetness on her own cheeks. She should go now, before it gets any harder to tear herself away.

She tugs her hand gently from his grip and steps towards the open car door. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, his body trembling slightly.

“Taylor?” He calls suddenly.

She stops.

“I’ll meet you in New York for your birthday on December 13th. Don’t book anything with anyone else.”

He stands there, hands in pockets, eyes bright and serious.

Taylor breathes in, braces a hand on the side of the car, and smiles at him. “I’ll see you there then, it’s a date.”

She pauses, foot raised to step up and into the car. “Think I’m gonna place a bet on us, Styles.”

Harry’s answering grin stretches wide – the last thing she sees before she closes the door and the engine hums to life.

Chapter Text

By the time Taylor arrives back in New York on Monday, she feels wiped out, every inch of her bone-tired. She’d spent the journey to the airport numb, caught somewhere between wanting to cry and feeling like she’d been squeezed dry. She’s desperate to grieve, but the floodgates refused to open while she was still in the car. Which was inconvenient, considering the privacy of the backseat - she could have let herself sob without shame, but the tears just wouldn’t come. Even Graham’s sympathetic glances in the rearview mirror, hadn’t been enough to crack her

When she had finally boarded the plane, it felt like the initial shock had worn off, and all the dammed-up feelings hit her at once. The sobs had come thick and fast, wracking her body until she could barely catch her breath. Her chest had been heaving, ribs ached beneath the force of it, her nose ran unchecked, knees drawn up tight to her chest like a shield. The flight attendants pretended not to notice, and she had been profoundly grateful for their quiet discretion. When Laura had returned from the galley with a tissue box and gently placed it in front of her, Taylor had thought it was such a small and unassuming kindness, and that had made her cry more.

Harry hasn’t messaged. She’s not sure if she expected him to or how they’re supposed to do this.

Stepping into the lift of her apartment building, Graham hovers close, his presence solid and quiet. The words she’s been holding in suddenly feel like they might suffocate her if she doesn’t say them. They’ve never spoken about Harry, not really - Taylor is his employer, after all. But he’s been a quiet guardian over the past few weeks, helping them sneak around, keeping her secrets with a kindness that feels almost sacred when it comes to her.

“Thank you,” she says softly, looking at him. “For the past few weeks. I really appreciate everything you did for me. For Harry and I.”

He nods, stoic but warm. “Just my job.”  he guides her out of the lift and and gestures to her front door. “I’m clocking off now and handing over to Naveen. I’ll see you soon.”

“Have a good break, Graham”

He pauses at the door to the security teams flat entrance. Gives her a soft smile. “I really hope you’re okay, Taylor.”

She forces a weary smile back, but inside she feels hollow.

Taylor trudges into her apartment, not turning on a single light, moving like a ghost on autopilot toward her bedroom. Olivia and Meredith appear instantly, like they’ve been waiting, sensing her return. “Hey girls,” she coos, pulling Olivia close under one arm and letting herself fall back onto the pillows. “I know what you’re thinking- ‘Mommy, turn on the lights, Mommy, feed us.’ And I will. But I’m just gonna lie here a sec, okay?”

Meredith curls up on her chest, an old habit she’d mostly abandoned, but now she’s here like she knows Taylor needs her. “That’s nice, Mere. You’re such a good kitty,” Taylor murmurs drowsily. She should get up, feed the cats, unpack, check her schedule - there’s so much she should do. But instead, she closes her eyes and lets the urge to sleep wash over her. The last few days have been a lot, maybe she could take a power nap

When she wakes, the flat is dark and silent. The cats have disappeared. She picked up her phone. She’d been asleep for a few hours, longer than she’d hoped. There was a message from Harry on her screen, a missed call from her mom, and what feels like a million notifications from the girls’ group chat. Her arm feels heavy as she taps into Harry’s message. Just two little letters: ‘xx’. She rolls her eyes. Did he want her to respond to that? Was there some secret playbook for handling this? She closes the message, decides it’s one to deal with later, when she has the energy and doesn’t feel like screaming into the void.

Her fingers hover over the phone screen. It’s not that she doesn’t want to call her mom - it’s more that she knows her mom will be thinking, I told you so, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. Her mom likes Harry, thinks he’s sweet and has been raised well, but she’s always had reservations that she’s kept mostly to herself. Taylor suspects her mom won’t be surprised by this. That thought stings, like proof that she was right, and it feels like shit.

Deep breath. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, honey.” Her mom’s voice is warm but busy, the kind of background hum you hear when she’s buzzing around the kitchen. She’s allergic to stillness, always moving, always doing something.

“How was your day? How was Harry’s birthday?”

Taylor thinks about how to answer that one. Thinks  she should probably be direct. “Um, his birthday was okay.”

Taylor can almost hear her mom’s feet stop moving. “Oh?”

“Mom, Harry and I called it. We ended it.”

“Oh, oh honey. Are you okay? I can fly out to you.”

“No! No, I’m okay. Busy with work and the girls the next few days. I promise, it’s all good.”

Her mom is quiet, just reminding her again that she’ll come anytime she’s needed. She probes a little, but Taylor doesn’t feel like sharing anything she hasn’t processed yet.

Once she hangs up, she realises she never told her mom their break up was actually just a break. She knew her mom wouldn’t get it. To her, you were either together or not. She’d told Taylor repeatedly that the right thing shouldn’t be complicated.

Morning comes and Taylor wakes feeling marginally better, though the apathy still lurks beneath the surface. She knows she probably just needs a distraction, or someone to light a fire under her. Harry’s messaged again - a cat meme and a text: “are you ok? X” She files it away, planning to reply in the car later. She can’t deny the pang in her chest when she sees his name pop up. The idea of not hearing from him feels unimaginable. No matter what, she’s not ready for silence. It doesn’t have to be painful, she decides. It can just be a pause, temporary and necessary.

She decides there’s no time like the present to update Selena and Karlie. She taps out the same message to both: “Wanted to let you both know H and I have decided to take a break. Nothing bad happened, promise. It’s just the best thing for us both right now. Love you both xxxx.”

Karlie calls later. Taylor lets it go to voicemail. She didn’t think she had the energy to go over it all. She’s replied to Harry, just enough to say she’s okay and to ask after him. Texts flow between them throughout the day—lighthearted, nothing heavy about their current status. It feels good to talk to him and it not be weird.

***

A few days later, Taylor wakes early and decides to be virtuous - a quick yoga workout in the living room, with Olivia and Meredith watching like spectators. She’d forgotten what day it was until Karlie calls while she’s making an omelette.

“I’m coming.”

“What?”

“I’m coming for you. Like Carrie on New Year’s Eve when Miranda’s alone. I mean, I’m not getting on the subway, but you get me. See you in about 20. I’ll pick up breakfast. Thought we’d do a Galentine’s thing.”

“Ok” Taylor says, “but I have to work at-.”

But Karlie has already hung up.

Valentine’s Day. They’d never discussed celebrating it. It wasn’t like schedules aligned anyway, that there was even a chance they could do anything. He was in Australia now, but their communication had been as regular as ever. Taylor had no intention of telling Karlie that, or anyone – they wouldn’t understand. They’d spoken a few times - Harry in hotel rooms, telling her he missed her. If she pretended the conversation in LA hadn’t happened, it was almost like nothing had changed.

Taylor looks at the tomato on the chopping board, hesitates, then flings it back into the fridge. Karlie arrives with bagels and coffee like some kind of angel. “You okay? You look good!” Karlie says, with a slight edge of surprise, squeezing her arm. Taylor thinks that’s probably because she doesn’t look like someone who’s going through a breakup. Because maybe she isn’t really? She feels ok, normal - she’s brushed her hair, put on clean workout clothes.

They’re eating breakfast when the doorbell rings. Dan, from her security team, greets her holding a huge bouquet of pink roses. “Ooooh,” Karlie says, picking out the card nestled in the stems.

“Did Josh send these here?” Taylor asks.

They’re stunning - fifty stems at least, the most beautiful delicate blooms ranging from blush to deep magenta. Karlie reads the note and her eyebrows shoot skywards, then holds it out to Taylor. “No. They’re for you.”

Taylor blinks, then she looks down. The message is printed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day beautiful. I miss you. H xx.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, unsure what else to say. Karlie watches her reaction like it’s a test.

“Do you think your ex should be sending you flowers for Valentine’s Day?” Karlie asks. Her tone has gone up several pitches.

“Well, he’s not exactly my ex.”

“But you broke up?”

“I mean, kinda. But not permanently, just for now.”

“Is it a good idea leaving it so open?” Karlie’s expression said she very much thought it wasn’t.

“We’re just giving each other space while we’re touring. Neither of us wants to be with anyone else.” Taylor waves the card like a shield, shrugs. The flowers are beautiful, a sign he’s thinking of her. A small smile tugs at her lips. Karlie looks exasperated.

“But what does that even mean?” Karlie presses, picking up the bouquet and looking at it like it’s a trick, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Are you together? Or are you on a break?”

“It’s difficult to explain.” Taylor takes the flowers from her, “I’m gonna put them in water.”

“Right. If it’s difficult to explain, are you and Harry actually on the same page?” Karlie follows her to the kitchen, not ready to drop it. Taylor pulls a vase from the cupboard, rubs her forehead, delays turning around.

“Like, did you actually properly talk this through?” Karlie probes. “Decide on your boundaries while you’re on this break, for example?” She braces herself against the counter like she’s gearing for a debate.

Taylor bites her lip. “Kind of. I don’t think we’re seeing other people.”

“At all?” Karlie’s jaw drops. “So you’re just going to be celibate until you both finish tour?”

“I hadn’t really thought about that level of detail,” Taylor admits.

“Well, did you ask him?”

“That wasn’t the direction the conversation went in, it didn’t come up.”

“Taylor, that is absolutely insane.” Karlie is leaning all the way over the counter top now, gesturing.

“It’s not like I’m going to date anyone, Kar. Please, I had zero time for Harry, I don’t—”

“And what about him?” Karlie interrupts.

“He said he was coming back for me.” Taylor matches Karlie’s pitch now, facing her across the kitchen island.

“And what does that mean exactly?”

“It means we’ll be together.” She says, but the words clam up on her tongue a bit. Her best friends eyes are flashing.

“Tay,” Karlie says sharply, concern threading through her voice, “you’re playing with fire.”

Part of Taylor wonders if she’s right. But the idea of not speaking to Harry is unbearable. She was absolutely not going to tell Karlie that Harry was coming back for her. She thought explaining that Harry was going to meet her in New York on her birthday might tip Karlie over the edge.

When Karlie leaves for a shoot mid-morning, Taylor pulls out her phone.

“Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” She pauses, then types, “Happy Valentine’s Day, I miss you too xx.”

That afternoon, Taylor leaves for a shoot. Stepping through the crowd on the street outside her building, she breathes out unconsciously as she settles into the car. Harry’s just texted back.

“We’re spending the next one together xx.”

She can’t control the grin that spreads across her face.

***

It sometimes felt like nothing had changed. Harry calls her several times over the next two days. The boys had been given a short break between shows, on paper it was time to recover from jet lag, but their days were actually packed with local radio interviews and a shoe-horned in press junket. Harry says they’re napping in the backseat of the car between stops - a concept very familiar to Taylor. He’s exhausted, but there’s something brighter in him, like stepping back on stage has shifted something inside. They’re so similar, she has to remind herself sometimes. It’s the same for her. Even if her personal life is on fire, stepping on stage feels like being reborn every night.

He calls her from a hotel bathroom, while she’s getting ready for the day. It’s late where he is. They’ve just finished interviews for the day, all of them holed up in a suite waiting for their entourage to take them back to their rooms. Taylor’s in her dressing room, make-up drawer pulled open, applying mascara and eating egg whites, while they catch up.

“Are you using the bathroom while we’re talking?” she asks, amused. “Because that’s actually kind of gross.”

“Nah, I’m just using it as a phone box,” he whispers, and she giggles.

There’s a loud bang on his end of the line. “Two minutes!” he yells. “There’s one toilet in this suite and I think Paul’s about to break the door down.” He laughs, then goes silent for a beat. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“And you’re sure I can’t see you?”

Taylor closes her eyes and smiles. “That’s not what we agreed.”

He wheedles, “I have a short break after Japan, at the beginning of March.” She can almost see the mischievous grin on his face - the one he flashes when he’s trying to charm someone into going along with something.

“I didn’t think that was a break. I thought you were recording the album then?” she says dubiously.

“Okay, so it’s not really a break. But they’ve promised us a couple of days off as well. No idea when, but I can fly to wherever you are, we can get a little bit of time-.”

“Harry, we said we wouldn’t…”

“I know. But I don’t think I can take not seeing you until December. It’s mad. Especially if I have a couple of days off and I can get to you.” His voice takes on a more desperate edge.

Taylor pauses, turning over her blusher in her hand, tries to steady her own thoughts. “We shouldn’t make things any more complicated. I know it’s shit, I’m feeling it too, but we should stick to the plan. It’s better for both of us right now.”

“I hate the plan,” he admits.

“Me too,” she agrees softly. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk so much. Maybe it’s making it harder…

“The only thing getting me through the day is knowing I get to talk to you,” he says sweetly.

“That’s not true,” she laughs.

Another bang at his end. “I’m coming!” he yells again. “Gotta go, I lo-“

“Harry,” she stops him, “I don’t think we’re meant to say that to each other under the terms of a break.”

“Okay, but can I say ‘I really miss you’ again?” she hears the smile in his voice.

“Mhhmm,” she replies, cradling the phone under her ear, grinning too.

“So, I really miss you. I’m going to miss you every second until December, and then you’re never getting rid of me again.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she says. She feels like a teenager again, hanging on the phone to her first love. “You really better go,” she tells him ruefully.

“I’m done!” he screams loudly, right on cue, there was the loudest bang yet. “Bye, love,” he says hurriedly and ends the call.

I love you, Taylor thinks as she puts the phone down on her dresser. She knows she can’t say it out loud - Harry doesn’t need the encouragement, but then neither did she. Both of them seem one crazy thought away from doing something reckless. But there’s something comforting about knowing they’re just biding time in their own little world, waiting for the moment they can be  together for real. Taylor knows that as soon as he arrives in New York, she’ll tell him she’s in love with him every minute for the rest of their lives.

***

Taylor has just got home from dinner with Scott and some label execs and is feeding the cats when she notices her phone lighting up on the counter. She ignores it. She isn’t expecting a call from anyone. Her mom is at book club, Harry will still be in bed in Australia after last night’s show, and her dad is on a golfing trip with his old hedge fund buddies. No one else could need her that desperately at 10 p.m.

The phone goes dark, and Taylor continues dividing tinned salmon between the cats’ bowls.

Light bounces off the wall. It’s her phone again, and her brow furrows. She hates that her mind always goes to the worst place - someone has been in an accident, or her mom had a bad reaction to her treatment and was being taken to hospital.

She crosses the room and picks it up. Karlie’s name lights up the screen. Taylor hesitates – but she’s called twice in a row. It must be important.

“Kar? You okay?” she says quickly. She half expects noise in the background - sometimes Karlie calls repeatedly because she wants Taylor to meet her at a new bar that she’s having the best time in.

But the line is silent.

“I’m okay,” her best friend says, voice halting.

“You sure? You just called twice in a row.”

“No, I didn’t,” Karlie replies, confused.

“Um, really? That’s weird. Wait, let me check my incoming calls.”

Taylor switches screens, pulls up the call list, and sees Harry’s name right under Karlie’s. She’d assumed it was the same caller, given the quick succession, but it was him instead.

“Oh, no, sorry. The first call was Harry. I’ll call him back. What did you want to talk about?”

“Tay,” Karlie says simply, but it sounds like a warning bell.

Dread settles in Taylor’s stomach. “What is it?”

“I think I know why he was calling you,” Karlie says, and Taylor thinks she sounds ominous.

“Huh?” Taylor can’t think of anything else to say.

Karlie hesitates briefly. “I’m really sorry, babe. I wish I wasn’t calling with this….. You know what? Maybe you should call Harry back and hear it from him. I’m sure he has a real good explanation lined up.”

Taylor’s stomach flips. “What are you talking about?” Her voice shakes.

Karlie blows out a breath, angry but soft, like she she’s trying to figure out how to put it. “Fuck, Taylor, I’m sorry, I know…” She takes a deep breath, then rushes it out. “There’s a picture of him and a girl together in a club in Melbourne circulating online.”

For a moment, Taylor feels suspended in midair - screaming inside, frozen - or plunged under ice, fighting for air.

She forces herself to blink. “Send me the picture,” she says evenly, like she’s switched to autopilot.

“Tay,” Karlie says softly.

“Send me the picture, Karlie,” Taylor says fiercely.

“Okay, put me on speaker. I’m not going anywhere.” Karlie’s voice is soft, like she’s trying to calm an unreasonable, drunk friend.

A picture comes through on iMessage.

“Did it arrive?” Karlie asks breathlessly.

“Yes,” Taylor answers in a voice that doesn’t sound like hers.

She clicks the picture, expanding it to fill the screen.

It’s blurry, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that it was Harry. In a booth at a club packed with revellers, his tongue in another girl’s mouth, his hand sliding under her skirt.

Taylor can’t rip her eyes away. It’s clearly recent - his hair falling onto his shoulders, wearing the belt she bought him for his birthday. This was only days ago.

Bastard.

“I’m okay,” she says instantly. But tears fill her eyes and she takes a step back, away from the phone and the offending image.

“Tay, please get angry for once! What is wrong with him?!” Karlie’s voice rises.

“It’s okay, Karlie.” Taylor’s mouth feels like sandpaper. She wants to scream, to free fall, but no sound comes out. “Can you just… I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m absolutely fine.” Taylor forces her voice even, but it feels useless.

She puts the phone down just as Karlie starts to say something else.

She’s shaking from head to foot, caught in shock or rage - she can’t even separate the two.

How could he? How could he, after everything he said, everything he promised? She was sure she was all he wanted because he told her so repeatedly.

Her phone vibrates again. It’s Harry. She lets it ring out, wanting him to lose his mind wondering if anyone else will get to her first.

She imagines him pacing his hotel room, panicking.

Then she wipes it away, because she doesn’t actually know what he would or wouldn’t do. She could have sworn this morning that this would be the last thing he’d ever do to her.

She looks at the picture again. The girl is a glossy blonde, sinewy limbs, golden tan. A model, Taylor sneers. And Harry looks deep into their private moment in the packed club.

His hands tangled in her hair, the other hand sliding up her skirt - fuck.

Taylor bites her lip hard. Drinks sit on the table in the image and Louis is next to them laughing at something off-camera.

She should have seen it coming. Pulled herself out of her naïve love bubble and asked him to set the boundaries for this time apart. Asked him what this break should look like for them both, because he’d said he didn’t want anyone else, had looked her in her eyes and said it was her or no one.

But this was Harry to the core. And it looked like he hadn’t changed much at all. Not since the groupies, the recording, since trying to fuck every model that had ever walked for Victorias Secret.

Rage builds like a furnace under her skin.

He’d pleaded to see her, hated the plan for the break, sent her beautiful fucking Valentine’s roses.

The giant vase sits on the side, mocking her.

They had spoken again this morning, at 7am while Taylor was in the car and Harry was backstage in Adelaide.

When the fuck did he have time to do this? Between pining for her in every call and working twenty-hour days?

He’d told her he and the lads went out for drinks, but didn’t mention this. He clearly didn’t think it was important, didn’t think she deserved to know, until the picture hit social media.

Fucking asshole. Idiot.

Her phone rings again. Him.

She hovers her finger over the screen, then declines. Let him know she’s by her phone but deliberately not answering.

He rings again. She ignores it.

It feels like some shitty dream sequence. Taylor doesn’t know what to do with herself. Doesn’t know if she should answer and unleash on him.

She looks at the flowers again.

Slowly she walks over and rips a bunch of petals off. Liar. Liar. Liar.

I’m coming back for you. Liar. Liar.

I don’t want anyone else. Liar.

Their beauty taunts her. The card he’d sent placed in front of the vase, lines of text he clearly didn’t mean.

Her body moves like a puppet with jerky control, single-minded. She pulls open the drawer under the hob, and takes out a box of matches.

Slowly, deliberately, she strikes once, twice, thrice, against the side of the box.

Finally, a flame bursts to life.

Hands trembling, she holds it in front of the vase.

Her phone lights up again. Him.

She hardens her jaw. Fuck him.

She jerks the match forward, thrusting it onto a rose. It catches alight quickly, flames curl and lick the petals. It’s hypnotic, she could just stand it here and watch it and ignore her heart shattering into a million pieces.

The sharp acrid scent fills the kitchen.

Taylor refocuses her eyes. Half the roses are blaze, orange light casting glow on the walls.

Her phone vibrates again. She sways on the spot. The glass vase cracks.

Fuck. What was she doing?

She spins around, hoping the best thing to do would magically present itself. Her oven glove hangs on the stove.  She grabs it, pushes the burning flowers into the farmhouse sink, and turns on the tap full blast.

Water rushes over flames and shards, extinguishing the fire.

Taylor wipes clammy hands on her shirt, and steps back forward to inspect the damage.

A shattered vase, ashes, and a handful of scarred but intact roses. The wreckage feels like a shitty metaphor for her and Harry.

The phone rings again.

Taylor picks it up, wanting to smash it against the wall, throw every plate in the cabinet, do something, anything, to burn off the rage inside.

She declines the call. Wonders if he rehearsed his bullshit excuse, wrote it down to ensure he delivers it so perfectly she’ll buy it hook, line, and sinker.

She stares at her temporarily silent phone. An iMessage pops up: “Tay, please call me back. Please xx.”

It’s the “please” that pushes her over the edge, oddly. She wants him to regret this. She will make him regret it. She wants to write it in blood somewhere, mark his cards.

So, she sends him the picture.

She places her phone down on the side. Puts the phone down. Tilts her head to the side, and then picks it up again, and types out a message.

“We’re over.”

A minute passes. He rings. She declines, her fingers acting almost on a reflex.

The typing bubble appears.

Taylor hesitates. If she does this, there’s no going back.

She steels herself, reminds herself this was his doing. He chose this.

She hovers over his name. Then she blocks him.

Then the first wrenching sob comes, building deep in her gut. She clamps a hand over her mouth as tears flood out, the cry in her throat a strangled scream. She wraps her arms around herself and lets it all go.

She doesn’t realise her legs have given way until she’s on her knees. Snot and tears drip onto the floorboards.

Olivia edges closer, pressing warm fur against Taylor’s elbow, nuzzling her.

The tears continue to rain down her cheek:

The silence is deafening.

Chapter Text

Taylor barely left her bed for two days if she could avoid it. She did the SNL anniversary feeling like shit and wondered if everyone could tell, then she crawled back into bed and watched the shifting light crawl across her bedroom wall, hours bleeding into each other. Her phone was a black stone beside her, she had everyone on do not disturb. Karlie seemed to be on a one-woman mission to keep Taylor from total collapse. She left the messages unread. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted to be put under a general anaesthetic. She wanted everyone to leave her alone.

She slept badly, waking up tangled in sheets damp with sweat, the image of Harry in that club replaying on a loop behind her eyes. Each time she blinked, she saw the girl's tan, Harry’s mouth locked onto hers, the way his hand - God, his hand - was so intentional, so familiar, as if it was Taylor herself he was touching. She pressed her palms to her eyes until stars burst behind them. It didn’t help.

On the third morning, she made coffee and poured it down the sink. She hated that her kitchen still smelled faintly of burnt flowers. She hated that everything in her flat was still exactly the same, except for her. She hated that she kept reaching for her phone, half-expecting his name to pop up like a ghost. He’d been blocked, but Taylor almost kept expecting him to show up again somehow.

She was right. By 10am, her email chimed. Subject: Please.

The body was a paragraph of jumbled text, Harry’s voice bleeding through the screen in a way that was both familiar and sickening. He said he was sorry. He said he’d been drunk, it didn’t mean anything, that they were on a break and he thought it wasn’t cheating but that he’d kissed her and immediately knew it felt wrong. It hadn’t gone any further because all he wanted was her. He begged her to talk to him.

Taylor stars at the email, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Some twisted part of her wanted to write back in all caps, to tell him exactly what he could do with his explanations. Another part wanted to delete the message and pretend it had never come and thrown another dagger in her side.

Mostly, she wanted to throw her laptop out the window.

She blinks, and then, almost without thinking, her fingers hover and twitch over the keyboard. Her thumb presses the shift key, then the ‘N’ for no, then stops. She stares at the blank reply, the cursor blinking. The words she wants to type catch in her throat. She wants to scream at him, beg him, curse him, but instead, she slams the laptop shut and just stares at it.

Karlie calls again. Taylor let’s it ring, but Karlie was relentless, so she answers on the fourth try. “You’re coming to the Oscar de la Renta show with me, you can’t say no”

Taylor swallows. “Karlie, I just want to sleep”

“It’s been two days babe, I’ve left you to it but you have to leave your apartment for something other than work at some point.”

Taylor presses her forehead to her knee. “I know. I know.”

“Oscar’s team are sending us options directly to your apartment for 11am, I’ll see you then”

Taylor almost protests, but the words dry up before they can leave her mouth. She hangs up first. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to think. She longs for the pounding in her chest to stop. She has a planned late night appearance on Jimmy Kimmel tonight, and happy, bubbly Taylor really needed to emerge. Actually, when she thinks about it, an afternoon with Karlie might be the tonic she needs.

Taylor stays sitting on the floor of her bedroom, knees hugged to her chest. She opened her laptop and read Harry’s email again, it didn’t take long, clearly he wanted to speak to her. Then she slams it shut and slides it under the bed. She would not reply. She would not give him another piece of her. Not anymore.

She presses her cheek to the wall and closes her eyes. She’s cried so much over the past few days that she didn’t know if she had anything left. But the gutted out empty feeling was being replaced by something else, fury again.  She didn’t know if she was more angry at him or herself, but she feels something violent surge inside her. Payback, she wants him to pay for what he’d done. She wants him to feel what she’d felt when she saw that picture.

Taylor considers for a second, then opens her work calendar and calls Tree. “Hey, I was thinking of flying to London a night earlier next week. Isn’t there some style awards thing happening?”

“Oh? Let me check the inbox.” Taylor listens to Tree’s nails clacking against the keyboard. “Do you mean the Elle Style Awards?”

“That’s the one. Can you confirm my attendance?”

If Tree’s surprised, she doesn’t let it slip. “Absolutely. I’ll sort it out now.”

Taylor tried to remember why she’d said no in the first place. She’d probably planned to sit in her room and wait for Harry to call. The thought made her cringe now, it made her look like some stupid, weak, naive girl. Pathetic. Not anymore.

She cradles her phone, calls the next person on her list, scratching Meredith under the chin, the cat purring contentedly. “Cara? Hey, it’s me. Are you going to the Elle Awards in London next week? Awesome, me too.”

She ends the call and spins the phone in her palm. She knows what she needs to do, to really get to him. She needs to move on publicly, visibly.

It wouldn’t be anything beyond a little flirtation, just someone whose name would look good next to hers in the tabloids. Someone who would light up the internet for a few hours, start a little wildfire of speculation. Someone Harry would definitely see and be bothered by.

She knew it was childish, that she should hold her head high and give herself time to heal. But she so badly wanted him to see a picture or read a headline, and feel the way she had when she saw that damn picture.

There would be someone at the Elle party, she was sure of it, a model or an up and coming actor. Cara knew everyone and Ellie was going to be there too, between them they’d find the one.

She opened up Instagram and started to scroll. For research purposes, she thought. And she knew it was petty, but god, she wanted him to feel what he’d lost.

***

Claridges has always been Taylor’s favourite hotel in London. Walking through those revolving doors feels like stepping back in time - the kind of place where everything is plush and quiet, the faint scent of polished wood in the air and the tinkling of china as afternoon tea is served in the drawing room. It’s quintessentially old school England, and she loves that.

It’s a relief, honestly, to be somewhere that isn’t her bedroom, surrounded by cats and used-up tissues, a place where she’s not trapped with her own thoughts and the temptation to torture herself by pulling up Harry’s emails and last texts to her, wondering what she missed, searching for the sign that he’d put his tongue in another girl’s mouth. Here, she has no choice but to put on a mask and pretend she isn’t falling apart. She thinks that might be the key to getting through it.

Karlie had done her best to take Taylor’s mind off things in New York the past few days. They’d had such a good time at the fashion show that Taylor almost forgot she’d wanted to stay in bed crying into Olivia’s fur.

Another email from Harry landed as her plane had touched down. It was short, like his last one - desperation wrapped in words that would almost be funny if she hadn’t heard him say out loud that she was the only one for him. But apparently “only” was a loose word for him. He’s in Japan now and she bets he’ll find some distraction there, too.

The check-in is seamless, efficient as always. The hotel staff offer polite smiles and don’t ask questions. It’s the same choreography every time, and it should feel comforting. But the moment the door to her suite closes behind her, Taylor feels her mask start to crack again.

She leans into the bathroom mirror, tilting her head just so. The lighting is designed to be soft, flattering, but she didn’t think anything would work on her today. She’d scrubbed away her makeup on the flight, but managed to leave traces of mascara which have now smudged around her eyes. She thinks she looks exactly how she feels – exhausted and worn out.

Her palms press against the cool marble of the vanity, she stares back at herself. The anger is right there, pulsing just beneath the surface, sharp enough to hold her up, when all she wants to do is collapse on the floor and cry. She hates him. She wants to make him feel what he’s done to her - wants him ruined, like she is. If she’s going to be on display here, in London, then fine. She’ll make sure he sees exactly what he’s thrown away.

***

London is freezing, there’s a wind slicing through the city and Taylor thinks that standing on the red carpet feels like being submerged in an ice bath. Paparazzi bulbs flash relentlessly, the sound of cameras clicking and shouting following her every step. But she doesn’t flinch. She holds her head high, shoulders back, angles her jaw down. The green Julien McDonald dress slinks around her like liquid armour. She’d told Joseph to make her look like she belonged with the fashion crowd tonight – she wanted to be untouchable, glossy, impossible to ignore – and he’d delivered. Poker-straight hair, graphic eyeliner, a nude lip. She’d looked in the mirror before she’d left the suite and thought she looked like someone else, someone less eager to please.

She reaches the end of the carpet and gives one last smile over her shoulder for the cameras before quickening her pace on her stilettos, eager to feel the heat of the foyer around her. Ellie and Cara are waiting for her just inside.

“Taylor!” Ellie calls, arms thrown wide for a hug. “You look so good, this dress is insane!”

Before she can reply, Cara swoops in from behind and wraps her in a squeeze. “Look at you! You’re literally a model tonight, babe. You’re unreal.”

Taylor smiles and blows a kiss backwards. She’s been trying to summon some enthusiasm for the evening ahead since she left the hotel to no avail. She’d thought dressing like someone completely different might do it, but she still felt so exposed, so unanchored in her own skin. She’d hoped that being away from home, having a packed social calendar might help, but she’s so on edge. Here, in Harry’s city. It didn’t matter Harry didn’t really live London anymore, didn’t even have his 21st here, it still felt like she was circling his patch. The unease lingers under her skin, she tries to keep it pushed down and out of sight, but it hums a constant reminder.

By the time they’ve made a couple of circuits around the party, she wants out. She wants to be in bed with the tv remote and her pain. But she needs the shot first, she’d promised herself. A lingering hand on an arm, her leaning in to hear a fascinating story, some light-hearted flirting frozen in a photo. She hates herself for thinking this way, for being so childish, but she wanted him to hurt and otherwise why had she come?

She forcefully pushes Harry to the back of her mind, wiggles her shoulders like she’s in the mood to party, and catches Ellie’s hand. “We’re on the same table!” Ellie says with a glance at her phone and a smile. “Thank fuck, I did not want to make small talk with strangers.”

Ellie looks incredibly pretty tonight, a soft English beauty in blush lace; Cara is in a sculpted vintage black dress with a bold red lip. Taylor smiles to herself, they make quite the mismatched trio.

“Hey, we need to find the bar,” Cara nudges her from behind. “Let’s scope this place out.”

Cara finds the bar first, pushes to the front without a backwards glance, and Ellie yells their orders over the throng. Cara weaves back to them impressively quickly clutching three drinks in her hands.

They move through the crowd, glasses in hand. Cara and Ellie are both in a great mood, stopping every few feet to greet people they know in the throng. They clink glasses and air kiss. Taylor rides their slipstream, letting their energy make the night easier for her. She’s trying everything she can to slip into the rhythm, accepting a drink anytime it’s offered, laughing a little louder than she feels. She annoyed with herself at this point, she’s done this dance a thousand times before, it shouldn’t be this hard. It’s never been this hard.

She feels Cara grabs her waist, pulling her into a conversation with people she doesn’t recognise. A dark haired man makes a joke about London traffic, which isn’t that funny, in fact she thinks he’s regurgitating it from a stand up comics show, which actually was funny, but he’s messed up the punchline. She gives him a laugh anyway, louder than Cara’s polite snigger, and he holds her gaze steadily, his eyes narrowing in approval. It’s the reaction she wants, but not from him. He’s handsome, piercing blue eyes and an expensive suit, but he’s a nobody. She closes it off with a token smile and flips her eyes away, scanning the room. But she feels the shift happen inside her, fuelled by his intrigue, thank you blue eyes. She can do this. Be the most interesting girl in the room and have any man she wants for the evening.

Ellie catches her eye as they skirt around the dance floor, leaning in so only Taylor can hear her over the music. “Tay, I have a hot, tall friend you should meet.” She murmurs with a sly grin.

Taylor arches a brow, lets a practiced laugh bubble up. “Ellie, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”

She wonders how transparent she is, if her scanning of the room for an eligible bachelor has been noted by her friends. Ellie folds her arms, mischief sparking in her eyes.

“Are you sure? Because he’s really hot,” she presses, “and almost as successful as you.”

Taylor’s interest piques. Successful, hot. This could be easier than she’d thought. She lets her tongue roll thoughtfully, puts on a mock unsure face. Cara and Ellie laugh; Ellie presses her hands together, mock-prayer style. “I promise he’s a great guy. He has a six pack and he’s tall.” She pauses for effect, “and he thinks you’re beautiful.”

Taylor switches her expression into one of reluctant acquiescence. “Oh god, okay. Where is he? Let me see him from a distance first.”

Ellie leans onto her tiptoes and tries to scan the crowd. “I saw him a minute ago… wait, I can text him.”

“No!” Taylor blurts, and Cara cracks up beside her. “Who is he anyway?”

Ellie turns, grinning. “His name is Adam and he’s a DJ.”

“Wait, do you mean Calvin Harris?” Cara interrupts.

“Yeah,” Ellie confirms, taking another swig of her drink, and sending a sly sidelong glance in Taylor’s direction.

“Oh, he’s actually good looking, babe,” Cara says approvingly. “You should 100% meet him.”

Taylor’s heard the name – she’d read something about him in Rolling Stone months back. There was an article about his climb from obscurity to the the highest-earning DJ in the world. Or Europe, maybe. But either way, he was properly famous. She knew at least one of his club anthems and she was sure she’d seen him do a topless GQ cover recently. He was ripped and so far from her usual type. He couldn’t fit the bill more perfectly.

“Oh there he is,” Ellie says suddenly, bumping Taylor’s shoulder, gesturing to the far corner of the room. “He’s the one in the black suit towering over everyone else.”

Taylor smirks. “Okay, don’t wave at him or anything. I’m just gonna… take a look.”

Cara snorts, Ellie turns away, eyes fixed away from Calvin, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Taylor lifts her glass, tries to shield her face a little bit as she looks over at him. Ellie was right, he’s significantly taller than anyone else in the group he’s with. He had to be 6.2 at the very least and wearing a simple black suit. He’s chatting easily with Sam Smith, gesturing with the glass he’s holding. He’s noteworthy globally, sure, but especially in the UK. She was sure he’d bother Harry, the fact he’s older and a solo artist would do it. There was no point looping around the room again, Calvin was the jackpot.

Taylor hesitates for a moment, knows she needs to mask her calculation, make it believable. So she tilts her head coyly. “Would he even want to meet me?” she asks, feigning uncertainty.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Are you nuts? He already told me he would kill to date you.”

Almost on cue, Calvin’s eyes swivel toward her. Like he feels her watching him. He’s better looking in person than she expected honestly. Taylor jerks her head back round quickly, heat creeping up her neck.

Cara bumps her hip. “Subtle,” she quips cheekily.

Ellie grins. “Let’s go over there.”

Taylor wants to run back to her room, kick off her heels, call off her internal bet. But she doesn’t. She links arms with Ellie and says, in a tone that indicates suffering, “Go on then.”

Ellie clasps her hand and drags her through the crowd. Taylor can feel her heart hammering the whole time; Cara is cackling beside her, joking with strangers as they move through the bodies. Taylor keeps her eyes on the floor, she has the most awful sense that everyone here can see straight through to the awful, calculated, thoughts filling her mind. She lets Ellie, Cara, and the crowd pull her towards him, she can’t think past that.

“Oh hey, bro!” Ellie shouts, bringing them to a halt. Her tone is fond, familiar. She lets go of Taylor’s hand and wraps the tall man in front of them in a big hug. Ellie’s so short he has to reach down, looking a little uncomfortable, while Ellie’s on her tiptoes.

“I want you to meet my friends!” Ellie yells over the bass. “This is Cara.” Cara gives a little wave, a friendly, “Hi!”

And then Ellie twitches her lips and very obviously pulls Calvin’s arm, positioning him right in front of Taylor’s line of vision. “And this is Taylor,” she drags out the syllables of her name, eyes flashing sideways at him, mischievous.

Calvin’s eyes land on hers and his mouth stretches into an easy smile. The genuine warmth catches her off guard and his eyes flick over her appreciatively. Up close, she realises she has to look up at him, even in her stilettos.

Now she’s here, what does she say? Hi. Hello. I love your new track. What’s up? Want to help me make my ex jealous? God, she feels sick.

Calvin makes it easy for her. “Hi, I’m Adam,” he says, his accent soft - Irish or Scottish, she thinks. “Ellie’s been telling me I have to meet you.”

Ellie’s grin is megawatt. Taylor takes a deep breath and tries to match it, then forces herself forward and onto her tiptoes to brush her lips on his cheek. “Well, hi, Adam,” she says, aiming for flirtatious. “Ellie’s been telling me the same thing. I’m Taylor.”

She stumbles slightly on the last words, kicks herself for not being cooler, wittier. But a flush spreads up his neck, at odds with his calm smile. Clearly, it’s fine - she’s having the desired effect. This, she can do: the dizzying highs of connection, leaving an impression, making them want more. It’s the rest… she licks her lips, refocuses on Calvin – Adam - she should remember that.

She lets her lips part in a smile, just enough to show interest and lays a hand on his forearm. Ellie moves away from them with a knowing smile. Adam holds her gaze, his pupils darkening. .

For a split second, she wonders if this is really who she wants to be - the girl who flirts for revenge, who stages scenes to get back at the boy who gutted her. It was so petty and she wanted to be above it. But the Taylor who took the high road, she was walked over, lied to, left behind and she couldn’t choose to be that version of herself anymore.

***

Taylor is buzzing as she leaves the stage, clutching a white figurine tight in her right hand, adrenaline beating out any trace of jet lag. Her first Brit award, she wasn’t letting go of this. She feels Tree grab her arm, whisper “incredible” in her ear, and then her security team sweeps her along.

Ed catches her eye in the crowd, clapping like a proud brother, and she grins at him, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest.  A few tables over, Ellie’s cheering too, flashing the biggest smile straight at her. Further back, Adam – she’s getting used to calling him that - was smiling, open, bright, making her feel like the centre of the universe for a split second. Her heart skips a beat. She can’t decide what that means yet.

He’d glued her into conversation last night. Gently deflecting anyone who tried to interrupt, locked his eyes onto hers, kept her glass filled, the compliments flowing. Taylor knew they were the subject of whispers and sideway glances. She’d wondered if it was enough.

He’d told her he’d be at the Universal afterparty, that he hoped he’d see her there. Taylor had swerved giving him her number, an instinctive pullback the moment things seemed to tip from fun into something she’d have to answer for later. Adam seemed genuinely kind, and she hated that she was using him as a pawn in her mess with Harry. The guilt twists sourly in her gut, but she brushes it off. She was here, she’d won, and tonight was about being seen.

She slides back into her seat, she finds are table mates still standing, applauding. Taylor picks up her vodka, leads the table in a cheers to her award, and laughs easily when some spills over the side of her glass, soaking the white tablecloth.

There’s a big part of her that wants to skip the afterparty, go back to the hotel, sleep off the ache for revenge. But she’d told the label bosses she’d go and there’s a party dress hanging backstage waiting for her, so she’s going.

***

The Universal afterparty is a crush of bodies, everyone shouting over the music, the air thick with perfume and sweat. Ellie clings to her hand as they walk in, both of them laughing for the hovering cameras, champagne glasses pressed into their palms before they’d even crossed the threshold. Nick Grimshaw was DJing, Matty Healy is in the shadows over by the wall with a crowd of people Taylor doesn’t recognise. He looks out of it on something, she has no intention of heading over there.

Taylor scans the room. Karlie and Cara were meant to be joining them, but they didn’t appear to have materialised by the bar yet. She runs her eyes across the packed space again. Adam’s there, standing in a small group. He’s ignoring the chatter around him. His eyes are scanning the entrance like he’s searching for someone.

His gaze lands on her and she sees his face light up. He stops for a second and then throws her a grin and wave. Taylor thinks he looks relieved and then she realises he’s been waiting for her. She feels a flicker of something, maybe the heady rush of being wanted or the sinking feeling of knowing the horse had truly bolted.

She gives him a sly, unreadable smile, then deliberately turns away, letting Ellie steer her deeper into the crowd. She didn’t think Ellie had seen him, she’d have steered them both over if she had.

“Drinks, we need other drinks. I’m going to be puking if I have this all night” Ellie declares, necking her glass of bubbles anyway and then ditching the empty glass on a table. Taylor follows suit, welcomes the way it feels running down her throat,’she wants everything to become a little blurrier than it is. Taylor deliberately guides them to the opposite end of the bar from Adam, bending her knees attempting to be less visible in the crowd. Ellie seems oblivious.

Taylor drinks more than she’d planed. She climbs up into the DJ booth with Ellie, vodka’s in hand, and they accost Nick, try on his headphones, pretend to spin a few songs. Nick is acquiescent, she suspects because there’s a photographer snapping away. He only shows a slight flicker of annoyance when Taylor’s energetic bouncing sends a glass flying over his equipment and onto the floor. It’s not awkward at all considering Nick is Harry’s friend, but then her brain slowly computes that he doesn’t know about them. And then she realises she went a chunk of the evening not thinking about him. And suddenly it feels like a door has opened that she can’t close. She imagines him behind her right now, arm looped around her waist, his laughter filtering into her ear. His hips rocking into her. Its such a visceral image it floors her.

She jerks her head up and wrenches the headphones off, handing them off to Nick who gives her a thumbs up. Taylor looks desperately across the room, why is Karlie not here yet? She needs to vent to someone who understands her internal conflict right now.

Instead she sees Adam again. He’s looking up at her from across the room and smiles unsurely when their eyes meet. She’s blanked him all evening and it’s so clear her icy reception has him steering clear. She feels like a bitch. She needs air, or a quiet toilet cubicle.

“I’ll be back!” She whispers to Ellie, who waves her off and Taylor grabs her drink and heads down the hallway to the bathrooms.

They’re individual cubicles, thank god. And no queue, that feels like a minor miracle at such a packed party. She closes the door, puts her back up against it and her bag and glass on the vanity. The bathroom walls are papered black with fuchsia flowers and gold vines, its so claustrophobic in the tight space it’s almost comforting. The toilet is gold. There’s a quip in that somewhere, a lyric waiting, if only she had the energy to find it in herself to care and open her notes app.

Her hands find her black satin clutch and she pulls out her phone. She has no idea how long she’s been standing against the door, just staring at the lock screen. She wonders if her security are fielding annoyed partygoers who are waiting outside. She can’t find it in herself to care about that and that’s how she knows she’s deep in her own selfish wallowing.

She wonders what Harry is doing right now in Japan. Hates that the thought even enters her head, that she feels him no matter where she is. She opens the world clock to torture herself, it’s 8am where he is, he’s probably wrapped up in hotel sheets with some other girl. Or he’s alone, he’s already chucked her out. That would be more like it when it came to Harry. She bites her lip and picks up her glass, chucks back the rest of her vodka tonic. Why had he done this to her?

Before she can stop herself she opens up her photos. Pictures from the last few months. Harry with the owl in Cheshire, the two of them in Karlie’s kitchen beaming, Harry sending a mirror picture of him clad only in a towel after the gym. She thinks she might be going insane, she needs to delete these. She was at one of the biggest parties of the year and she was in a bathroom pining over pictures of her ex.

Ping.

It was the worst timing, or the best. An email. From him. She had no idea what he was doing up, especially the morning after a show. She didn’t want to think about him in his room, writing her an email as the sun rose. Her heart beat a little faster, actually maybe she did, because that meant he’d probably woken up alone. She rubs a hand over her eyes, she’ll worry about the damage to her eye makeup once she actually decides to leave the cubicle.

Taylor stares at the email notification on the screen for a second longer before stepping over and pulling down the lid of the absurd gold toilet seat and taking a seat on it. She clicks on it. She darts her eyes over it quickly, it’s longer than his previous emails. It’s….. she shouldn’t read it. She should block him here as well. But instead, she settles into a hunched position, elbows propped on knees, chin resting in her palm and begins to read.

Taylor,

I know you don’t want to speak to me, but I won’t stop trying.

I’m not writing to ask you to forgive me, I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t know what I was thinking, except that I wasn’t. I regretted it instantly, but it was just a kiss, it didn’t go any further because I don’t want anyone but you.

And I don’t want to do anything but be with you. I hate that I can’t get on a plane and ask you to forgive me in person. To tell you that everyday we’ve been apart has been hell, not being able to tell you I love you has felt so wrong.

So, I love you, I love you, I love you.

I don’t want to be on a break from you. Not now, not ever. I know why we’re doing it, but I’m not going to touch anyone else, I swear, I don’t want to.

I believe that you are meant for me. I believe that we end up together. You are my soulmate.

I’ll be in New York for your Birthday like I promised I would be. Please let that be the very first day of the rest of our lives together. Please.

I’m yours,

H xxxx

There was more text at the bottom. A poem. I carry your heart with me by EE Cummings. He’d typed it out, put in brackets (this is how I feel about you).

Taylor can feel the tears slide down her cheeks. She wanted to slap him around the face and then push him against the wall and kiss him until they were very old. She wanted him.

A version of him she could trust not to break her heart, and that was the problem.

The door shudders. “Tay?” A female voice calls. Taylor freezes.

“Which one is she in?” Karlie’s voice. Taylor shoots up off the toilet seat, looks into the mirror. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious she’s been crying in the dim light.

“This one” she can hear Naveen respond. Fuck, great.

“We’ve been here ages, has she been in here the whole time?” Cara’s voice rumbles through the hum of the crowd.

“Tay” banging on the door, “are you ok?” Karlie’s voice filters through.

“Are you being sick?” Cara again.

“No, I’m fine! I’m coming!” Taylor scoops her bag up. Looks at her empty glass, considers leaving it there, and then picks it up. She should really clean up her own mess.

She unlocks the door and before she can pull it, Cara and Karlie have pushed it open and are standing there filling the doorway. They look impossibly glamorous, Taylor thinks she did too when she first arrived.

“Holy fuck, how are you this drunk already?” Cara says immediately. Karlie’s eyes are narrowed, she’s focusing on Taylor like she’s trying to work something out.

“I’m not drunk” Taylor says, instantly a bit defensive. “I was just using the bathroom”. But she skitters a bit on one heel and her voice does that weird inflection Austin has always made fun of when she’s had too many.

“Babe” Cara laughs, “you look hammered. It’s ok, but I need to give you the once over with concealer and where’s your lipstick?” She pushes her back into the tight space and Karlie squeezes in too, locking the door behind them once more.

Cara pulls Taylor’s Nars lipstick from her bag and starts to reapply it for her.

“Oh fuck Taylor, you nearly left your phone in here” Karlie says suddenly. She’s holding it up, “and it’s not locked, jesus babe.”

“Oh shit”’ she responds half heartedly, “well, thank god for you guys”

Cara bares her teeth in a sort of oh god kind of way, dabs a bit of concealer under Taylor’s eyes then pauses and gives her a searching look askance. “Have you been crying hun?”’

Taylor looks at her, “no”’

“Are you sure?” Cara brushes a hand over her cheek.

Karlie starts from beside them “what is this?”

Oh shit.

“I thought you blocked him?” She says accusingly, staring at Taylor’s phone.

“Blocked who?”’ Cara says all jovially, nudging her shoulder against Taylors.

“Karlie, hand it over” Taylor demands, stretching her hand out.

“No, are you insane? Why are you reading anything that liar sends you?”

“It’s actually none of your business” she snaps. Karlie recoils. Cara’s head is snapping back and forth like she’s watching a tennis match. The atmosphere in the bathroom is suddenly chilly.

Karlie seems to gather herself, locks her eyes onto Taylors. “You’re my soulmate. I’ll meet you in New York on your Birthday. A love poem” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you actually believe any of this from him?”

Taylor reels.

Cara breaks through, steps in between them. “Girls no, we’re not doing this.” She stops, “but also, who the fuck are you talking about?”

Karlie looks at Taylor steadily, bypasses her outstretched hand, and hands Cara Taylor’s phone.

Taylor’s jaw drops. She can’t believe she would do that to her. Knowing everything that she did.

Cara skims the text quickly, her eyes blow out huge. “Oh wow, that’s-“ she pauses, looks confused “but you’re not with anyone? Who is this letter from? Who is H?”

Taylor fixes her eyes on Karlie, ignoring Cara’s stream of questions. “You had no right to do that, it’s private.”

“We’re your friends! We actually care about you! I’m not going to stand around and watch you swallow his crap again, Taylor he cheated on you!”

Cara gesticulates wildly, “who is this guy?” They both ignore her. Karlie and Taylor are facing each other head on. Taylor is furious, she knows she’s also drunk, but she could go for the kill right now.

“I’m in love with him!” Taylor eventually yells, “and I don’t think I’m ever going to not be in love with him. And, truthfully, I don’t know if I want to make myself stop thinking about him or stop feeling like this, because I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like this about anyone else! But I’m not an idiot, the version of him I want, the one I dream about, I know it doesn’t actually exist. I know I’m deluding myself, I know I shouldn’t have read the damn email, but fuck, you’re supposed to know me better than anyone Karlie, can’t you trust me that I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m not where I want to be, but I’m here, doing the right thing at this party, trying to move on, trying to force myself to flirt with someone who might be the safe choice for once, and it’s killing me but I’m doing it. So please try and be a friend to me and cut me some slack.” She knows her voice is overwrought, and she sounds like she’s begging.

Cara gapes. Karlie’s face softens. Taylor can feel wetness on her cheeks.

Karlie opens her mouth, but Taylor gets there first.

“Please block his email for me” tries to keep the wobble out of her voice.

“Are you sure?” Karlie looks unsure enough for the both of them, but her tone is kind.

“Yes, do it. You’re right about everything.”

She can feel more tears leak out and down her cheeks. Cara looks like she’s on the verge of crying too, Taylor wonders if she’s connected any dots, worked out that it’s Harry. But she’s mute.

“This is for the best, babe” Karlie says softly, “I promise you, happiness is out there for you, I know it. The right man will-“

“Karlie, please don’t” she interrupts her, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Karlie looks heartbroken, Taylor wonders how broken she must look for Karlie’s face to be reflecting back at her in that way. She sees Karlie tap away at the screen like she’s watching a play starring someone else.

“Ok, it’s done” Karlie looks at the phone for a second and then slips it back in Taylor’s clutch and hands it over to her.

Taylor closes her eyes. “I’m going to go back out there and dance with Adam” she says slowly, snapping back open her eyes and staring them both down.

Karlie and Cara exchange disbelieving glances. 

“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do, we could go back to the hotel and get in our pyjamas and order pizza” Karlie says, in a coaxing voice.

“No, this is a good idea, and Adam’s nice.” She says slowly, like she’s convincing herself. But she’d had a plan before the email and Karlie was right, this was for the best.

“Babe” Karlie says quickly, “maybe take a beat ok?”

“It’s ok Karlie, I know what I’m doing. Cara, can I have that concealer please?”

Cara looks down, realises she still has it in her hands, before wordlessly handing it over and exchanging another glance with Karlie. Taylor ignores them, starts applying the cream under her eyes and blending it with her finger. She tries to focus on her reflection in the mirror. Better, it would be almost unnoticeable on the dark dance floor.

“Ok!” She says brightly, “let’s go!”

Then she sees the full drink on the vanity. The one Cara had brought in with her. Brown liquid, could be anything, who gave a fuck. She picked it up, downed it, laughed. Wondered why she sounded nothing like herself, but someone harsher, crueler.

Cara looked shocked. Karlie looked concerned. Both of them looked like they were about to stop her.

She pulls open the door before either of them respond. Naveen is waiting by the opposite wall, looking tense. Taylor sends a mega watt smile into the peeved looking queue of people waiting. They’d probably assume they’d been in there snorting lines up from the toilet seat, let them think what they want.

Taylor is several steps ahead. She was on a mission, she had no idea why’d she pulled back earlier. Her first instinct had been the right one, he needed to pay for what he’d done. She hated the way Karlie had looked at her when she’d seen the email, like she was pathetic. Like she’d wander straight back into his arms and Taylor wasn’t who Karlie thought she was. She was going to show them all.

“Harry?” She can hear Cara whisper in a screech. “Sssshhh!” Karlie responds, and catches Cara’s arm pushing her into a tucked away seating area.

Taylor ignores them, she keeps walking. Pretends to ignore the admiring looks from passers by at her blonde bob and tiny black minidress as she swings her hips. She strides purposefully to the dance floor. She can do this, she always has.

***

Ellie screams when she sees her, grabs her hand and pulls her into the dancing circle. The DJ was no longer Nick, it was a nameless face, and they were playing Diplo. Taylor moved her hips to the beat, if Adam was watching, let him.

Karlie and Cara were huddled in the corner whispering in each other ears, throwing her looks. Cara pulls her phone out and starts to tap, Karlie covers her hand over it and tells  Cara to stop. Taylor decides it’s none of her business, she takes a shot from tray one of Ellie’s friends is flourishing. What’s in the shot is also none of her business, the liquid burns, and the DJ switches up the track to How Deep is Your Love. Taylor squeals, throws up her hands, “I’m obsessed with this song!”. She deliberately tosses a look over her shoulder, wonders if she can catch his eye. He’s watching from the sidelines, eyes burning into her back. Taylor throws him a wink and beckons him over with a finger. Adam looks uncertainly to either side and behind him, she supposes she can’t blame him. She has been ducking him all evening.

“No, you!” She mouths and laughs, pretends to throw a lasso and drag him in. She sees him chuckle, tap his friend, and start to move towards her.

“Taylor” he says, and he seems nervous. She smiles and proffers her cheek for a kiss. It’s chaste, grounding. Fine, she could take it from here. She can feel Ellie buzzing next to her, maybe she felt her matchmaking plan was picking up speed.

Taylor sees the photographer circling them, she had to make this count.

“Congratulations on your award and your performance. You were incredible,” Adam says, genuinely.

“Thank you,” she replies, and for a second she felt almost shy, could feel her cheeks flush slightly, it could have been whatever was in that shot hitting her. Adam was handsome, successful, seemed genuinely sweet and a gentleman. Why shouldn’t she want someone like that. She can feel something humming away in her core that she was determined to ignore, she leans in closer to him under the pretence of hearing him better, sees his smile crack a little wider. She sees the photographer start to click away, Adam looking into her eyes, oblivious.

“You should have won the song award tonight” she says, lays a hand on his arm. “I was rooting for you.” He moves closer imperceptibly, she feels his heat. She ignores her nerve endings, fighting against her being touched by anyone that isn’t him. The camera flashes.

“Thank you” he says softly.

Taylor frames the photographer’s picture of them in her mind, imagines it on a mobile screen, on a desk top, cropped into a gossip column. Her hand on his arm, matching bright smiles, close enough that nobody would believe they were just good friends.

Close enough that nobody would believe she doesn’t want to be in this room, with this man.

She wants to be in a bed in Japan having messy makeup sex. She wants Harry to push her back onto the headboard and show her exactly how sorry he is. She rages at her mind, forces herself back into the room. Refocuses on Adam’s eyes. They’re blue. She tilts her head, no a grey-blue.

They talk for a few minutes about work and people they have in common. Compare notes on their favourite LA and London haunts. He’s easy to talk to, shyer than she’d expected after their meeting last night. Maybe her blowing him off all night had dented his bravado a bit or maybe he’d had less to drink than her.

Adam excuses himself after a few minutes, tells her he needs to find his manager. She wonders if he’s playing hard to get, trying to be cautious in case she disappears on him again. She picks up her drink, puts her lips around the straw, thinks if he turns around now he’ll like what he sees. Almost on cue, he reaches the edge of the dance floor, and looks back at her. She waggles the straw in her mouth, wiggles her eyebrows at him. He grins, drags his tongue through his lips, and Taylor knows she has him.  

Ellie appears next to her instantly, grinning, nudging her. “You two look so good together,” she whispers excitedly. “And he’s so into you. He text me about you last night.”

Taylor smiles, carries on looking straight ahead, watching Adam move through the crowd. She didn’t want to give Ellie too much to chew on, not when she didn’t plan on taking this seriously. But the alcohol was setting perfectly, dulling her edges, her doubts, the heartbreak. Another few drinks and she thought a picture of her draped all over Adam in this club, his hand weaving up her skirt, didn’t seem so unlikely. Besides, maybe she could just let herself drift for a night, let her friends believe she was happy, let Adam believe she was present.

She thought of the advice her grandmother’s had once given her – find a man who is a little bit more in love with you than you are with him. She’d laughed whenever she said it, and Taylor’s Mom had scolded her every time, telling her not to put ideas into her head, that that wasn’t the way to think about love. Taylor hadn’t listened then, had focused back on the television to watch the Disney Princess being saved by the love of her life. That’s what she desired, for someone to be so sure of her that they were willing to hack through overgrown forests to find her, to steer a ship into a sea witch to save her, to knock on every door in the kingdom to check if the glass slipper fitted, because she was the only one for them.

She shakes her head slightly, reminds herself she’s in a club in London. There’s a song playing about someone’s ass crack, the floor is sticky, and the man who was supposed to be the love of her life lied and cheated her. This wasn’t a fairy tale. But maybe for once, she could play a different role in the fairytale. The one who didn’t care as much, the one who didn’t fall first.

Adam returns, quicker than she’d expected him to. He hands her a glass of champagne, she doesn’t bother to tell him she’s not drinking this, that she was trying to stick to vodka, it seems like an unimportant detail. She lets him pull her aside, let’s him touch her waist, let’s him make her feel wanted. It was easy, low-stakes, harmless.

Cara and Karlie are back on the dance floor. Cara’s brow furrows as she takes in Adam’s hand around her waist. “Are you ok?” She mouths. Taylor gives her a small smile and nods, Cara looks unconvinced.

Taylor lets Adam dance her away from their friends to a quieter spot behind the DJ booth. She feels Karlie’s eyes follow her. Adam looks down at her, she sees his adams apple quiver as he asks, “Can I see you again? Maybe somewhere a little quieter?”

Taylor hesitates. She wasn’t over Harry, not even close. She was tired, heartsick, half-hollowed out.  But Adam looked so hopeful, and she already felt like she’d used him, wondered what his friends would say when there was a picture of him with her and then she’d disappeared without a trace.

“Tay, can I borrow you a sec?” Karlie is suddenly there, Cara by her side like a shadow.

“Kar, I’m in the middle of something. Can it wait?” she said, and she made a point of running her hand up Adam’s arm. She felt him vibrate a bit under her touch. She relishes the upper hand.

“No” she sounded pissy. “It can’t”.

“Sure”, she takes a sip of champagne, rolls her eyes conspiratorially at Adam who laughs. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Cara grabs her hand, half drags her backwards. Karlie is locked to her other side, her mouth set in a grim line. Taylor feels annoyance start to rise. No matter what she did tonight she felt she was going to be infantilised and lectured. And she was done, actually.

“Actually” she stops, pulls her hand from Cara’s, spins back round to Adam before she has a chance to react. His head whips up quickly, she beams at him. “It’s a yes to the date.”

Adam’s answering grin was all relief. “Great”. He says.

She sends him a wink. “I’ll give you my number when I’m back”

Karlie and Cara appear to be frozen. Struck dumb. So Taylor walks slowly back over to Adam.

She leans up onto her tiptoes, plants a soft kiss on his lips. It feels all wrong.

But it’s worth it for the look on Karlie and Cara’s face.

***

Taylor stretches out towards the coffee in front of her. She can’t quite get at it, not unless she moves forward in her seat and that felt like too much effort. She tells herself she’ll try again in a minute. She hasn’t felt this rough in a long time. A yawn escapes as she catches her reflection in the mirror through blurry eyes. She has no idea what time she made it to bed last night. She vaguely remembers Karlie propping her against the hotel bathroom wall, wiping off her makeup. Taylor had been counting how many face wipes she used in a sing-song voice, and Karlie’s growing annoyance is the only clear memory. She should probably check in, thank Karlie for putting her to bed, and apologise if she was too much.

“Sit up a little straighter for me” Jemma cajoles, “we’re almost there” she was blowing out her hair into a choppy bob for the magazine shoot. Lorrie had already applied her makeup, Taylor thought the nude lip contrasted with her hangover was only making her feel worse, she hoped the lighting would be kind. She wiggles back up the seat, straightening her spine, it felt like a lot of effort. She eyes the coffee again, thinks if she had x-men powers, she’d levitate it into her hand.

“Here” someone scoops the cup off the side and into her hand. “You doing okay? Do I need to ring out for some greasy food?”

It’s Tree. Standing there looking impossibly polished in an a-line black suit. She looked like someone who had had a full nights sleep, Taylor couldn’t relate.

“Why do they only have granola at the buffet?” She whispers, doesn’t want to seem rude in case any of the crew can hear.

“Because that’s what you asked for on your rider” Tree offers with a small apologetic smile

“Did I?” Taylor pulls a face.

Tree nods.

“I’m an idiot”

“Well that was a past you decision. Did you have fun last night?”

Taylor shrugs and takes a large sip of cold coffee. “It was okay.”

Tree raises an eyebrow. Taylor knows how flat she sounds, she can’t seem to muster up any energy.

“Okay” Tree says slowly. “Would you like me to ask someone to get you a bacon roll?”

“Oh god, please. I would do anything” Taylor says, eyes wide in mock desperation. Tree laughs.  “Leave it with me, I’ll be back.”

“I can work it off on the treadmill later,” Taylor adds, almost like an afterthought.

Tree pops her head back in the door and Jemma pauses applying the hairspray. Taylor inwardly curses herself, she tries not to say these kinds of things out loud in case anyone thinks she has a problem. Which she doesn’t, she just has to mindful of keeping her weight down.

Tree taps her fingers on the door frame, seems like she wants to say more but stops herself. “I’ll see you in a minute,” she says and leaves.

Less than ten minutes later, Tree sets a bacon roll in front of her and leans against the dressing room ledge, where Lorrie and Jemma have laid out their products in front of huge mirrors. Taylor lets out a dramatic breath. “Oh, thank god.” She breathes into the bread, leans back, and rolls her eyes. “I think I’m returning to human form.”

Tree laughs, picks up her phone. “The after party last night looked fun, I’m sorry I missed it.”

“No you’re not. How was Empire?”

“So good. Almost as good as the caesar salad I ordered and ate in bed.”

“Don’t. I should’ve taken a leaf out of your book.”

“Absolutely not. You’re twenty-five, you can’t eat salad in bed and skip a wild party.”

“But look at me now, Tree.”

“You look great! Cover star ready.”

“Please, Lorrie’s had to airbrush the foundation onto me in layers. I feel like a wall that needs to dry out.”

Tree snorts a bit. “Well, it looked like a good night.” She pauses, a smile playing about her lips. “there’s lots of chatter about you and a certain DJ making the rounds this morning.”

Taylor feels herself freeze, tries to play for time “mmm, really?”

The thing is, she remembers is Karlie putting her to bed, but there’s whole gaps before that missing. She has no idea how she got into the car or when she decided it was time to leave the party. She’d woken up feeling disgusting and with that horrible sense that she’d embarrassed herself but she couldn’t remember how. Something had felt so off, she’d wondered if she’d come home without something important. She’d located her keys, her cards, her phone, but still that horrible pit of anxiety lingered.

It was only when she was pulling on tights and a skirt, and simultaneously messaging Tree to see if she could arrange her car to come round the back, so that she could slip out the staff entrance, that some of last night had flooded back.

She’d kissed Calvin. No, Adam. Fuck, she couldn’t even get his name right. She was sure he’d had to correct her more than once. She winced, it was so thoughtless and rude, which she strived not to be.

Her recollection was fuzzy, but she remembered Karlie and Cara pulling her to the side and asking her if she was ok. They’d told her that she didn’t have to do any of this, she didn’t have anything to prove, they could just leave the party. For some reason, that had incensed the drunk version of her. She’d wrenched her hand from Cara’s, stormed back to where Adam was waiting for her and tapped her number straight in his phone and then placed her hands on his face and…… fuck. She wiped her hand across her mouth like she could undo it. It wasn’t like she could even remember what it had felt like, or if it was enjoyable, surely that was a bad omen…or a good one. Oh fuck.

Tree seems oblivious to Taylor’s mounting inner turmoil, she’s looking at something on her phone. “I’ve fielded a few calls this morning from the UK tabloids this morning. There’s nothing in print, yet, but the rumours are out there, thanks to this picture.” She spins her phone around and hands it to Taylor.

The one she could see in high definition in her head last night as the photographer circled. Adam and her in conversation, her hand on his arm. It was cosy, it was exactly what she’d thought she wanted out there. She felt a tear well up in the corner of her eye, she blinked it away and swiped right automatically. And there it was. A picture centred on a group of people, Matty and another one of his bandmates was in it. She didn’t recognise the rest, but towards the back of the frame…. It was her. And Adam. Kissing. His arms wrapped around her waist. It looked real. She squints, it looked passionate.

There was no way Harry wouldn’t see it. She thinks of his email last night. The raw words he’d poured onto the page, and wants to throw up. She tries to remind herself this was the revenge she’d wanted, but the panic crawls up her spine anyway.

“What are the rumours saying?” She asks, against her better judgement, something to distract her spiralling brain.

“That you were dancing, flirting. That you make a good-looking couple.”

“And we kissed,” Taylor says quietly, waving the phone.

Tree raises an eyebrow. “That too.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Any reason I shouldn’t see him again?” she asks, half-joking, half-wanting someone to make the call for her. He’d messaged this morning, suggested lunch at her hotel. She was relieved to tell him she was working all day and couldn’t make it. She hadn’t suggested another date and he hadn’t replied back. She wonders if he likes her enough to keep trying.

Tree frowns. “Sorry?”

“Never mind.”

A pause, then: “Taylor, it’s not my job to tell you who to date. You should do whatever you want and I’ll have your back. And, from what I hear, Calvin’s a nice guy.”

Taylor sighs. “I’m meant to be single Taylor right now.”

Tree laughs. “Why? Anyway, not that it matters, but the online conversation about the two of you is fairly positive. Do with that what you will.”

“Huh? Really?” Taylor bounces slightly in her seat, twirling a strand of hair.

“Hey!” A head pops around the dressing room door. “We’re good to start shooting in five if that works?”

Tree casts an eye over Taylor, “give us 10, we’re just waiting for wardrobe.”

“Great, I’ll update Damon” he snaps down his headset, murmurs in a few words and disappears.

Her phone buzzes. Adam again:

No worries about today, you told me your schedule was busy ; ) …… crazy idea, but what are you doing next Saturday? Come see me headline in Vegas? I might go mad if I don’t see you again x

Taylor closes the message quickly, almost as if he can see her reading it. He clearly wouldn’t be deterred easily, god, what had she said to him last night.

Oh, she kissed him. Right.

Another message notification pops up; Cara

How are you feeling today babe? I’ll call you later, ok xx

Taylor slumps in the chair again, Tree gives her a sympathetic smile and tosses her takeaway wrapping in the trash. “Do you think some electrolytes might help?”

“No, I’ll be okay, but thanks”

The wardrobe team arrives wheeling a rack full of options. They’d already narrowed it down, the white laser-cut dress is  first. The team filters out so Taylor can change. She feels so ropey, she prays she won’t barf on set.

They get through four outfits and 120 shots before lunch. Taylor eats tuna salad at the laptop while reviewing the stills with the photographer. Then Lorrie and Jemma start to prep her for the next look. Taylor folds her legs under and opens Twitter, refreshing her timeline.

There’s so many tweets congratulating her on her Brit award and positive comments on her performance. Taylor starts to heart the ones from friends and acquaintances in the industry. It’s only when she’s been scrolling a few minutes that she comes across a tweet from Harry’s Mom. It’s a simple well done on her award, but her words were kind, and Taylor’s stomach tightened. Did Anne not know they were through? Was she just being gracious or did she think Taylor was still her son’s girlfriend? It would be just like Harry to stay in denial and not tell her.

She closes the app fast, trying to shut down all the questions swirling in her brain. She’ll deal with it later. All of it.

***

She has two missed calls from Karlie and five from Cara by the time she slides into the car later. She takes a deep breath and decides to call back Cara first, because she’s been the most insistent.

“Babe” Taylor swears the phone didn’t even ring before Cara’s voice comes through, full of concern. “How are you?”

Taylor wonders what the hell she did last night to get this very un-Cara like worry. Or exactly how much detail Karlie went into on Harry when they were cosseted away gossiping. Enough that they were both shooting her looks while she was dancing with Adam, enough to interrupt her when she was just trying to get on with her evening. The pit of anxiety resurfaces.

“Oh I’m fine, just hungover” she offers, aiming for for breezy. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s been good” Cara says slowly, like she’s picking over her words, trying to decide which to land next. “Just wanted to check in on you, because last night-“

Taylor cuts her off.  “Last night I was drunk. And today I’m sober. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“Right….Do you remember what happened last night?” Cara asks, almost solemnly.

“”I remember all of it, I wasn’t that drunk” Taylor says defensively. Dan’s eyes briefly flick up from the front seat and Taylor presses the button to close the privacy divide.

“Do you remember kissing Calvin?” Cara asks, and there’s a disbelieving note in her voice.

“Yes”. Taylor says stiffly, which isn’t a total lie. She remembers that she did it, even if she can’t recall how it felt.

“Okay. And do you remember getting home?” Cara’s voice softens, Taylor hates being on the other end of this kind of call, she’s usually playing Cara’s role. This side of the table feels unfamiliar, uncomfortable.

“Not exactly” she admits, but she has a brief flash of Cara pushing her into the car and Karlie plugging in her seatbelt.

Cara sighs, Taylor jumps in, “look, I’m sorry if I was a mess and it ruined your nights. I love you guys for looking after me.”

“Babe, you were upset, it didn’t ruin our night. We were worried about you.” Cara says, voice low.

“Oh no, I’m fine, I was just drunk” she answers insistently, trying to pull that breezy air back into her voice.

Cara is silent for a second or two. Taylor wonders if the call has dropped. “C?” She says, “you still there?”

Her voice comes through the line, haltingly. “Tay, you were crying in the car on the way back”

Taylor laughs, caught off guard. She’d have remembered that. “About what?”

Cara’s breath hitches and then it comes back to Taylor in a flash. Oh god, she remembers sitting in the backseat feeling like she couldn’t breathe through tears. London streets whizzing by outside and she was hysterical, talking nonsense, shoulders heaving. She couldn’t remember exactly what she was saying, but-

“Never mind” Taylor cuts in quickly. “I remember. And it doesn’t matter. Honestly, I was so drunk.”

“Okay” Cara says, unsure. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay.

“And I’m great! The Glamour shoot was awesome and now I’m heading to the gym, so-“

“Taylor” Cara interrupts, a serious edge to her voice, a side Taylor rarely hears. “You and Harry. Is it really-“

“Please Cara, don’t” she says, and there’s a lump at the back of her throat suddenly.

“I would never have said anything that night, about the girls and the recording if I’d known, Tay. I feel so bad. I just-“ Cara rushes out the words, like she expects Taylor’s to hang up.

Taylor takes a very deep breath, tries to keep her voice steady. “It’s fine. I’m actually glad you told me. What, I was supposed to be the only idiot that didn’t know?”

“I shouldn’t have said it like I did. I thought we were just gossiping and I built it up more than I should’ve and I never would’ve done that if-“

“It doesn’t matter now, we’re over” she says with a finality.

“I know” Cara says, voice small. “But I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It’s him, he can’t help himself” her voice sharpens with venom.

There’s another brief silence, and then Cara says, carefully “I don’t think he wants to be that person, Tay. That email he sent-“

“Well, he is that person. He chooses to be that person everyday” Taylor snaps.

“I’ve never seen anything as vulnerable from him as that email, babe. Those words…” Cara trails off.

“Words are easy to write down” Taylor says dismissively as the car pulls to a stop. It’s late; she’ll probably be the only one in the gym if she goes now.

“Babe, I have to go. I’m back at the hotel. But thanks for checking in on me, I promise I’m good.”

“Ok, bye then” Cara says, voice still uncertain.

Taylor tosses her phone back in her bag and swings out of the car, heels tapping on the pavement. There are a few fans waiting outside and her appearance is met with a rousing cheer. She gives them a smile and a enthusiastic wave before stepping into the calm of the lobby.

Dan and Naveen guide her towards the lifts, there’s a pianist playing in the restaurant. It’s a song she recognises, but she can’t place immediately so she slows down her stride, hums the melody under her breath, tries to remember the words.

It comes to her suddenly. It was Summer by Calvin - or Adam, rather. She pauses for a beat and then picks up her pace again and steps into the lift. Naveen selects the penthouse suite and the lift doors close.

Taylor pulls out her phone again, staring at Adam’s last message. Vegas, really? Could she? Should she?

She’d thought that the fact she couldn’t remember their kiss was a bad omen, but maybe she was too fatalistic for her own good and that was where she kept going wrong. But, the pianist randomly playing his song as she’d walked in ….. wasn’t that a sign she should at least text him back? Maybe she could park her gut and just make a smart decision when it came to a man for once.

She taps out of Adam’s message and onto Twitter. The pictures of her and Adam seem to fill her feed. She blinks, Tree was right. It wasn’t negative. It seemed like the general consensus was that they looked right together.

She stares at her phone for a second and then starts typing a response to Adam.

Hey ;) Vegas does sound like a crazy idea, I’m in. Can I bring some friends?

She sends it before she can change her mind. She’s fine, and she’s going to prove it.

Chapter Text

She almost talked herself out of coming. Even after stepping onto the jet where the girls are waiting, she hesitates, the weight of everything pressing down like iron on her ribs. For a moment, she wonders if she should just turn around and get straight back off. The thought is a relief, and then she’s pissed at herself again for being too ready to admit defeat. Karlie is placing her bag in the overheard locker when she notices Taylor frozen mid-aisle, standing still like she forgot why she’s there. Her brow tightens with quiet concern and Taylor shakes herself, flashing a weak smile.

She hates how wiped out she feels since London, malaise that extends beyond the physical. How is she supposed to go out with someone new, embrace a first date with someone who’s actually interested in her, when she still feels numb?

“Kar, can I just slide past” she says quickly, trying to cover her hesitation. Karlie doesn’t say anything, just squeezes into the side of the seats to give her room. Taylor slips into a window seat, barely registering Selena settling in opposite her. Este, Karlie, and Ellie are spread out on the other side, Starbucks cups and snacks scattered across the table.

She leans back into the headrest, pops in her headphones. It’s not that she’s not ok. It’s just everything feels like it’s moving too fast. Work, trying to keep up with her friends, whatever this thing with Adam is supposed to be. Each hour seems to propel her further away from Harry, and maybe she still needs more time – more space – to process, to grieve. But she can’t say that out loud, Not with Selena and Karlie already walking on eggshells around her. She doesn’t want their pity. She just wants to be normal again.

“Hey,” Selena nudges her foot playfully against Taylor’s. “You’re not even going to pretend like you’re going to talk to me?”

Taylor pulls one headphone out and forces a smile. “Sorry, babe. Just tired, and I’ve got this melody in my head I can’t crack.”

“Exhausted, yet creatively busy. That’s my girl.” Este calls from across the aisle, throws her a wink.

“I thought you weren’t planning on making any music until after tour?” Selena asks.

“I mean, I’m not. Not really. It’s just this annoying lyric that I’m stuck on, and I have to do something with it or I’ll go mad. But it’ll  probably just end up in the trash folder on my voice notes.”

“Do you want to share with the group?” Selena teases.

Taylor hesitates, biting her lip. It’s one she wrote at the breakfast table in Malibu, back when they felt inevitable, like fate. She doesn’t know why it’s still haunting her.

“It’s ‘he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor’.” She reads flatly from her notes app.

Karlie tilts her head and stiffens slightly. Selena bites her lip, her eyes clouded with something Taylor wishes she could ignore.

“Elizabeth Taylor reference. I like it.” Selena says softly, the first to speak anyway.

How many times are you planning on getting married?” Ellie asks, laughing.

“What?” Taylor blinks, caught off guard.

“The bunch of husbands she had?” She says, raising an eyebrow.

“She got married 8 times.” Este adds, “twice to Burton.” She’s lounging on her seat, dark sunglasses on, ripped jeans and a vintage Madonna t-shirt. A converse clad foot swings lazily.

“How do you know that?” Selena asks, curious.

“I watched this documentary on Tevo. She had all these beautiful flowers in her hair at their first wedding and she wore yellow. It was like, everything I aspire to when I get married.”

“Apart from the divorces.” Karlie says with a laugh.

“Well,” Este says thoughtfully, “40% of marriages end in divorce, but the wedding pictures are forever. And it’s the fact they just couldn’t ever get over each other, you know?” She pulls herself up the seat and leans into the aisle. “I mean, the idea that there’s this one person you keep going back to because no one else compares is so wildly romantic. Where is that for me?”

Taylor shifts in her seat uncomfortably. She now wishes she hadn’t told them the lyric. She was trying her best to act ok and like she wasn’t thinking of him. She feels like she’s fallen at the first hurdle.

“Is it actually that romantic though?” Karlie asks skeptically.

“What? Of course! Or else why is it the premise for almost every compelling romance novel ever?” Este counters, voice bright.

“Exactly,” Ellie agrees, eyes wide, tapping on her phone. “I love a ‘will they, won’t they.”

“Ok, so have you seen Love, Rosie? It’s based on this incredible novel, and it’s this decades long back and forth thing-“

“Good morning. Please can we ask passengers and crew to take their seats. We’re cleared to proceed to the runway” the captains voice cuts in over the tannoy, stopping Este mid-sentence.

“Decades long? That sounds exhausting.” Selena wrinkles her nose and buckles her seatbelt.

“Right, but the point was that they weren’t ready to be with each other when they were young, and then life kept getting in the way. And anyway, it’s really beautiful.” Este insists.

“Surely it’s better to meet someone who’s on the same page as you? Who wants the same things at the same time? Who isn’t going to mess you around? It should be easy with the right person” Karlie presses.

“But for it to be an epic romance you need plot twists.” Este replies, playfully. “Otherwise, it’s boring.”

“Ok, but I’m talking about real life, Este. In real life, that’s an unhealthy and exhausting dynamic.”

Este raises an eyebrow. Ellie shoots Karlie a strange look.

“I think that I see both sides” Selena injects calmly. “Sure, you need passion and excitement. But I think you can have that without this, like, destabilising, uncertain, element. And it should be straightforward when you want to be with someone, to a degree.”

“Ok.” Este says slowly, gives her an easy smile. “And you’re probably right, Karlie. You’re the only one of us who has found your person, after all.”

Karlie smiles finally and looks at Taylor. “It’s a cool lyric, even if the Burton Taylor relationship was iconic for all the wrong reasons.”

Taylor holds her gaze for a minute. She knows what Karlie’s trying to do, trying to keep her on course and moving away from the wreckage behind her.

Taylor smiles resolutely, pops her other headphone out and clicks out of the app. “Thanks for your input, guys. I don’t know if it’ll end up working into a song, I just thought it was fun.”

“Oh, it’s fun. But who’s your Burton?” Este asks, with a wicked smile.

“Huh?”

“In the lyric? Who’s your Burton?”

“Well, maybe it’s the guy she’s been texting all week. The one who can’t stop talking about her, the one we’re going to Vegas for….” Ellie cuts in.

“Riggggghhhhhtt” Este snaps her fingers. “Sorry, I’m still stuck in the Far East timezone. I’m whacked.” Then she lowers her sunglasses and waggles her brows at Taylor. “Vegas for a first date is so unbelievably not you, and I’m here for it.”

“Oh my god” Taylor laughs. “Well, maybe this is the new me.”

Este grins and leans back in her seat as the sound of the engines firing up fills the air.

Taylor takes her phone out to switch it to flight mode. Adam has text.

Can’t wait to see you xx

She stares at it. He’s kind and present, easy to get along with. Maybe tonight, she can let go for a few hours. Let herself stop overthinking and just enjoy the evening.

***

Vegas isn’t a city Taylor has ever really connected with. It’s always felt shallow and transient, all neon gloss and nothing underneath. Her Dad used to say it was where people ran to lose themselves, to forget about real life. She never really understood that before, the appeal of hiding from your problems with manufactured fun.

But tonight, looking out at the strip of lights from their suite at the Wynn, she wonders if she’s been missing something essential about this city. Something only visible when your life is splitting at the seams or you’re trying to forget a broken heart. Sin City demands you to be a different version of yourself, and Taylor’s determined to embody that while she’s here. She wants to be reckless, wild, and – most importantly – numb enough to get through the evening.

So maybe it’s the bottomless flutes of champagne she’s tipping back with the girls in the suite. Maybe it’s the throbbing club music Este puts on as a bit of a joke, but nobody turns off because it’s somehow the perfect soundtrack. But Taylor finds herself rocking back and forth in a rhythm in front of the mirror as she blends in her base, her third glass of bubbles on the vanity beside her.

After London, Adam had text her every day. Not just the polite, but standard, “how are you’s?” but genuine and attentive check in’s, funny photos, stories about his shows. sometimes just anecdotes from his day. He leaves voicemails, his Scottish accent curling around apologies for the time difference. She calls him back when she can face it, when letting someone else in doesn’t feel like voluntarily standing on a rooftop in a thunderstorm. He’d been kind and actively encouraged her to bring her friends to Vegas, said his own friends would be around for the show too and they can all hang out. It’s thoughtful, generous, and somehow makes her feel worse for not knowing what she wants to give him in return.

Once her friends caught wind of Adam’s invitation it turned into a frenzy. Everyone seemed to be lining up to give him a character reference, to tell her they’d be ‘great together.” Even Karlie was supportive, at odds with her initial reaction to their flirtation in London. She told Taylor she thought this could actually be good for her healing process. Dating against type would reframe her relationship with Harry and help her move on. Or something like that. Taylor privately thought Karlie got all the mumbo jumbo from a self help book or her therapist, but she was mostly grateful Karlie had stopped treating her like something delicate.

So she’d invited the girls on her date, extended the invite to anyone who could make it at short notice. Then she’d scrolled Adam’s instagram incessantly, looking for anything to latch onto as a conversation starter. She lets herself linger on some photos: the abs, the arms, the way he looked working in the studio. He’s so hot, she’d be insane not to meet him at least once.

And there are flowers waiting in the suite. Not some generic hotel arrangement, that was obvious. They’re huge clouds of hydrangeas, one of her favourites. Este screams when she spots them, snatching the card and tossing it to Taylor, who unfolds it with fingers that don’t feel like hers. The note is handwritten, a little messy and the writing unfamiliar. He’s written how excited he is that she’s here and how he can’t wait for their date. And that he’ll collect her from the suite at 7:30pm for dinner.

Taylor studies the note. He’s already booked and paid for the whole weekend, wouldn’t hear of Taylor giving him anything towards it or, at the very least, covering her friends expenses. As far as impressive first dates and winning over her girlfriends, he’s ticking every box. Which only makes Taylor feel more unsettled, like she’s about to ruin something she hasn’t even started.

Now she’s standing in the bathroom, vanity crowded with products, the air thick with steam after showers. The girls are everywhere, spilling in and out, their voices ricocheting off marble. Taylor is halfway through her makeup, lost in thought, when Selena drifts in on a cloud of vanilla and hairspray. She picks up a lip liner, twirls it, and cocks her head at Taylor.

She eyes her, up, down, lingering on her clothes. Taylor meets her gaze in the mirror, arching a brow. “You’re not sure?” she deadpans.

Selena folds her arms, lips pursed. “It’s just… babe. You’re in Vegas. This is not what you wear for a date in Vegas.”

Taylor turns, trying to defend herself, but the words stick. “It’s Miu Miu,” she says, voice small. She does a slow spin, tea dress fluttering, gold platforms clunking against the tile. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re covered up to your neck, babe” Selena says firmly, but there’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “You look like you’re going for tea with your parents. Or, like, checking into a nunnery.”

Taylor stares at her reflection, suddenly self-conscious. She’s picked safe, something she can’t be judged for, something that isn’t overtly sexy. But Selena’s right, in this city of glamour and excess, it looks out of place, and so does she.

Selena leans out the bathroom door, her voice ringing down the suite. “Karlie, we have a fashion emergency! You have to loan her something, anything. She’s too tall for any of my stuff!”

Seconds later, Karlie appears, doing the same appraising once-over. “I have this black body-con you can borrow,” she says, already halfway back to her suitcase.

Taylor grits her teeth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t brought anything cute, she had this tea dress and another one and some plaid trousers. But it’s clearly all wrong in hindsight, cute isn’t the vibe here, and Selena and Karlie both look like bombshells and they aren’t the ones heading on a date. She watches as Karlie returns and tosses a dress to her: slinky, short, incredibly sexy.

Taylor looks at the dress, then at herself again in the mirror. For a moment, she wonders what Harry would say if he saw her tonight, what he would do if he walked in and saw her dressed up to impress another man. But the girls are watching, so Taylor wipes the thought away, and reaches for the zipper at her back.

***

“You literally look so incredible, Adam’s gonna think he’s in a dream,” Selena says, standing behind Taylor, smoothing her bob with product. 

Taylor fiddles with her hands, looks at herself in the floor length mirror in the opulent bathroom. She isn’t sure what she wants Adam to think when he sees her. She’s not even sure she wants him to think she’s gone to a lot of effort. But she can’t deny she looks good in the short black dress paired with her gold shoes - and that’s a boost to her ego. 

“Thanks, girls. You’re truly amazing at this.” 

Selena’s done her hair, Karlie’s added more eye makeup, slicked some sheeny oil onto her legs. Taylor looks like she belongs here, in Vegas now. Less staid, exactly like a girl on the dance floor of a super-club with no cares. But still, the unease lingers, a gut feeling telling her to slow down.

London had felt like a fever dream. She was there for days, but felt like she was drugged the entire time, her mind running in circles. She’d kept coming back to the notion that maybe they weren’t unsalvageable. He’d sent that email after all. Laid bare how he was feeling. Maybe he was going to turn up in the nick of time and they’d be together. But then the rational side of her swooped in, played back every time he’d swept in like a hurricane and then left her wrecked. And she goes back to hating him, more resolved than ever to move on. The wars in her head raged nightly like clockwork, it was no surprise she was permanently exhausted.

And Adam. She almost feels bad. No matter how her intentions started with him, she thinks he’s nice. She just doesn’t know if she can face an evening alone with anyone who really likes her right now. She doesn’t know what she can give anyone that doesn’t feel tainted or deceitful. 

Taylor pauses, looks at Selena in the mirror, bites her lip, feels a bit like she might cry.

“What if I just say I’m sick…” she begins quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. 

Selena and Karlie exchange a glance and then Karlie shrugs, gives Taylor a kind look.

“You really don’t have to go if you can’t face it, Tay. But you have come all the way to Vegas….” She says reasonably.

Selena hugs her from the back, meets her eyes in the mirror. “And Adam seems nice. What’s the harm in dinner?” She gestures around the lavish room. “And look at all this. He’s put so much effort in. Let you bring all of us along too….”

“I guess…” Taylor says slowly.

“You deserve a night out somewhere fancy, Tay. Let him wine and dine you. Try not to think too much beyond that, ok?” Karlie picks up a bottle of Tom Ford and sprays a cloud of fragrance around her.

Taylor stares into the mirror, then picks up a red lipstick and applies it with quiet resolve. She can be wined and dined, Karlie’s right. She does deserve that.

***

He’s waiting at 7:30pm sharp, like he said he would be. He’s wearing a white shirt and tailored black trousers, and smiles appreciatively at the sight of her. He stands looking at her for a minute and Taylor feels a blush creeping. Then he seems to snap back into himself, thrusts forward a bunch of flowers in his hand,

“Oh, these are for you,” he says, almost sheepishly.

“Thank you” Taylor says, taking them. “Wow, a second bunch of flowers in one day….” She gives him a smile, so he knows she’s teasing.

“Yeah, I know” he bares his teeth, looks embarrassed for a second. “I mean, I checked with Ellie what you’d like. I know getting the wrong flowers is a big misstep, so I wanted to get it right……and she said two types so I figured one for your room and one for now. And I’m going to stop talking. Should we get going?” He rushes through it and they both laugh. Taylor feels something warm bloom in her chest at how hard he’s trying.

“Sure, I’m just gonna put these inside.” she waves the bouquet and ducks back in the door. The girls are all bunched up by the bathroom, watching, barely containing their giggles. Este swoons dramatically. Taylor rolls her eyes, whispering, “Can you stick these in water for me? Okay, thanks. I’ll see you at the club.” They give her a thumbs up and dissolve into laughter. Taylor backs out, closes the door behind her, and gives Adam an innocent smile. “Thank you again for the flowers - and the room. You’re really sweet. Shall we?”

“Of course. After you.” He gestures down the hallway, nods politely at Taylor’s security. She notices his hand twitch, like he almost wants to take hers. She’s glad he doesn’t. There’s a burst of laughter from the suite, but Adam pretends not to hear, just gives her a smile and leads her toward the elevators.

He’s booked a private room at Nobu. He orders champagne, a selection of sushi. Taylor lets him take the lead - he’s buzzing with a nervous, infectious energy, telling animated stories about his nephews, his parents, his residency here. She finds herself relaxing, almost against her will, letting his interest in her and the ease of his company wash over her.

Towards the end of the meal, he takes her hand under the table. Taylor feels the delicious fizz of the champagne blurring her slightly, it feels easy to just let him. And when his thumb starts tracing circles over her knuckles, something else starts to fizz. Something good, something she almost recognises. She pushes the comparison away. She stops herself, focuses on his kind eyes, she wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to compare. That led nowhere good.

“I’m having a lovely evening” he tells her, eyes sincere.

Taylor is being honest when she replies, “me too.” And she can’t ignore the way his eyes light up at her response.

After dinner, he whisks her away to a car waiting in the underground garage. Vegas, it turns out, was built for discretion. In the private elevator, Adam takes her hand and Taylor realises she hasn’t really thought about Harry in hours. Adam is attentive, not overwhelming. He’s steady in a way that feels completely foreign, and she almost doesn’t know how to relax into it.

At Omnia, Adam lets go of her hand as they slip into the VIP area. He whispers that he needs to change before his set, then disappears. Omnia is a shock to the senses after the calm of dinner - the bass is so loud it vibrates through her bones. She spots the girls at a table behind the DJ booth, all clustered around a massive bottle of vodka. “Babe” Selena screams, clearly more than a little buzzed too. “How was it?”

Taylor slides in next to them, a smile creeping onto her face. “It was great. Really great. He’s…..” She glances over her shoulder, sees Adam stepping up to the decks. “He’s so nice.”

“Oh he’s so into you, Tay.” Karlie says, hiccuping a bit. “He’s had us treated so well all night.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asks, slow to catch up.

“The table, the drinks, he’s paid for everything.” Este yells over the music.

Taylor lets that sink in. He must really like her. God only knows what this weekend is costing him. And he’s treating her friends like part of the package, too - he’s beyond charming.

Adam’s voice booms over the speakers, “Vegas, are you ready to rip this roof off?” The club erupts, her friends with it, but Taylor just watches him, transfixed.

As his set goes on, she loses herself in the atmosphere. He’s in his element and the crowd is eating out of his hand. It does something to her, seeing him like this - so different from the sweet, careful guy at dinner. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with this feeling.

After his set, he finds her. Her friends are all around, beaming, teasing her about the way Adam looked at her from the stage. He sits with them for a bit, effortlessly engaging her friends, his hand resting on her thigh. When the night ends, he insists on escorting them back to their suite.

The girls pile back into the room, laughing like hyenas. Taylor lingers outside with Adam. He brushes a stray lock of hair back from her face. “I had so much fun tonight. Thank you,” she says quietly.

“I’m glad.” His voice is soft.  “Would it be alright if I kissed you.”

Taylor’s stomach flips, but she drops her shoulders, makes herself smile. “Okay.”

He leans closer, cups her jaw, and gives her a sweet, searching, kiss. Taylor rights herself, stepping back. That was….. nice? He was a good kisser, maybe she’d somehow remembered that from her drunken night in London.

She finds herself grinning. He’s grinning too.

“Well, I’ll see you?” she asks softly, inching back toward the suite.

“Maybe tomorrow?” He looks hopeful. “Breakfast or brunch? If you’d like?”

Taylor takes a deep breath. Maybe this is too fast. She should slow down, sober up, decide in the daylight. But the reckless side of her speaks up, with a wink. “Better make it brunch.”

“Okay” he laughs, another smile cracking. “I’ll message you in the morning.”

Taylor nods, then slips back into the room, closing the door behind her. She leans against it, heart pounding. Suddenly the girls are on her, shrieking, punching the air, and Taylor gives in, dissolving into giddy laughter.

***

Ed turns up in New York three days later, arms loaded with wraps and fries from that tiny Lebanese place he’s obsessed with four blocks from Taylor’s apartment. When she lets him in, the scent of garlic and fried potatoes fills the living room.

He’s playing coy today, grinning as he sets the food down on her coffee table, eyes glinting with mischief. He’s got a date planned tonight - someone he actually likes, but he won’t tell her who. “Come on, do I know her?” Taylor teases, flopping onto the sofa beside him, but Ed just sticks his tongue out and shakes his head, making a show of zipping his lips. For some reason, it grates on her more than she wants to admit. Lately, it feels like she’s misplaced her sense of humour, and that irritates her even more.

“Why are you keeping it a secret, Ed? That’s boring.” She whines lightly as Ed tugs one of her throw blankets over his legs, settling in like he lives here.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ed says, almost offhand, stabbing at a fry with his fork.

Taylor blinks, thrown. “What?” She shoots him a look, genuinely confused. “Adam isn’t a secret.”

“Nope. But what about you and Harry?” he asks, not looking up.

Taylor feels that one come out of nowhere. She hasn’t deliberately kept Ed in the dark - she just hasn’t seen him. But it sounds like Harry has. Her jaw juts out, her voice cool and flat. “There is no me and Harry.”

“There was though, wasn’t there? Recently. And you didn’t tell me-“

“Well, he clearly did, so now you know.” She hates being prickly with Ed, but she can’t help it. She has no idea why he’s bringing this up now.

Ed picks at his food. Taylor knows exactly what he’s doing - measuring his next move, deciding if he’s going to be able get her to actually open up or if she’ll just slam her walls up in his face.

“He’s gutted about you being with Adam, Tay.”

“Did he tell you that?” Taylor’s words slip out sharper than she intends. She dials it back, tries to sound breezy. She’s not bothered what Harry thinks. Obviously.

Ed leans back into the couch, a guarded look in his eyes - the one he gets whenever he talks about Harry to her. “Yeah,” he says finally.

“Well, he shouldn’t have fucked up again then, should he? If it was going to bother him so much to see me with someone else.” She snaps open a can of Diet Coke, the hiss loud in the quiet room.

“Look, I’m not telling you to get back together with him, Tay. Or even to forgive him. Just thought you should know he’s not okay, and he regrets what he did.”

“Are you some kind of carrier pigeon now, Ed? I’m not going to be guilt-tripped into feeling sorry for him. He made a choice.”

“I don’t think you should feel sorry for him,” Ed says, voice even.

“Well, good. So we agree. He’s an idiot.” Taylor tries to smile, but her mouth barely moves.

Ed doesn’t smile back. Instead, he stands, stretches, and leans forward onto his toes. “I’m going to get more garlic sauce. D’you want some?”

“No thanks,” Taylor mutters, watching him leave.

Ed returns with another can of beer and the tub of garlic sauce, flopping back down beside her. He gives her a sidelong look, wary, like he’s bracing for a fight.

“I know he fucked up, Tay. And I know this isn’t any of my business-“

“Okay, so let’s talk about something else.”

“I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t gonna mediate between you two-“

“Ed-“

“No, Tay.” His voice is firmer than usual, almost jarring. Ed never pushes. He always just lets her vent, never makes her feel bad. “He told me you ended it by text and then blocked him?”

“He kissed someone else, Ed.”

“I know. But it’s still a bit….cold” Ed shifts on the sofa again, clearly deeply uncomfortable.

“He was fucking groupies around Australia!” She can feel her voice starting to rise, her pulse thudding in her ears. She doesn’t even know if that’s true, but based on previous behaviour it feels like a fair conclusion.

Ed doesn’t address the groupies comment, just takes another swig of beer and says, “I think he thought you were on a break, Tay.”

“He told me he didn’t want to think of me with anyone else, Ed, and then gave himself a loophole to do whatever the fuck he wanted. You can’t make me feel bad.”

“I’m not sticking up for him,” Ed says, eyes fixed on his beer, voice low. “But he’s in love with you, and he’s going through it.”

“Does he think I’m not going through it?” Taylor’s voice cracks. “He told me he was going to wait for us, and instead he hooks up with the first girl he sees, like I’m absolutely nothing. Bullshit he’s in love with me - he doesn’t even know what love is!” She doesn’t realise she’s on her feet until she’s standing, looking down at Ed.

Ed’s eyebrows shoot up, “I think he’s young and a bit stupid, Tay, but I don’t think he would have said those things if he didn’t mean it.”

“Harry makes promises he can’t keep, Ed. You and I both know that.”

Ed goes quiet for a long moment - so long that Taylor thinks he’s finally dropping it.

“Can I ask you something?”

She sighs. “What now?”

“Don’t be pissy with me, c’mon.” Ed fidgets, picking at the edge of the blanket.

 “Spit it out.”

“Calvin - he’s not just a way to get back at Harry, is he?”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Did I think it would piss Harry off? Sure. But I’m dating him because I actually like him, Ed. I’m not that messed up.”

“Okay, two birds, one stone though.” Ed grins, trying to cut the tension.

“Screw you. Stay out of my love life.”

“Believe me, this is the last you’ll hear from me about it,” Ed mutters darkly.

“So back to you, who’s the girl?” Taylor prods, but Ed just throws his hands up and disappears into the kitchen, refusing to answer.

Taylor pushes back into the couch, picking up the remote. This is the first real sign she’s had that Harry is actually bothered by Adam - straight from Ed, who never takes sides. Ed would never betray Harry by telling her everything, but she knows him well enough to recognise that he only brought it up because whatever he’s seen in Harry lately has worried him. It’s clear she’s got to Harry with Adam, exactly what she’d wanted weeks ago - for him to hear the rumours and go insane with jealousy. So why, now that it’s all playing out exactly as she planned, does she feel so hollow?

***

A week later, Taylor is in the car on the way to rehearsals, when her phone vibrates with a news alert. She glances at the headline, and her stomach drops: Zayn has left One Direction. She blinks, scanning the article, the words swimming in front of her eyes. It shouldn’t be a shock - not after Zayn had bailed on the tour. It had almost seemed certain he wouldn’t go back, but it was clearly official now.

Her mind flashes to Harry, to his strained voice in those last calls, his worries during rehearsals. This was what he’d been dreading, she knows. Someone else jumping from the train first.

Almost without thinking, she reaches for her phone, thumb hovering over his name. Muscle memory, old habit. But then she freezes, remembering: he’s blocked. She can’t call, can’t text, can’t email, not without undoing everything. The temptation pulses through her. She wants to reach out, to say something, to check he’s ok, but she knows she shouldn’t. Not when she can’t forgive him, not with Adam on the scene.

She drops her phone onto the seat beside her, leaning back against the headrest. Her fingernails tap an anxious rhythm on her thigh as the urge to check in with him burns quietly in her chest. She stays like that for a while, staring through the window, not focusing on anything whizzing past outside. It’s not a can of worms she should open. She tells herself this, over and over, even as she aches with the urge to break the silence between them.

***

Adam flies in to Nashville to see her while she’s rehearsing for tour. He’s an odd person to have in her condo, this broad-shouldered man wandering through her kitsch décor. She catches him wince slightly when he looks up and spots the birdcage on the ceiling, but he covers it quickly with a smile and tells her her place is cool. He makes them coffee and tells her about his week, peppering kisses on her shoulder as she watches him. Adam’s settling into this like they’ve been together months, but she supposes that’s how it works in an adult relationship. She’s trying to follow his lead, so she pecks him on the lips while he pours the milk into their mugs.

Adam’s on his phone later, responding to emails, feet up on the sofa. Taylor tries not to feel annoyed that his shoes are still on. She’s not going to say anything, it’s so minor.

He stretches, glancing at her over his phone. “Should we go grab some food?” he asks.

Taylor hesitates, just a breath too long. Adam catches it, shoots her a sidelong look, waiting. She has to remind herself - people already know she’s with Adam. The tabloids have had a field day, the rumour mill spinning on overdrive since London and Vegas, all of it exactly what she’d meant to set off. Except… she pushes that part down, and turns to him. “Sure,” she says, trying to sound relaxed, “what did you have in mind?”

“You’re definitely sure?” he presses, eyebrow raised. “We could just order in if you’d prefer.”

“No, no let’s head out,” she says, shaking her head, trying to be casual about it. “Pick up some things to eat back here, at the very least.”

“Great,” Adam grins, bouncing up from the couch.

Taylor studies him for a second. If they’re going to do this - go out in public, be seen - she should probably change. He’s in a dark grey t-shirt and jeans, looking unbothered and handsome in a way that still surprises her. He’s so different from anyone she’s dated before; he looks like a grown man, and she’ll never get over needing to tilt her head up just to meet his eyes. She should at least put on something she’d be okay to be photographed in.

“Wait here, I’m just gonna change,” she says, heading for the bedroom.

“You don’t want me to come with you?” Adam calls after her, a teasing glint in his eye.

Taylor smirks over her shoulder. He’s almost insatiable, and she’s trying to take things slow, but Adam’s so keen that it’s almost impossible. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Oh, I only need a minute!” he fires back, and she laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Down, boy. Later.”

She pulls a long-sleeved tee from her closet, pairs it with a high-waisted skirt and ankle boots. It’s more casual than what she’d wear in New York, but she’s not there - she’s in Nashville, on a day off, with her boyfriend. The word still feels strange in her mouth, like she’s borrowing someone else’s life. Sometimes she still feels stuck in that kitchen, staring at the picture of Harry and that girl, her brain scrambling to catch up to this new reality.

“What do you think?” she asks when she returns, spinning around in the lounge.

Adam grins, holding his t-shirt collar next to hers. “Matching. I like it.”

They end up downtown, the day is warm and bright, sun glinting off car hoods as they wander in and out of shops. Sure enough, they’re photographed - papped outside a Whole Foods, again in the parking lot, and the pictures are all over TMZ by the end of the day. When Taylor shows Adam, he just shrugs, completely unfazed. “Not like people didn’t already know, right?”

She studies his face, the calm confidence there. “Do you feel good about it being official?” she asks, voice a little tentative.

“Yeah, but we were already official, no?” He looks at her.

“Yeah, I guess,” Taylor says, a small smile sneaking onto her lips.

“You guess?” Adam teases, scrolling through the photos again. “T-shirts were a great shout, by the way.” He winks, and Taylor feels something soft and fizzy wash over her. The more time they spend together, the more she likes him. There was something to be said for letting your head rule, not your heart.

***

“Babe, shall we go to bed?” Adam calls from the kitchen, his voice echoing over the sound of running water. Taylor can hear him filling his glass, the gentle clink as he sets it down, and the low, playful splash as he flicks water at the cats. She wishes he wouldn’t, but it’s a game to him and he’s trying. He’s not really a cat person, which is fine, honestly.

“I’m just going to take my makeup off,” she calls back, voice bouncing down the hallway. Taylor places her phone on the edge of the sink and reaches for her cleanser. She starts to massage it in circles into her skin, watching it melt away her foundation.

Her phone lights up: an incoming call from Niall Horan. She blinks, trying to remember the last time they even texted, she doesn’t think they’ve ever spoken on the phone. It was probably a pocket dial. She ignores it, lets it ring out as she reaches for a flannel. But the phone buzzes again – Niall. Something twists in her gut, uneasy. What if something’s happened? What if Harry- She swipes to answer, fingers slick with cleanser. “Hello?”

“Taylor,” a voice breathes down the line, rough and northern and unmistakably not Irish.

Her stomach lurches, as if the floor shifts beneath her.

“Please don’t hang up,” he slurs, voice thick, pleading. There’s an odd tone to it, like he’s been crying, and the sound makes her chest tighten. “You shouldn’t be calling me,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“I need to speak to you.” His words tumble out, desperate.

She hears muffled voices in the background, the distant sound of someone calling his name.

“Does Niall know you’re on his phone?” she asks, wary.

“Please, a minute, Ni, just give me-“ Harry’s voice fades as he turns away from the receiver. Taylor closes her eyes, jaw clenched. Clearly, Niall wasn’t aware.

“Are you okay?” she hears herself ask, instinct overriding her better judgment.

Ragged breaths on the other end. “No. Zayn’s gone and you’re gone. Nothing’s okay.” His voice cracks, raw. Now she know’s he’s been drinking, unguarded emotions spilling out.

“Babe?” Adam’s voice floats in from outside the door, hesitantly. “Who’re you talking to?”

Fuck. Taylor holds the phone away from her mouth. “Just a friend, I’ll meet you in bed, okay?” The words feel brittle on her tongue, her tone off, but Adam doesn’t question it; she hears him pad away.

“That him?” Harry asks, voice breaking.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Tay-“

“Do you have someone with you?” she cuts in, sharp.

“Yeah, Niall-“

“Fine. I’m going.” Her hand is shaking.

“Please-” She can hear the panic rising in his voice, but she can’t listen to it. Not tonight, not ever.

“I have nothing to say to you, Harry.” And she hangs up.

Taylor braces herself on the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes rimmed with leftover mascara she needs to wipe off. She fights the urge to call him back, or text Niall and make him promise to watch Harry tonight. It’s not her problem anymore, she tells herself, but the worry sits in her chest.

She pads into the bedroom. Adam sits propped up against her mountain of pillows, iPad in his lap. He raises an eyebrow. “Who was that on the phone?”

Taylor kicks off her slippers, swings her legs into bed. She hesitates for a heartbeat, then decides not to bury it. She didn’t ask for this, this isn’t her shame.

“It was Harry. He, uh, was drunk.”

“Harry who?” Adam looks genuinely confused, brow furrowed. They haven’t really talked about exes. He’d told her he ended things with his last girlfriend as soon as he met Taylor, that it was really already over by then, but he called it quits for good as soon as he laid eyes on her. He’s always been upfront. She figures she should be, too.

“Styles. We were together again for a bit this year.”

“Just before us?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated.” The words come out flat. It feels the easiest explanation, there’s nothing good that could come of telling him everything.

Adam is quiet for a long minute. “Thank you for telling me. Not sure why he’d think you’d want to talk to him, then.”

“I’ve got him blocked. He called from someone else’s phone,” she says, too quickly.

“Right. Well, then he’s a loser, isn’t he?”

“Right.” She nods, but there’s still something cold running through her.

Adam reaches out, wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. “Come here, baby. Let’s watch something, yeah? Or we could, you know…”

Oh, she knows. Taylor tries to summon some enthusiasm, but her mind keeps spinning back to Harry, to the rawness in his voice. He clearly wasn’t ok, maybe she shouldn’t have been so cold.

She glances at her phone on the nightstand. It’s over. She keeps coming back to that – he’s hurt her, over and over. Still, she feels for him. Whatever’s happening with the band, with Zayn leaving, it’s brutal. She tries to breathe, to focus on the warmth of Adam’s body, the comfort of his hand at her waist.

This is where she’s supposed to be. In bed, with her calm, steady boyfriend. She clings to that thought.

***

The next few months with Adam blur into a steady stream of dinner dates, each one punctuated by the relentless huddle of paparazzi waiting just outside. The flashes are a constant reminder that their lives are never quite their own. But Adam keeps his cool, unfazed by the frenzy. He shrugs it off with a casual smile, saying it’s just interesting because it’s fresh, and people should carry on however they want. So she finds herself flaunting Adam with a confidence that surprises her.

Scrolling through social media later, Taylor sees the positivity radiating back at her. Posts calling them a power couple, think pieces praising her for staying single until she found the right man. It makes her pause, a slow smile creeping across her lips. Maybe Karlie was right. Maybe the steady guy who actually does what he says he will is the smart path.

But beyond the public perception, beyond the sensible part of her brain clicking into place, being with Adam feels almost healing. Teenage girls aren’t burning effigies of her on the internet. It’s so different from what she had with Harry - free of the constant angst, the insane highs followed by the serious lows that left her drained. It’s smooth sailing. And that, she thinks, says everything.

It’s Taylor’s idea to sit together at the Billboard Music Awards. When Adam agrees without hesitation, something warm spreads inside her. This all feels new and exciting - stepping out, hand in hand, with someone who isn’t running from who she is, someone she can trust and build something serious with.

Why shouldn’t she sit with him, publicly?

***

On the night of the Billboard Awards, Taylor steps onto the red carpet with her girlfriends, the flashbulbs exploding around them. She’s premiering the Bad Blood music video tonight, and she’s brought a squad of friends and co-stars to share the spotlight. The sequins on her jumpsuit catch the light, and she feels incredible - on top of the world, unstoppable. She’s just played the first US date of her tour after a triumphant start in Japan, and she could barely believe how well everything was going right now.

She strides confidently into the arena, heart pounding with excitement, and makes a beeline for Adam. He’s waiting in the front row, and when he pulls her in by the waist, Taylor melts into him. She slides into the seat beside him, his hand settling over hers, fingers curling around her knee, then sliding up to rest on her lower back. The world’s eyes are on them, and for once, she doesn’t care. Adam seems to feel the same – he’s cool and collected under the attention.

But beneath Adam’s touch, a flicker of tension lingers in her. She hears his whispered words against her ear, but her mind is elsewhere, pulled back to the moment she heard Harry’s voice behind her on the carpet as she posed for pictures. She pushes it down, but when One Direction wins Best Group, reality intrudes.

She claps as loudly as anyone as the boys take the stage, Harry bringing up the rear. They look so different from the boys she first met only three years ago - older, more polished, but with an edge weariness she recognises in herself.

Taylor’s gaze shifts to Harry as Louis lifts the award and begins his speech. He looks subdued. Suddenly she feels horribly exposed, sitting so close to him. Their last shared breath was in sweats, kissing in his driveway, swearing they’d come back to each other. She hopes he won’t look her way. Maybe he doesn’t realise she’s here. But then she remembers –she’s been on the Jumbotron multiple times tonight, Adam solidly to her left. He knows exactly where she is.

Harry lingers on the stage, watching Louis intently, then his eyes shift, cutting across the crowd – landing on her. His gaze roams over her, slow and deliberate. His expression changes.

There’s something raw and devastating in those eyes - hurt and disbelief tangled with a vulnerability that stabs at her. He holds her gaze, unblinking, eyes boring into hers like lasers. Her breath hitches, pulse jolting. His reaction feels like an affront, a red flag to her anger and heartbreak. Everything she’s done since February has been in response to his lack of control, his mess.

She lifts her chin and beams at Adam instead. Leans up and whispers in his ear, “Are you having a good time?”

He laughs, easy and warm. “Yeah, always with you.”

It’s childish, she knows, but let Harry assume whatever he wants.

She looks back up as Liam begins to speak, catching Harry’s eyes darting down to the floor, then reluctantly back to Liam. Anywhere but her. Taylor glances down at Adam’s hand wrapped around hers. Let him see. Let him wonder. Because Harry never really paid for the chaos he left behind. He was the one that got to walk away while everything blew up behind him.

She tries to steady her breath, remind herself who she’s here with, that Harry is the past. His eyes flicker back to her as he leaves the stage. For a wild, insane second, she thinks he might come over. There’s something raw and burning in his gaze - but then Liam steps in beside him, and they disappear into the crowd.

Taylor realises she’s gripping her jumpsuit tightly, staring straight ahead as Adam claps politely beside her. She starts clapping again, plastering a smile back onto her face, and Adam snorts a little laugh next to her. She nudges him with her arm, and he squeezes an arm round her shoulders gently. She thought she was okay - healed, moved on completely. But one hurt look from Harry, on tonight of all nights, and she’s spiralling. She hates herself for it.

Chapter Text

They leave the arena hand in hand as soon the show ends, escaping the crowds into the relative calm of backstage. Adam’s grip is steady and reassuring, anchoring her to reality, blind to the storm raging inside her. She’s still trying to shake the image of Harry’s devastation from her head; the slip of his mask when he saw her draped over in Adam on the front row; the applause of the crowd, the hurt in his eyes, the way he’d sucked on his lip like he was trying not to cry. It clings to her like static, replaying in slow motion on a perpetual loop in her brain.

Adam runs into some industry friends by the dressing rooms, and she’s relieved it’s an easy out for her so she mumbles to him that she’s going to find a restroom. He waves her off and continues talking, eyes focused on his friend. They’re in no rush to leave, they’ll only end up in a traffic gridlock as everyone rushes to their cars, and the afterparty won’t be in full swing for a while yet. She just needs a moment alone to breathe before she’s back on display. A chance to put her head against the wall of a bathroom stall, close her eyes and will herself not to fall apart. She couldn’t be the girlfriend Adam deserved right at this second, which was bullshit. One look from him after months and she was falling apart. She had to pull herself back together.

Taylor walks quickly down the corridor, Graham on her heels, scanning for any sign of a restroom. As she rounds a corner, she collides into a body.

“Oh, I’m sorry”’ she says instantly, apologetically, hands held up. She focuses her eyes on the stranger in front of her.

It’s Niall. Standing alone outside the gents, beside a stack of flight cases. “Hey” he says tentatively.

“Hey” Taylor says, trying to recover her shock. “Sorry for barging into you”. If Niall was here the odds were high that Harry was close. She looks nervously around him, but the corridor beyond was empty.

“Don’t worry about it. How are you?” Niall asks politely. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable, she can tell by the way his hand rubs the back of his neck. Taylor has always liked Niall, possibly because he was the friendliest to her from the outset. He’d rooted for her and Harry from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other; had deliberately got into the back seat of the car on the way back from Justin’s party that first night so Harry could sit next to Taylor. Harry had taken his chance, brushed his hand against hers, so light she could have been forgiven for thinking it was accidental. But she’d known he meant it when she saw his eyes flicker to her and then back again, a shy smile hovering on his lips. She didn’t know why she was allowing herself to think about him again, she had to stop letting the highlight reel creep up on her.

“I’m good.” Taylor says, somewhat awkwardly. “Hey, congratulations on the award.” She wonders if its weirder if she does or doesn’t give him a hug. She goes with her gut, leans in and is relieved when he returns a quick squeeze.

“Thanks” Niall smiles, “and you. Where have you left them all?”

“Oh, they’re already in the car” Taylor says casually, gesturing behind her. “Not exactly easy to carry.”

“Well, you’d need a suitcase to move all eight around.” Niall says easily, the initial awkwardness seems to have evaporated and Taylor is relieved. Now she just needs Harry not to appear.

“Listen, have you seen the ladies restrooms?” She asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Round there on the right, I think.” Niall points round the next corner.

“Thanks, well, see you around.” She says, lifting her hand in a small wave and moves to walk on.

“Uh, Taylor?” Niall asks, sheepish. He jams his hands into his pockets, rocks on his heels.

“Yeah?” She pauses. His face is twisted a bit, like he suddenly feels awkward again.

“I wanted to say I’m really sorry about the call.” He rushes. “I didn’t know until he was already talking to you.”

Taylor takes a sharp breath. It was the last thing she’d expected him to bring up. She wondered if Harry had confided in Niall too, given him the same sob story as Ed.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t expect you to apologise for him.” Taylor says cooly. She doesn’t want to be rude to Niall, not when he’s always been so kind to her, but if she has to discuss any of the mess with Harry out loud then she thinks she might crumble.

Niall sighs, takes his voice lower. “Taylor, look, I think Harry feels bad about it too.”

“Honestly, Niall, it’s fine. It really wasn’t a big deal.” Taylor says quickly, brightly.

Niall looks unconvinced, but takes his hands out of his pockets and shrugs. “Ok, well I’ll see you at the afterparty, yeah?”

“Sure”’ Taylor says tightly. “See you there.”

Niall stops again as Taylor starts to move away. He looks pensive, then, “Harry won’t be at the party. He has a cold, feels rubbish. He’s flying back to LA tonight.”’

“Oh”’ Taylor says steadily. She keeps her expression carefully neutral, but relief floods through her. “Ok. Well, see you later.”

Niall offers a small smile, then pulls his phone out and strolls back in the direction Taylor and Graham have just come.

“Ok, let’s find these restrooms.” Taylor says, palming clammy hands onto her hips. Thank god he won’t be there, thank god. Not after he looked at her like that, not with so much left unsaid between them.

They round the corner, talking all the while. Graham telling Taylor about his daughters 6th grade dance recital, her tutu request and the four stores his wife had had to search to find the specified colour. There’s only one person in the corridor ahead, a man with his back to them, head bowed, dressed in black. Taylor assumes he’s crew or someone’s agent, but as they move closer, she recognises the hair falling onto this shoulders, realises it could only be him. And suddenly everything inside her goes cold and rigid.

He’s on the phone. Hair pushed back. He looks so like the Harry who was waiting for her in Central Park, before they crashed down and became strangers again. Taylor can feel Graham’s eyes on her, his pace slowing as he waits for her direction. Her mouth dries and her hands turn clammy once more.  He hasn’t noticed her yet. She can still turn around, go and find Adam, jump in the car and use the bathrooms at the party instead. She shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here, she should walk backwards and pretend she’d never laid eyes on him. He was supposed to be rushing to catch a flight, and Niall had said he was sick. He didn’t look sick, he looked-

She stops fifteen feet from him. She can feel Graham’s eyes on her uncertainly. Taylor hovers on one heel, decision made. She’s changing direction. She’s going back the way she came.

But then he ends his call, looks up as if he can sense he now has company in the deserted corridor. And finds her there. For a second, he just blinks, like he doesn’t trust his own eyes, and Taylor feels the air around them still.

Harry drinks her in, eyes flooding over her, like she’s a illusion he has to be convinced is real. He takes a step forward, eyes unfocused as if sleep walking. Taylor instinctively steps further back. Graham’s eyes flick between the two of them.

“Tay”’ he breathes out finally. It feels at once familiar and not enough, not when he was calling her ‘baby’ while eating her out only months before. Her breath catches, her body tenses at the memory.

“Hi”’ she says stonily. Because what else could she say to him, apart from completely ignoring him and for some reason she didn’t have that in her.

He’s breathing heavily. Then, hesitantly, like he can’t believe he’s saying it. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Taylor just stares at him. Here was the man she thought she was going to have everything with, her final chapter and her forever. Except, now she could see it wasn’t going to be him after all, it was sweet, trusting, Adam, and he was only down the hall.

“No”’ she says, but her tone comes off as unsure and Harry’s eyes narrow in realisation.

“Please”’ he says softly.

His eyes, his tone, throw her off. And the next second she says “Ok.” Voice icy cold, but she can barely believe it’s come out and she’s assented to his request . “What do you have to say?”

“Right” he says, and looks like he’s going to launch into something rehearsed.

“Not here” she hisses.

Harry gestures to a fire exit. “Shall we go outside?” He shoots a glance at Graham, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“It’s not private out there,” Taylor shoots back, and it stings to talk to him like a stranger. She looks around them, spots an unmarked, nondescript door and yanks it open. “Here.”

It was a tiny cleaning cupboard, cramped and sour with the smell of bleach, shelves stacked high with bottles and rags. Harry follows, silent. The him she knew would’ve cracked a joke about it. Now there’s nothing.

“It’s fine,” Taylor says to Graham,. “I won’t be long.” He nods, impassive, and Taylor shuts the door.

***

Inside, it’s so tight she thinks she can feel every exhale that leaves Harry’s chest. The air reeks of bleach and dust, it’s sour, pressing into her throat and into her lungs. The overhead bulb flickers and sways, emitting barely any light, casting shadows across Harry’s jaw, catching in the hollows of his cheeks. The sequins on her white jumpsuit snag on the mop handle, and Taylor tries to edge away from it while keeping a distance from Harry, which was almost impossible in the tiny space. She crosses her arms, like she’s bracing for defence or battle.

She shouldn’t be in here. Not with him. Not after everything. She has no idea why she said yes – why she let him look at her like that and sway her, why she let her feet obey him and not her own sense. Why she stepped into a tiny, dark place with the one person she most wanted to avoid. Her skin prickles with regret, and something sharper. He’s far too close.

“So, I’m here. What do you want?” Her voice comes out too loud in the cramped space, bouncing off the walls around them.

Harry’s eyes seem to jump from morose to furious at hyper speed, pupils blown wide, anger darkening his features in the flickering half-light.

“What the hell are you doing?” his tone instantly furious, his words sharp, as if her very presence is an affront.

Taylor flinches, heat blooming in her cheeks. Caught off guard by how fast his anger has flared – like he’s been waiting for a fight. Maybe he has.

“Sorry?” She spits back, voice shaking, her own anger instantly rising to match his. How dare he, after everything? It was insane how quickly they had entered this dance. Rage in place like a shield and Harry weaponising his hurt.

“Why are you here with him?” he snarls. A demand, not a question. The words are a landmine between them, and for a moment, she sees nothing of the boy she loved. He’s a stranger, his face twisted with jealousy and fury.

“My boyfriend came to support me” Taylor says, but her tone goes hard and brittle, and she knows it sounds bitchy. It’s the very worst side of herself, the one she tries to push down ordinarily, but Harry deserves this part of her with both barrels.

Harry’s chest heaves. He’s breathing fast and shallow, as if he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will. “Calvin’s a prick” he says, voice dripping derision.

Taylor’s hands curl against her arms, fingernails digging into her skin. “Oh fuck off, Harry. You don’t get to play the jealous ex after how you treated me!” She hears the quiver in her own voice, hates it, hates that he still gets to her.

He’s blinking very fast, his jaw working. Then he falters slightly, looks uncertain, almost vulnerable. “You said you couldn’t have a boyfriend publicly-”

“Turns out it’s different when I have a boyfriend I can trust.” The words tumble out cruelly. She feels a vicious satisfaction at the way Harry recoils, like she’s slapped him.

He looks downwards to the floor, draws his mouth into a grim, colourless line. “Why are you being like this?”

Taylor feels her fury escalate again, sharply. How can he stand here and act like the injured party? She jabs her finger at his chest, accusations hanging in the space between them. “Me? Me?! You’re the one who-“ she stops, throat tight, bitterness burning her tongue. “You know what, I’m leaving ”

“No” he moves, blocking the door. A solid wall of heat, regret, and fury, between her and escape.

Taylor’s vision swims with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?” The words rip out of her, reverberating off the shelves around them. “Get out of my way”

“No” he repeats, but his voice wobbles at the edges, betraying him. “I won’t. I need to understand.”

She can barely breathe, the cupboard closing in around them, the smell of mould creeping in now on top the oppressive bleach scent. It would look terrible if anyone was to wrench the door open and find them face to face, Harry in his rocker black silk shirt and blazer, Taylor head to toe in white sequins. America’s Sweetheart and the Boyband Heartthrob screaming at each other in a dingy cupboard, while her oblivious boyfriend waits loyally down the hall. The heaviness and fury between them is the third person in this cupboard, an angry weeping ghost.  “What could you possibly need to understand?” She says, voice dripping venom.

Harry eyes fix on hers. His hands tremble at his sides, knuckles white. “I know I hurt you, I would do anything to take it back, but a text message-“

She cuts him off, emboldened now by her anger, by the terrible power of seeing how rattled he is and having the upper hand for once. “What else would you have had me do, Harry? What? Accept you sticking your dick wherever you want, while I sat around and played the good girl in the waiting room?”

“I wasn’t-” he looks shattered, voice breaking.

Taylor doesn’t let him finish. “Fuck you. How dare you try and turn any of this around on me. I was waiting for you and you-“ her voice cracks and she folds her arms, squeezing herself, fighting to steady her breath. She stares at the shelves ahead, the lurid green of the disinfectant bottle, the stacks of blue cleaning rolls. “You know what, this conversation is a waste of time. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” She shoves past him, fingers closing around the door handle.

“Please”’ he says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear him. It’s the sound of someone breaking. “Please don’t walk out.”

She freezes, back still to him. That voice – wrecked, ruined, familiar. The voice that haunts her when she confronts Harry  in the mirror, in the shower, on long flights, in the dark while Adam sleeps soundly next to her. Her heart thunders against her chest, so loud she’s sure he must hear it, must feel it in the air between them. She says nothing for a moment, stares at the flaking paint on the door. This wasn’t where she’d imagined they’d end up dissecting their heartbreak – in a box with no air, no room to hide.

She’s rehearsed this showdown in her head a thousand times. She always remained composed and emerged victorious. Now, all she can feel is exhaustion and grief, clinging to her.

“I let you ruin me” she says finally, voice hoarse.. “So many times. And then I flew to England anyway, even though I know what you’re like, and how this would end. I’ve always known. God, you must think I’m an idiot.”

She turns back around and he’s just standing there. Hands balled into fists, shoulders hunched, looking so lost something lurches in her.

“I don’t” he whispers, and he looks so devastated she thinks the weight of it might crush her, too. “And I didn’t do anything else with that girl. I couldn’t, because kissing her felt so wrong instantly because she wasn’t you. Taylor, you’re the only-“

“Stop.” She holds up her hand. “Just stop. Do you even believe yourself? Or do you just dole it out because this bullshit has worked on me every time before?”

“No” he says, pleading “I know this is my fault-“

“You’re right, it is. Fuck, I gave you everything. Do you know that? And if I’d have let you….” She trails off, voice splintering, tilts up her jaw, tries to gather the last of her dignity. “If I’d have let you, you would have humiliated me.

Harry swallows, hard. His fingers rise to rub his nose, trying to hide the way his eyes shine. “No. I was coming back for you, like we promised each other.”

The laugh she barks out is brittle. “Oh I’m sure, after a summer on the road ploughing into random girls. You know, it was odd that you were initially so devastated over the idea of a break, but then you agreed to it so quickly.”

“You said it was the best thing for both of us, you’d already decided, I couldn’t talk you out of it.” But he looks unsure, small. Good, she thinks viciously. Good.

“You didn’t even try”

“Yes, I did – what are you talking about?” He looks on the verge of losing it completely, eyes darting to the side, trying to recall memories.

“You sent me flowers after you’d had your tongue in another girls mouth!” The words rip out of her.

“I’m sorry, I regret it every day. I wake up and it’s the first thing I think about, and I can’t undo it. I wish I could, I wish we could go back and I’d never have agreed to a break. I need you, I-“ his head is in his hands, voice breaking on the confession. Taylor waits, arms, tight around herself. Unsure why she’s even still here listening to any of this.

He directs his eyes to the ground again. “Watching you with him tonight killed me, I wanted to pull him off you.”

She rolls her eyes, but her anger is starting to fray at the edges.’“Well thank fuck you didn’t in front of a live audience.” She retorts nastily.

“You’re mine.” The words are a low, desperate growl now.

“No, I’m not”

“We’re each others, Taylor. There’s no one else-“

She shakes her head, jaw clenched so hard her teeth ache. “What would you have me do, Harry? End things with my boyfriend who is in love with me and-“

“Are you in love with him?” He interrupts.

“What?” Taylor’s breath hitches.

“Well, are you?”

“Of course I am” she snaps, but there’s a tremor in it. He can hear it, she knows.

Harry stares at her, and for a moment, she feels like he’s looking straight through her, past the bravado and into her soul. “‘Ok” he says finally. “If you say so”

Taylor feels heat crawl up her neck, anger and shame and something needier twisting through her. She wonders how much Graham has heard while he’s guarding outside. How messed up he thinks the two of them are.

“You shouldn’t be with him, you should be with me.” He says, defiant eyes holding hers.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Harry, I’m this close to walking out” Taylor forces out, wishes she could find it in herself to just do it.

“Please leave him, please.” His voice is breaking, and he’s so close now, has somehow inched forward. She can feel the heat from his body, the tremor in his hands.  “Tay, please.”

“The band is almost over….” He’s breathing fast, his breath shallow. The air between them heavy, electric. It’s palpable, she wishes she couldn’t feel it. “We can make it this time.”

“I have a boyfriend”

“Then why are you in this cupboard with me?” His hand is braced on the shelf behind her, Taylor feels her own breath quicken. “Why?” He presses, he moves closer still.

Taylor feels her body betraying her, heart slamming, skin tingling with every inch of space he closes. Her body curving towards him blindly.

“Walk out of here with me” he demands. He’s suddenly too close. His breath on her face, his hands brushing hers.

“I can’t”

“Please” his voice raw, his thigh nudges hers. Heat floods her.

“I have a boyfriend” Taylor says again, but her insistence sounds futile even to her ears. Harry lifts his hand and grazes her jaw with his fingers, his eyes dark. Taylor’s trying to control her breath, taper her physical reaction to him.

“Does it feel like this with him?” He breathes, fingers running down her throat,

“Like what?”

“Don’t lie.” He says, throatily. There’s a plea in it, his breath hot against her cheek, his hands ghosting against her skin.

His hands are on her face. It would be so easy – God, so easy – to let him kiss her, to let him burn everything down.

His eyes are wild, desperate, and her body is screaming at her to just let go.

Harry drinks her in for another breathless second, and then something in him snaps, and he surges forward-

“Taylor?” A loud knock on the door. Harry freezes, inches from her. “Is everything ok?” It’s Graham, his voice muffled, concerned. The spell shatters.

Taylor stumbles, panic flooding her veins. If anyone walks in now, if Graham so much as turns the handle, it’ll look like exactly what it isn’t. She wrenches herself away, bumping into a bucket, the handle digging into her ankle.

“Everything’s fine, i’ll be out in a minute” she calls, voice too bright, too loud.

She rounds on Harry, trembling with anger and something that felt close to grief. “You shouldn’t have got that close, We almost made a huge mistake.”

“It didn’t feel like one.” His pupils are blown, his voice low.

“Please stay away from me” Taylor says, and her fists ache from clenching so hard, but she can’t stop the tremor in her hands, or the way her heart won’t slow down.

“No, I-“

“Stay away” she repeats, but her insistence sounds robotic even to her. “I’m going now-“

She shoulders past him, barely keeping herself upright, hand fumbling for the handle.

“Why did you answer my call?” He demands into the silence, just as Taylor gets a grip and turns the handle.

She pauses. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was Niall.” But the lie tastes bitter, and she knows he can hear it in her voice.

“Did you?” he presses, voice ragged, disbelieving. “Funny, you only hung up when your boyfriend interrupted”

Taylor grips the door handle so hard her knuckles ache, her whole body trembling. “It’s over, Harry. You need to accept it and move on.” She can barely force the words through her teeth. Each syllable tastes like blood.

“No.” He says it with finality, as if he can simply refuse reality and bend it to his will.

She shakes her head, tears burning at her eyes. “Please, after everything you’ve done, just let me be.” She pleads, and she hates herself for how much it still sounds like hope.

Harry’s voice reverberates in the cramped, chemical-scented air. “It’s supposed to be you and me.” He forces out, over wrought, hands fisting in his hair.

“You hit the fucking nuclear button, Harry! Not me. Not me.”

He stares at her, gutted, eyes wild. “I will do anything to make it right.” His voice drops to a desperate whisper.

“Get away from me. I hate you.” She spits the words, voice shaking, and knows she’s lying but wants to hurt him all the same.

Harry staggers back like she’s struck him, but he shakes his head, bites his lip. “No you don’t.”

“Oh, I do.” She wants it to be true. She needs it to be true.

“Tayl-“ He reaches for her, but she recoils, stepping back onto the mop, almost slipping. The cupboard is suddenly too small to breathe.

“I want you out of my life forever,” she says, the words tumbling out sharp and reckless, as if saying it will make it real. “Here’s an idea for you. Why don’t you go to a Victoria’s Secret show and find another idiot girls life to fucking ruin.”

Harry’s face hardens, his eyes igniting with a hatred that matches hers. For a moment, the silence is absolute, except for the harsh sound of their breathing and the electric buzz of the dying bulb overhead.

“If that’s what you want,” he says finally, his tone flint-edged, bitter, so unlike the boy she once knew. “I’ll leave you and Mr Ibiza to it then.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Taylor chokes, tears finally blurring her vision. She blinks them away furiously, but they spill down her cheeks anyway, hot and stinging.

“Fuck you,” he fires back, voice breaking, fury and heartbreak indistinguishable.

“Go to hell!” she screams, and it rips out of her, louder than she meant.

He looks at her like she’s a stranger - like he’s never seen her before, never loved her, never ruined her. Then he shoulders past, wrenches open the door, and the harsh fluorescent hallway light floods the cupboard.

He storms out, the door slams behind him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving Taylor alone in the suffocating dark. For a moment she stands frozen, shoulders shaking, breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. Tears run unchecked down her face, down her neck. She presses her palms to her eyes, wishing she could scrub the memory of him from her skin, wishing she could believe a single word she just said.

***

Taylor tries to calm herself. Presses her hands against her cheeks, tries to stem the tears. What if he walks back in and sees her now, god, fuck him trying to win her back when they were so far beyond the eleventh hour. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, but maybe it was inevitable, ever since she’d seen him staring from the stage, crushed, like his eyes were trying to transmit his devastation

to her. Just when she’d thought she was ok, he had to claw at the wound again.

She spots a roll of some blue industrial cleaning towel on the shelf and rips a chunk off, pats her face dry. She balances a hand on the shelf and makes herself breathe in and out, like she was taught at the first ever yoga class she took years ago. The teacher had placed her hand on Taylor’s chest and told her she needed to learn to breathe properly, that she was holding too much tension in each shallow breath. She tries to remember that now, in out, in out, on repeat. Fingers grip onto the edge of the shelving unit. What would she do if he walked back in here right now, what if Graham hadn’t interrupted. She’d let him get too close.

It’s silent outside. She wonders what on earth Graham heard. God, what anyone passing heard. What if Adam had come to find her and- she’s lost all concept of time, has she been gone fifteen minutes or two hours. What was she going to say?

She pushes away from the shelf, sniffs and blinks her eyes, before finally turning the handle and stepping out.

The light in the hallway is bright and harsh. Taylor’s eyes take a second to adjust. Graham is waiting there for her, eyes kind and narrowed in worry, and next to him, Selena.

Selena’s jaw drops slightly and she peels off the wall opposite, looks at Taylor in disbelief.

“I came to find you, you’ve been gone ages”. She says, peers around Taylor’s shoulder “why were you in a cleaning cupboard?”

Taylor tries to steady her breath, sees Selena take in her tear stained cheeks up close and do some mental calculations, drops her voice low. “Please tell me it’s not connected to the fact I just saw Harry storming back down the corridor.”

“Sel”’ Taylor says, and to her horror her voice cracks, “please don’t ask.”

“Oh god, babe.” Selena whispers in horror, “what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” she blurts, voice fraught, and then the tears come again, hot, unstoppable. Selena grabs Taylor’s handbag from Graham, tugs her down the hall and into the empty ladies restroom, where she locks them in a stall.

“Thank god everyone else is already on their way to the afterparty”’ she says, and gently nudges Taylor to sit on the toilet seat, snaps open her bag and rummages, pulling out powder.

She leans over, dabs Taylor’s tears away, gentle as ever. “Here,” she says, “we’ll just repair and no one will know.”

Taylor tries for a laugh, it comes out shaky. “Thanks, Sel. You’re the best.”

She waits, lets Taylor breathe for a beat, then asks quietly, “What happened?”

“We had an argument.” Taylor forces out, pulling at her fingers. She knows she’s anxious now. She wonders where Harry stormed off to, directly to the airport or somewhere else.

“You went into a cupboard willingly with him?” She asks gently. Taylor knows she’s trying to keep the judgement from her voice. “Tay, that’s madness.”

“He asked me to leave Adam and be with him-“ it comes out involuntarily and Taylor has no idea why she’s admitted it.

Selena’s jaw drops, her hand holding the powder puff freezes inches away from Taylor’s face. “Oh fuck, what did you say?”

“I said no obviously” Taylor says defensively.

“Obviously,” Selena replies quickly. “What did he think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know, he saw me with Adam and….” Taylor trails off.

“He’s jealous” Selena jumps in scornfully “and if it was going to bother him to see you happy with someone else, maybe he shouldn’t have screwed up for the hundredth time.”

Taylor stares at the floor, fingers curl around the edge of the seat. “He was so pissed. He called Adam a prick—”

Selena eye rolls hard. “Oh, he’s the prick,” she snaps, fierce. Pads concealer under Taylor’s eyes, and finishes with some powder.

She says nothing for a minute then crouches down in front of Taylor and places her hands on Taylors knees. “Just be careful ok, Tay. You gave Harry so many chances and you don’t want to ruin the good thing you have going with Adam.”

“I know” Taylor says, it feels humbling knowing Selena disapproves of what she did. She shouldn’t have given him anything, let alone an intimate conversation. “ We should go, Adam will be wondering where I am. Thanks for coming to find me.”

“Always”’ she gives Taylor a soft smile and tucks some hair behind her ear. “And just remember, you’re the prize Tay, and someday Harry’s going to realise exactly what an idiot he is. But by then you’ll be married, probably to Adam, with a bunch of cute kids and he’ll have to live with his regret forever.”

Taylor squeezes her hand. “You’re the best cheerleader ever, you know that?”

She shrugs. “It’s the truth.” She stands up and unlocks the cubicle. “C’mon”’

They step out into the empty bathroom. Taylor leans over the sink and looks into the mirror, inspecting her reflection.

“Does it look like I’ve been crying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re fine. No one can tell.”

“You’re a magician,” she says, grateful.

Selena hesitates, “are you going to tell Adam what happened?”

“No! God, no. He’d lose it-“ Taylor stops, she’d rather the guilt eats her away bit by bit than ever mention it to him.

She pauses with her hand on the door. “Why’d you even agree to talk to him?”

Taylor pauses. Maybe it was an attempt at closure, maybe to see if he could finally explain himself. She didn’t even want to think about where her head had truly gone when he was that close to her. There was no way Selena could know that.

Instead she says, “I didn’t want him to make a scene and it felt like he was going to.”

Selena gives her a look, Taylor thinks she might say something else, but then she simply opens the door and gestures for Taylor to step out first.

When they get to the exit, the crowd has thinned and Adam is waiting there something unknown flickering behind his eyes. Taylor can’t place if he’s worried or pissed off, but he catches her hand. “All okay? You were gone a while.”

“Long queue for the bathrooms,” Taylor chirps brightly, pulling him down for a kiss, “sorry baby.”

He laughs, reassured instantly, and waves for his friends to join them. As they walk to the car, Taylor sees Selena walking in step with her and just staring, questions hovering on her lips.

***

The after party is wilder than she expected. She thought they’d have a few drinks, hit the dance floor, and then leave, but Adam is all in. “We’re getting shots, yeah?” he shouts to Ed. Taylor smiles brightly when he looks at her too. “Yeah mate, why not,” Ed agrees genially.

Adam weaves through the crowd to the front of the bar, holds up all ten fingers while talking to the bartender. She’s not sure who he’s buying all these shots for, but she’s certain the absolute worst thing would be for her to drink too much tonight. She feels wrung dry after the fight with Harry, like she’s two shots away from hysterically crying in a bathroom stall.

Ed stands shoulder to shoulder with her in the crowd, eyes flickering with concern. “You okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Really? You kinda look like you don’t want to be here.”

“I do,” she insists. “It’s just been a long week. Do you think Adam’s noticed?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Ed looks like he’s about to say more, but then Adam is back, handing out shots and hollering for everyone to down them in sync. Being here, in a club, is basically Adam’s living room, where he’s most at home and where he comes alive. She really doesn’t want to be a killjoy, and Ed has already noticed she’s in a funk, so she takes the shot glass and raises it in a cheers.

The liquid burns her throat - tequila. Not what she would have chosen. She’s mentioned on at least three separate nights out that she hates tequila. Not Adam’s fault; the bar is chaos, it probably slipped his mind. “All good, baby?” He grabs her hand and yells into her ear over the music, “Are you having fun?”

Taylor smiles as wide as she can and nods before spinning on her heels and dancing backwards into his hips. She brings her hand up to his jaw and rocks back further into him, letting the beat of the music run through her. Adam responds appreciatively, grinding behind her. Taylor closes her eyes, trying to summon the fun version of herself she knows is hiding somewhere inside. Fuck Harry and the stupid girl she was an hour ago who went into that cupboard.

Taylor doesn’t realise Adam is talking to Niall and Louis until he’s beckoning her from the other side of the VIP area. “Baby, come here.” He’s buoyant, with his arm slung around Louis’ shoulder like they’ve been mates for years - though she’s pretty sure they barely know each other. His cheeks are flushed; the shots have hit quickly. Niall looks uncomfortable, eyes darting away from Taylor as she approaches. She wonders if Harry spoke to him; the thought makes her feel wobbly.

“Guys, there’s a photo booth!” Austin appears at her elbow and Taylor almost jumps. “Sis,” he says, realising she’s there, “you alright?”

“Where have you been?” Taylor asks. She hasn’t seen him since they left the awards.

“We should all go in together.” Adam jumps in enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” He slaps Louis on the back and they both grin.

Taylor thinks she and Niall might have frozen in unison. She sees Ed out of the corner of her eye being swept along by Adam, Austin, and Louis. “You guys go, I might sit this one out,” she says as casually as she can.

“Baby, no, you have to come!” Adam wheedles, coming back to her.

She notices Niall whispering into Louis’ ear discreetly, but Louis clearly isn’t listening, drink in hand, as buzzed as Adam.

“I’m actually gonna find Selena, but go have fun.”

Adam rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t be boring, you’re coming, and that’s final.” He says, “We’ll go look for Selena together afterwards.”

He takes her hand and starts pulling her through the crowd. Taylor wonders if he can feel how her whole body is pulling back, how off she is tonight. She thinks probably not, or he’d have said something. Maybe she’s a better actress than she thought.

They pile into the photo booth. Niall is there too, though he doesn’t look happy. Adam and Austin start rifling through the props box. “Here, baby,” he chucks her some Wolverine-like claws.

“Where’s Liam?” Louis suddenly asks, looking around like the thought just struck him.

“He’s around somewhere,” Ed supplies. “He was at the bar with Andrew.”

“Funny Styles isn’t here,” Adam says loudly, sarcastic, straightening up and heading to the backdrop. “I wonder why.”

Mortification creeps over Taylor, and she doesn’t know why, but her eyes find Niall’s. God, he looks pissed off by that. Everyone else seems oblivious except Ed, who’s moving his mouth weirdly. She doesn’t know why Adam said that - he’s made a few shitty comments about Harry since that late-night call - and now she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have been so honest.

The booth operator’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “Okay, I’m gonna count you in.” Taylor raises her claws, tries to arrange her face into one of a girl having fun, wills herself to absorb some of Adam’s energy. The camera flashes.

Sometimes you check the time at a party and almost can’t believe how fast the night has flown. Tonight is not that night. Taylor swears she can feel the seconds creep forward with unnatural slowness. It’s 2 a.m., and she’d give anything to leave. Adam is now in the centre of the dance floor with a couple of his friends who have shown up. They’re not even really dancing - just bobbing with the crowd and raising their hands every time the beat drops.

She finds Selena and pulls her into a booth her security found. “You sure you’re okay?” Selena asks.

“Yeah, fine,” Taylor replies, but she can feel her nose scrunching.

“Really? Want another drink?”

“No, I think that would be a bad idea.”

She can almost feel Selena’s sympathy radiating toward her and places a hand on Taylor’s arm. “For what it’s worth, I’m impressed you’re even here after earlier.”

“I’m fine, earlier was a blip,” Taylor says instantly, sounding robotic.

Selena’s eyes bore into her as the music pounds around them. “It’s fine if you’re not okay, Tay.”

“Sel, let’s just talk about something else, okay?”

She picks up her drink and swishes her cocktail around, staring at the table for a second. “Sure. Tell me what you thought about Mariah’s performance tonight?”

Taylor breathes in deeply and prepares to launch. This, she can do.

The club has started to empty out - people have been trickling out for the last hour. Austin has disappeared, Selena has cried off calling an early start, Ed kept her company and then apologetically told her he’d had an invite to a house party and he thought that would be more fun. It did sound more fun, but her boyfriend was still on the dance floor and there was no way he looked like someone who was planning on leaving.

Taylor joined for a couple of songs once Ed ducked out but couldn’t shake the funk. She told them she needed the bathroom. “I’ll be back,” she shouted, and Adam gave a thumbs up.

On the toilet, Taylor closes her eyes. The room spun a little. She didn’t think she’d drunk that much, but she felt spacey, so maybe she had. She saw Harry in her mind’s eye, every detail on his face when she told him to leave her alone. Was he on a plane right now doing the same replay? She’d never know.

Taylor weaves back through the crowd, Graham on her tail and Dan ahead helping her through. Adam laughs with his friend Darren but smiles when he sees her and makes his way to her. “Baby! Where did you get to?” He grabs her waist, forgetting she told him exactly where she was going. But he’s drunk, so she lets it go.

“Can we go?” she asks.

Adam looks back at his friends. “Really?”

“You can stay,” she says hurriedly.

Adam looks like he’s fighting something inside but finally offers a small smile. “No, baby, it’s okay. If you want to go, we’ll go. Let me just say goodbye, alright?”

“I’ll come with you,” she says, squeezing his hand.

They push through the crowd together toward the group. Taylor thinks, not for the first time, this is how it should be - having a steady boyfriend.

It’s only in the car that Adam gets a bit sour. “You weren’t great company tonight,” he says, a little sniffy.

“I wasn’t?” Taylor answers, trying to keep her voice light.

“Yeah. Sat with Selena while you could have been partying with us. My mates thought it was weird.”

“I was just checking in on her.”

“That’s for girls’ night. You were meant to be with me tonight,” he says sulkily.

“Sorry, baby,” Taylor says, unsure what else to say. He’s probably going to ask why she was off, and she doesn’t know what to invent. But he doesn’t. He just says, “It’s okay,” in a downbeat way.

She’s almost pissed off but then remembers she was in a cupboard arguing with her ex-boyfriend only a few hours ago. She probably deserves Adam being a bit off.

She shuffles along the seat into the warmth of his body. Adam tenses briefly but then pulls her in and cradles her, his jaw resting gently on her head.

***

Taylor tries to put everything to bed after that night, to focus on what she has with Adam. So it shouldn’t sting, really, the song One Direction drop in October. But it does, because Harry co-wrote it and there are whole verses that feel too specific to be about anyone but her. It’s a cheap hit job, a spiteful jab aimed right at their history. Worse, it makes them sound like they were nothing. 

She tries to brush it off, but the irritation simmers under her skin. She almost types out a sarcastic text to Ed, to make sure something gets back to him, then she catches herself. She has Adam now. So it shouldn’t matter.

She breathes in, closes her eyes, repeats it like a mantra.

Chapter Text

The 1989 tour ends in Melbourne on December 12th. Taylor is on her plane within the hour, exhaustion humming beneath her skin as the adrenaline from the last show drains away, replaced by a hollow ache. Her destination is Los Angeles - Adam’s waiting there, the place he calls home. She tries to convince herself she’s returning to something solid, but LA has always felt temporary, a city she’s run from more than once. She’s looking forward to her birthday, honestly, and Adam has made plans, but as the jet idles on the runway, her mind flickers somewhere she hates to admit. For one reckless, insane minute, she thinks about diverting the plane to New York instead. Would he be there, like he’d once promised? The thought is so sharp and sudden she presses her palm against the window, the chill of the glass grounding her, a flicker of longing running through her chest in a way that doesn’t happen as often these days. Her mom sits opposite, working on her laptop, pausing to smile at her. Taylor smiles back, but her thoughts are already far away. There’s no way he’d be waiting - not after everything, not with Adam in the picture, not after she told him to go to hell at the Billboards. The engines roar, and she closes her eyes, letting the vibration of takeoff rattle the feeling loose.

She arrives in LA long after dark. It’s late here, though only 4pm in Melbourne, and she feels both jittery and bone tired. Adam’s already asleep at her place, limbs sprawled wide across her bed. She drops her suitcase, barely manages to kick off her sneakers, and collapses beside him. Sleep comes fitfully, the time difference clings to her, dreams blurred at the edges, and she wakes more than once thinking she’s somewhere else.

In the grey light of morning, Adam wakes her gently. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He’s buzzing with excitement, so Taylor slides her feet into slippers and pads along behind him. She catches sight of herself in the hallway mirror, she looks like she’s slept a wink. Adam leads her out into the garden, and there, among the lush grass, is a young olive tree, its leaves trembling in the breeze.

Taylor just stares, blinking as the sun rises. Adam watches her, hopeful, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “As our relationship grows, so will this tree,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips against her neck. It’s sweet, and she knows she should feel more, say more. “It’s so great, wow, I love it,” she manages, working to sound enthusiastic even though she feels heavy, slow, still half on the other side of the world.

Her birthday is low-key this year. Adam takes her to a neighbourhood fete - something his friends have arranged and he wants to support. There are folding chairs and kids tumbling off a bouncy castle, a buffet of endless salads and a BBQ. Adam invites her parents, tries to make it feel like a celebration by bringing along a cake, but it’s not exactly what Taylor pictured for herself at twenty-six. She tries to be gracious, she knows he means well, but she can’t help hoping the day will improve.

That night, Adam tells her to dress up and takes her to Giorgio Baldi. It feels good to be in heels at a real restaurant with him, and she lets herself be spoiled. For a few hours, things almost feel right again, and Taylor tells herself she’s just been jet-lagged and moody as a result. The next morning, Adam’s gone early for the studio. Taylor sits in her armchair in a quiet house, staring at the olive tree through the window. She tries to picture it a year from now, taller, stronger, roots deeper in the soil. A cold feeling creeps up her neck, and she brushes it off. It was a thoughtful gift - she should be grateful.

Adam spends Christmas back in Scotland, just like he always has. He’d asked Taylor to come with him, the invitation proffered casually, but he was nervous when he said it, like he half-expected her to say no. She did, gently. She’d never spent Christmas away from her parents, and told him it was probably better not to have the pressure of a “couple’s Christmas” their first year together. Adam said he understood - it made sense, he said, and he even smiled as he agreed. But she could tell he was disappointed, the way he fiddled with his phone afterward, eyes flickering away from hers.

The week before, they’d gone up to Colorado with her family skiing. Taylor loved the crisp morning air, the way it stung her nose and turned her cheeks pink as she looked out over the snow. Adam fit in, mostly. He’d brought little presents for her parents - a book of jokes for accountants for her dad, a jumper for her mom’s dog. Her Dad raised a brow at the book, and Taylor silently begged him not to say anything. She had no idea why Adam thought her Dad worked as an accountant, she felt sure she’d told him exactly what he did. Her Dad had smiled widely and thanked him, and Taylor breathes a silent sigh of relief. Adam was thoughtful, charming, attentive, and sometimes she catches her Mom watching them with a soft, approving smile.

But something had changed between them, and Taylor felt it more intensely now tour was over. At first, she blamed herself. Maybe she was just being sensitive, overthinking things because the dizzy rush of the honeymoon phase had faded. Maybe this was what “normal” looked like. This was uncharted territory for her – her longest relationship yet, and she didn’t know how to handle it at times. Still, Adam seemed more distracted than ever, and like he was holding back, swallowing sarcastic responses to her before they could slip out. He’d catch himself and flash that wide, practiced grin, wrap an arm around her waist, and she tried to believe it was all in her head.

But now that she’d noticed the shift, she couldn’t stop herself obsessing over it. It settled into her bones, a low hum of anxiety that won’t go away. She hated that she kept picking at it, hated even more that she couldn’t stop. Sometimes, lying next to Adam in the dark, she wondered if she was the only one pretending everything was okay. If he thought everything was great, and she was in this insane loop of doubt alone.

To the world, they seemed perfect. Fans tweet about “endgame,” the betting sites put odds on an engagement. Adam dismissed it all, said it was “ridiculously premature,” and he was right. But the way he said it -  offhand, almost sharp - left Taylor feeling like she’d been punched in the gut. She tried not to let it show, tried to be grateful to be with someone the public actually liked for once. It was easier, in a way, to be with Adam, than anyone else.

But her mind wanders when she least expects it. Restless, sabotaging thoughts creep in. What if she just left? What if she got on a plane and found Harry? The band’s over –he once told her that was their moment. Taylor knows how ridiculous it sounds, has to remind herself of the fight, that he can’t be trusted. But her brain only plays the highlight reel, as if the bad parts can be edited out. The truth is, she has to wrench herself back to that awful night in the cleaning cupboard, Harry’s voice cold and venomous, the way he’d looked at her like she was a stranger.

That argument haunts her dreams. The memory clings to her skin, heavy and inescapable. Even now, months later, she can see the hurt in his eyes, remember the way he’d slammed the door and disappeared. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, next to Adam’s steady breathing, she chokes back a sob, silent and dry, afraid to even let herself really feel what it’s done to her.

***

She’d thought Las Vegas would be a good distraction from their problems. A chance for things to feel new again, for Adam to morph back into the man she’d fallen for. They were here for his New Year’s show, and Taylor should have been excited. Instead, she lays awake, staring at the gilded ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep. The sheets are cool against her legs, but her mind won’t stop spinning, circling back to Harry, to everything she’d tried to bury.

Adam wakes late, his alarm vibrating quietly. He mutters under his breath, fumbling to turn it off. Taylor rolls over, watches him. He’s a mess - hair sticking up, sheets bunched around his torso. Their clothes from last night are a tangled pile on the floor, a reminder of how he pulled her to him, urgent, almost desperate. She let herself get lost in him, but afterward, as he drifted into sleep, she lay awake, her mind somewhere else entirely.

The guilt is suffocating. Adam looks like he’s stepped out of an ad - rippling muscles, strong arms. She knows, objectively, how lucky she is. But something inside her feels broken, like she’s missing the part required to be fully present, fully in love. She wonders if he can sense it, if he ever lies awake, too.

Adam catches her staring and grins. “Morning, baby,” he says, flipping over in the bed and planting a kiss to her forehead.

“What time are you leaving?” Taylor asks, snuggling back into the duvet.

Adam shrugs and leans back over to check his phone. “Fuck.” He swears loudly, leaps out of bed. “I was meant to be out of here thirty minutes ago. Did I snooze my alarm?”

“No idea.” She replies honestly, watching him jog to the bathroom.

Adam is back in the room at hyper speed. Towel around his waist and beard trimmer in one hand.

“Hey,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

He starts getting dressed, pulling on jeans, rifling through the dressing room for a shirt. “I can’t believe I’m running so late. Did I even set the right alarm, or maybe I just slept through it. I swear, this city messes with your internal clock.”

Taylor stretches. “What time is it now?”

“Just after eleven.”

She reaches for her phone, squinting at the screen. “No way. We really slept in, huh?”

Adam laughs, pulling on his shoes. “We needed it after last night. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever been that tired. Or that-“ He cuts himself off, shooting her a sly grin.

Taylor rolls her eyes, but smiles in spite of herself. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a machine.”

He ties his trainers, then pauses in the doorway. “Hey, what are you up to while I’m at sound check?”

She thinks about it. “Not much. The girls get in later, so I’ll meet up with them before the show. Until then, I might just stay in bed, order room service, and watch bad TV.”

Adam nods, heads for the hallway of their suite and then stops like he’s forgotten something. “You ok?” She calls out.

He tips his head to one side, looks at her. “Would you wear the black dress tonight? I’ve hung it at the front for you?”

Taylor raises an eyebrow. “Well, it was one of my options.”

He leans against the doorframe. “It’s just… this club, it’s unreal. Like, next-level. The black dress is perfect, you know? The other one’s a bit… I don’t know.” He trails off, pulls a face.

She looks at him, at his expression, and feels a pang of annoyance. She forces herself to shrug and give him a smile. Anything to get this room to herself for a while. “Sure. I’ll wear the black.”

He grins, paints his easy demeanour back on. “Thanks, baby. You always look incredible, but I want you to be—” He doesn’t finish, just grabs his jacket and starts walking. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He’s already out the door, tossing an “I love you” over his shoulder.

Taylor slumps back onto the pillows, staring at the empty room. She doesn’t know what the dress thing is about, and truthfully, she doesn’t care. Not when she finally has the suite and tv remote to herself.

She spends the next few hours drifting in and out of sleep. The TV plays a loop of old movies, nothing she’s seen, yet they don’t hold her attention.

Eventually, she reaches for her phone. She replies to a few messages, checks whether the Haim sisters have landed yet, then opens Twitter. The “Out of the Woods” music video is dropping tonight, and she hopes the fan buzz will lift her mood. But the moment her timeline loads, her heart stalls.

There are photos, everywhere – of Harry on some super yacht, his arms around a brunette. Her stomach nosedives. She clicks on the image, and there it is: Harry, all tanned skin and laughter, clearly more than friends with the girl by his side, and very obviously vacationing with her.

She scrolls down to another photo, they’re standing side by side, wearing matching sunglasses and grins. She realises she knows the girl; it’s Kendall Jenner. For fuck’s sake. So that’s come back around after his summer of dirty weekends with lingerie models and nonstop rumours about different girls backstage at his shows.

The old jealousy surges before she can stop it. She irrationally hated Kendall two years ago when Harry told her he’d met someone new and paused their game of cat and mouse to pursue her. She’d seen the paparazzi pictures of their dinner dates, but then Harry showed up at her door months later like he’d never left and told her it meant nothing. Funny how easily that tripped off his tongue.

Kendall obviously played the long game well, stayed the cool girl and gone to his Birthday party as the friendly ex. She was the best possible choice if Harry had been trying to find someone who stoked her insecurities. She was beautiful, well connected, and a literal model.

Taylor locks herself in the bathroom, the marble cool under her bare feet. It’s ridiculous, considering she’s alone, but she can’t risk Adam walking in and seeing her like this. She needs the security of a locked door.

She leans on the vanity, phone in hand, scrolling through photo after photo. There are so many. Harry and Kendall, on deck, kissing, jet-skiing, laughing at some private joke. Each image lands like a punch to the gut. Seeing Harry with someone else cracks something open inside.

Why does this still bother her? She’s spent more time with Adam than she ever had with Harry. Adam is steady, predictable, everything she should want, and relationships aren’t meant to be heady passion all the time. Taylor has always ridden the extreme highs and lows in her romantic entanglements, and it isn’t like that with Adam. She knows she needs to sort herself out, stop fixating on the chaos and sparks that punctuated her and Harry. She confided in her mom over Christmas, voicing her doubts, and her mom smiled knowingly. She leaned in, told her the best things are uncomplicated, and that Adam has all the qualities she should be looking for in a long-term partner. “Stop looking backwards, honey. Your future’s ahead of you.”

But after everything, fuck, even after that awful fight in that stupid cupboard, there’s a part of her that thinks he’s the one she’s meant to be with. She half-hoped he might play the long game, fight for what they had - not call Adam a prick and leap headfirst into a den of Victoria’s Secret models over the summer, then onto a Kardashian over the holidays. She wonders if it’s serious with Kendall; Harry’s mom is on board, after all. God, Taylor wants to throttle him and then herself.

She wants to believe her mom. She really does. But when Harry looked at her, when he touched her, it was like being rewired from the inside out. It’s not that it’s bad with Adam - it just isn’t the same, and she hates herself for even admitting it. She wonders if Kendall feels that same fire, if she’s now the centre of Harry’s universe. Taylor tries to push the thought away, but it sticks.

She pours herself a large glass of white wine from the minibar, downs half in one go. She wanders back into the bedroom and collapses onto the bed. Looking for distraction, she opens Tumblr. The pictures are all over her timeline there too, but her fans are funny and sharp as ever. There are memes and GIFs about “yacht gate” everywhere. On impulse, she likes a few of the more sarcastic posts, knows it will cause a ripple but doesn’t care. He’s such an asshole.

The urge to talk to someone about it becomes overwhelming. She hesitates over Selena’s number – but she’s the only person who will really understand. She hits call. It rings twice.

Selena’s voice is warm and familiar. “Hey, superstar. What’s up?”

Taylor hesitates, then laughs, the sound brittle. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“All the time. What’s going on?

Taylor exhales, everything tumbling out. “And I don’t get why I’m so pissed. Things are good with Adam and it’s not like I even want to be in the same room as Harry ever again, let alone anything else.”

Selena is quiet for a moment. “This is a totally normal response. He treated you so badly, and then at the Billboards, whatever the fuck that behaviour was… look, you haven’t really had proper closure, Tay. Don’t beat yourself up.”

Taylor stares at the ceiling, searching for answers she doesn’t have. “I suppose it’s partly because it’s her again. I thought it was only me he felt like that about. And he told me he was coming back for me, Sel, and I just-“

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Selena says, soothing. “And how you feel about this doesn’t mean what you and Adam have isn’t amazing, Tay. If anything, tomorrow you’ll wake up and realise how lucky you are that Harry isn’t your problem anymore.”

Taylor breathes out. She feels better, having spoken to Selena. She knew she’d offer a balanced perspective. But then she remembers her online actions less than an hour before and groans. “I went on a liking spree.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Just sarcastic Tumblr posts about it. Not the actual pictures.”

Selena is aghast. “Oh shit, delete it now.”

Taylor winces. “Oh god, you’re right.” She switches Selena to speakerphone, opens up Tumblr, undoes her recent likes. She doesn’t touch the timeline, doesn’t want to see any of the frenzy, and logs out the app.

“Babe.” Selena is saying. “You have to get it together. Are you having some kind of breakdown?”

“No, I’m fine, I swear. I don’t know what I was thinking, it was just a moment of madness.”

“Jesus, Tay. Just go have an amazing night, okay? Try and put this to the back of your head. You’re going to be fine.”

Taylor nods, even though Selena can’t see her. “You’re right. Thanks, Sel.”

***

Taylor stands in front of the mirror, the black mini dress Adam picked out hugging her hips. She smooths her hair, reapplies her red lipstick. She’s told the girls she needs to FaceTime her mom, but really, she just wants a minute to collect herself before heading into the chaos of a club.

“I can do this,” she whispers to her reflection. “I’m fine, and my boyfriend is incredible.”

The lie tastes bitter, but she swallows it anyway. It’s time to let it go. To head into the New Year free from him, to lay it all to rest, finally. The melodramatic side of her thinks it might take an exorcism, but it feels healthier to imagine every memory of him as a physical item she’s packing away into boxes and hiding in her attic. No, she redirects herself, and she allows one last time to replay every memory of Harry - every fight, every kiss, every stupid inside joke, every moment wrapped in his arms -she puts them into a time capsule in her head. Something to bury deep, meant to be forgotten. Something someone else could find decades from now and know they’ve stumbled across something pure, something perfect for what it was. But for now, she has to move forward and stop sabotaging things with Adam.

She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, grabs her clutch, and turns for the door.

At midnight, confetti rains down and Taylor kisses Adam. She ignores the pounding in her head. She keeps repeating the same words in her mind: I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. She’s not going to screw this up.