Alouette stills. The look on Harry's face is unreadable, and she can't tell if he saw everything from the window, or not. She isn't even sure they could be seen from that window. Would Harry tell her if that was the case? She doesn't know.

A heavy moment passes, and then she clears her throat. "I got everything," she states, leaving his jacket on the couch and putting the eggs on the table.

Harry doesn't move, and suddenly she has the absolute certainty that he knows, and that she's unknowingly just failed some kind of test. "Who is he?" he asks. His voice is so calm that a shiver goes down her spine. It's the kind of quietude that lets her know that, deep down, he isn't calm at all. The same tone she's heard him use time and time again—and each time, someone paid for whatever it was that angered him.

Briefly, she thinks about lying. But she knows him and he knows her, if she lies, he will know. Maybe he'll let it go, allow her to tell him a lie with no consequences, but he won't forget. She can't risk shattering their newly-created trust. "Bird tattoo," she only lets out.

His eyebrows raise in a flash of cold recognition, as if he's just found the missing piece that would make it all make sense. "Oh." Alouette doesn't like that sound. It feels like trouble, though of a different kind from what she originally thought.

Oh, it seems to say. The person that chose a design for you to tattoo on your ribs.
Oh. The one that picked that little bird, because that's what you are to him as well.
Oh. That friend you've talked about back at the Palace, the one you were missing that night.
Oh. The one that it makes sense for you to kiss.

She wants to say that it isn't true, that he has it all wrong, because it does not make sense for her to kiss Elijah. She shouldn't be kissing him, this isn't how it's supposed to go between them. He's only a friend, and not of the kind that will become something more eventually. This isn't expected nor okay. It shouldn't be happening, and it hurts to know Harry's seeing it as a normal turn of events. It isn't.

"Did you miss him?" he asks after a moment. The indifference has fled from his eyes, now, leaving them cold. He still hasn't moved from the window.

Yes, Alouette thinks, but not in the way you think. But she can't say it, because she knows that if a yes leaves her lips, she'll ruin everything there is between them, and she doesn't want to do that. At the same time, if she says no it'll be a lie, and he'll write his own truth for her. She can't allow that to happen. So she says nothing at all.

Harry takes a step towards her. "Did you hope he'd find you?" One more step, he's now in front of her. With one more, he's just by her side. His scent hits her nose, a mixture of her own. His tone drops. "Tell me, did your heart beat fast fast when he called your name?"

She shivers at the sarcasm in his voice. It's sharp enough to cut slices through her.

"Does he know I kissed your mouth less than an hour ago?" He doesn't touch her, there's a thousand miles and no space at all between them at the same time. A cold laugh leaves his lips. "Forget it, I don't care."

Alouette grabs Harry's wrist as he brushes past her. He spins towards her, his eyes are burning. "Yes, he kissed me," she says shortly. "But I didn't like it. You know why?" She forces herself to keep her gaze trained on him. The silence is heavy. "Because he wasn't you."

His lips crash against hers. She lets out a gasp and pulls him closer, her fingers run through his hair as he pushes her backwards. The back of her thighs hits the table, but she doesn't care. His tongue delves into her mouth and her head is spinning, she's struggling to keep her hold on reality, because a moment ago they were arguing and now they're not, and she can't tell when that second switched into another. This kiss feels intense and electrifying in a way that's completely new, and Alouette is struck by the realisation that they might not stop here.

Maybe it should surprise her more to figure out she doesn't want to stop either, but it doesn't. Somehow, she's always known this is what would happen, and it feels so right. Elijah's kiss is nothing but a faraway moment in her mind, something that she might forget if Harry kisses her just once more. This is what she meant. When Harry kisses her, it doesn't feel like just a kiss. It's so much more—it's a rebirth, it's coming across someone and suddenly understanding they're all you've been looking for. It's knowing you're doing something you shouldn't and being unable to stop, it's believing you're doing exactly what you're meant to even when the entire world says the opposite.

And he is everything she's been looking for. This is the truth. This is why she couldn't kill him, this is why it hurt so much to betray him. Because, instinctively, she's always known he's hers. He's hers, and no one can betray or hurt or threaten him, because she'll chase them to the end of the world to seek revenge, no matter who they are. A kiss from him isn't merely something fun, or pleasurable. She needs him to kiss her, because they only truly make sense when they're together.

Her fingers run up his spine, under his sweater, and she pulls it over his head. It falls on the floor as she pulls him into the corridor, he's kissing her jaw and her neck and she can hardly breathe. They hit the bookshelf and books fall with a stream of thuds, flying pages and bent covers. Harry's undoing the buttons of her shirt one by one. It's taking too long. He stops halfway through and pulls it open. Wool threads snap and the leftover buttons fly to the ground.

"Harry," she complains, his face is buried on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. He's biting lightly on her skin, and she can hardly think. Her body is on fire, it's tingling in the aftermath of his touch. "It was expensive," she lets out.

"I'll buy you five more," he mutters against her. The heat of his breath hits her skin. "No, ten."

Alouette lets out a breathy laugh, her fingers are nestled into his hair. "It's not like you to make a promise you can't keep."

"I will, as soon as you accept my deal."

She tugs at his hair, making him look into her eyes. His are intense, his pupils wide. "You never give up, do you?" she murmurs.

A troublesome smile curves his lips, their shade is deep red, now, the mark of the thousand kisses she left on them. "Never." He slides the fabric down her shoulders, kissing every inch of her skin when it's freed from it.

The wall is cold against her back, but she pulls Harry into her regardless. His skin is hot against hers, and excitement runs through her. It isn't the first time they've taken off some layers, but they've never done it together before. The implications are endless. She runs her hands up and down as they kiss again, trying to memorise every inch of his skin, which spots make him gasp and which make him moan. Which fuel his excitement, too.

He pulls her up and she lets out a surprised gasp. Her back is slammed against the door of their bedroom and her hand fumbles for the handle. She pulls it down and the wood gives way behind her. He drops her onto the bed and crawls towards her. She sits up on her knees and he kisses her again, and again. Alouette is certain she's about to drown, but in a really different way from before. This time, it isn't water, but Harry. His scent, his gaze, his touch. It's him, and she can't think of anything else that isn't him. She doesn't know how she survives through every second to the next, because everything feels too intense, too charged. The moment before an atom is split, when everything has yet to take place and yet you know it will—when what will happen next is so obvious that you can feel it happen before it does.

He plays with the clasp of her bra, and she lets out a displeased sound.

"Don't act like you're going to take it off if you aren't planning to."

He lets out a chuckle and unclasps it with a hand. He slides it off for her and throws it on the ground. He stills for a moment. Then, he pats her sides and retrieves the holster, gun still inside. He takes it off and stands up, taking his knife from the pocket of his jeans and putting everything inside the wardrobe on the opposite end of the room.

"Now, where were we?" he asks, his voice low, climbing back on the bed. Alouette lets out a little laugh and he kisses her lips, her neck, her chest. He takes his time exploring her sensitive skin with his tongue as he lowers her down on the mattress, and she lets out a gasp.

He makes to sit up but she pulls him on top of her and undoes the button of his jeans, sliding the zip down. He lets out a relieved sigh.

"Oh, Alouette."

"Say the other one," she murmurs. She doesn't know where that request is coming from, but they're half-naked and he's on top of her, and she's surrounded in his heat and he's all she can see, and it feels right. She can be Alouette to anyone; but she's only Lark for him.

"Lark?" he says questioningly. A smile curves his lips when he sees her eyes widen slightly. "Lark, then," he repeats. His mouth is on her chest again. "My Lark."

Her fingers tangle into his hair and she bites her tongue not to let out the moan she can feel rising in her throat. His lips slide down her stomach, down her skin, down until they encounter the fabric of her clothes. He looks up at her, his gaze is incandescent. They both know where this is leading—and with only a gaze, they tell the other that they have no intention of stopping it from happening. Maybe this isn't the best moment or circumstance, but—who cares. Alouette doesn't, and she's fairly certain Harry doesn't as well.

"Can I take it off?" he asks.

Her reply comes fast, her hands are already tingling with anticipation. "Yes."

His fingers hook into the band of her trousers and underwear alike, and he pulls them down her legs. They end up on the floor as well, and he parts her legs. His hand is on her knee, and he leaves a kiss on the inside of her thighs. Then another. "Say my name."

"Harry," she breathes out.

He smiles, and kisses a little lower. And lower. "One more time?" He's so close to her she can feel the heat of his body, and everything is too much. She needs more, so much more, and he knows. And yet here he is, teasing her. It should be maddening, and yet...

"Harry."

His mouth slides down her thigh, and then it's exactly where she needs it to be. She lets out a broken moan, her toes curl. She isn't going to survive this, she's sure of it now. It's too much for her to take. He's unfairly good at this, giving her just enough to make pleasure roll off her in waves, but not enough to satisfy her. She arches her back off the mattress, and his fingers replace his mouth as he looks up at her. "Do you truly think he could make you feel like this, my Lark?" He comes back up and licks his fingers, leaving her wanting more. He smiles. "You know the answer is no."

"Fuck, Harry," she breathes out, and he tilts his head.

"If you insist."

She gives him a glare, and a laugh resonates through the room, one deep enough to show his dimples. She cannot do this. This is a whole new type of doom she's about to bring upon herself, she's certain of it. This kind of intimacy makes her mind fill with wonder, because never in a million years she would've thought they'd end up here. Kissing or fooling around is a thing, this is different. It's different, because she doesn't just like Harry, she likes him. Maybe she was wrong all along when she thought he wanted her to drown. Maybe his goal has been to teach her to breathe underwater all this time.

She grabs him by his jeans and pulls him closer. "Get out of these," she instructs, and he kicks them down his legs with his boxers. "You're always too daring, Harry," she says quietly. Her hand is on him, and he lets out a gasp. She kisses his mouth, his lips part and she's pulled into yet another kiss that leaves her breathless. She kisses his jaw, and his head falls back. She's only seen him this crushed once before, and she smiles at the memory. This time, though, she won't make him beg just because she likes the sound of his voice when he pleads for more. Maybe that was his goal; now she's restless and wants to cover a thousand steps at once.

She sucks on a spot on his throat until it's red, and he lets her, only letting out quick gasps every once in a while. She can tell he's holding back, and she makes it her personal goal to hear a more intriguing sound from him by the end of the day. If only she wasn't so restless. She takes her time, teasing him as she kisses his neck, his collarbones, his chest. At last, her tongue reaches him, and he bites his finger not to let out a sound. His fingers curl into her hair, but it's an experimental, gentle touch, one that leaves her a little surprised coming from him. His hand grazes her neck, her back, but he can't reach any further. She doesn't stop him from touching her, because every graze leaves her skin in flames and makes her eager for what will come next.

When he lets out a low moan, she stops. He grabs her face and kisses her. "My Lark," he whispers, rolling around so that her back is on the mattress again. "You're so beautiful." His fingers leave hot paths on her body, and she's giddy with anticipation and her mind is so full of Harry Harry Harry that she can hardly think of anything else, and...

A sudden thought comes to her. "Wait." She sits up fast, and he sits back on his heels, giving her a mildly confused look. Alouette wants to curse herself out. With all the things she's bought in the past, how could she not think of it? Now she's a little embarrassed.

Harry seems to read her mind, and his lips turn up slightly. "Bottom of the drawer," he only says.

She stretches across the bed to open the drawer and finds a few small packets inside of it. She holds one up for him to see and narrows her eyes at him. "Would you like to explain?"

Harry leaves a quick kiss on her lips and steals it from her. "Do you remember when I said I had no money?"

She nods.

"I lied."

"You went out while I wasn't here?!" Alouette exclaims, "but the door?! The code—"

He's fully smiling, now. "Memorised it when we first got here."

My God, Harry.

"But that isn't important now, is it?" he continues, pulling her towards him. He leaves a kiss on the corner of her lips and then puts it between his teeth as his fingers find hidden places of her body that make her feel like she could fly.

Her breath hitches, but then she realises where he put it and snatches it from his mouth. "If you break it I'll end you."

He raises an eyebrow, the phantom of a laugh on his face. "My teeth aren't that sharp."

"That's what it wants you to think."

Harry laughs louder and pulls her closer by her throat, crashing his mouth against hers. She deepens the kiss and pushes him back, crawling on top of him. Her touch is tentative on him, and he hums against her mouth as she opens the packet.

"Oh, so that's how we're doing it, then," he comments, but doesn't seem to have any intention to turn them around. His hands explore her curves in slow, lazy touches, and his eyes are glinting in excitement. There's a faint smile on his lips, of the kind that seems so clear that she struggles to believe it's on his face.

She presses a kiss to his lips as her body tingles, asking yet again for more, and then she gives in to its request. He lets out a moan against her mouth, and her breath hitches too.

"Fuck, Lark," he lets out, and she gives him a little smile.

"If you insist."

This is the moment. This is when she realises that there's absolutely no going back—she'll never be part of the world that someone else has dreamt for her. And she doesn't want to belong to that world, she wants to stay here, with Harry. And no matter what will happen next, this moment won't be changed. What she feels for him won't be changed. She has the sudden certainty that no matter how many different realities await for her in the future, Harry is in every single one of them. And, with a little surprise, she discovers she wants to be in every single one of his. Because there is no going back, and she doesn't want to go back, nor forward. She wants to be right where she is, with Harry.

Harry sits up and kisses her. His tongue strokes hers and her skin feels warm where it touches his, and her fingers are in his hair and, yes. Just yes. He's everywhere around her and she can only think of him, him, him; everything else is pointless and meaningless and inconsequential. Her arms are on his shoulders and he gasps into her mouth and why have they waited so long? So much time wasted; but at least now they're here and everything is right. This is what matters, him and her together, like this. The world is falling apart on the other side of the window, and maybe she'll find a way to fix it, but later.

"My Lark," he murmurs. He's said it so many times, she could get used to the sound of those two words dripping from his lips. They feel like honey, but not the clear kind. The kind that seems to be made of a thousand crystals of sugar stuck together, the one that glints in the sun like a precious gem. Every time he says it those one thousand little mirrors reflect it stronger and stronger, until it's intense enough to set the entire room alight. Harry licks a stripe up her throat. "My Lark," he says again, and this time he does it in between kissing her jaw and biting her earlobe, and—Heavens. How is she supposed to last?

Her breath is rushed, and then he steals it again with a kiss, and again with another, and warmth is spreading through her and she's never felt this good before because she's never liked anyone this much. She's bewitched by him, and she wants so much and hopes for even more.

Harry rolls them around so that her head is against the pillow. Everything starts to get more rushed, fast breaths fall from their lips and she digs her short nails into his back. He lets out a low moan, she can feel his breath on her neck, warm and then cold, then warm and then cold once again. She has the sudden sensation that the ocean he almost drowned her in is inside of her, threatening to spill out with every new wave.

"So fucking much," he murmurs into her ear, "I like you," he leaves a kiss on her jaw, "so," then her throat, "fucking," a gentle bite on her shoulder, "much."

"Oh, Harry." She pulls him into a kiss again, and this time it's a ravenous one, because she needs to feel him against her, she needs that closeness, and everything is so intense and bright and he's her personal moon with his words of honey that reflect the light of the sun.

His hand slides down her body and everything is so dazzling she can't even see the stars anymore. "With me," he whispers, "because we do everything together." His touch is just what she needs to be sent over the edge.

The ocean breaks free. She lets out a gasp and Harry shudders too, and she sees a glimpse of brilliant eyes and reddened cheeks before he hides his face in the crook of her neck. Her arms are around him, and they stay tangled together as the aftermath rolls in. Her breath is fast and he's a little heavier than before on top of her, and she has absolutely no intention to move because he's so warm and she's so comfortable, and once again yes—just yes.

A minute passes by. Then another. And another. As the fourth minute arrives, Harry moves beside her. He stands up for a moment and goes into the other room, when he comes back the redness on his cheeks has started to fade away, and he puts the broken buttons on the nightstand.

Alouette looks at him from the bed. "I didn't know you found the idea of eating pancakes so thrilling," she jokes, and he lets out a laugh.

He sits on the bed. "I'm still waiting for those, if you wish to know."

She chuckles and hugs him from behind. "Yes, but come here first."

He leans back against her, and she lets out a sigh. He's a little stiff now, enough for her to know he isn't that familiar with the concept of cuddling, but she just hugs him tighter. His fingers graze a spot on her neck, she doesn't have to check herself out in the mirror to know he left a mark.

"Fire the cook if you ever go back to the Palace," she says. When, her mind corrects. "I'll make pancakes every day."

"Now, that's just scandalous."

Alouette can't stop a laugh from escaping her throat, and she stands up. Now that everything's starting to settle, a foolish little smile is on her lips constantly. "Now, shower and then pancakes."

Harry raises his eyebrow. "Shower and then pancakes?" She doesn't miss the way his voice dips on the first word. Now, that is scandalous.

"Shower," she remarks, "and then pancakes."

In the end, after a not-shower she starts making pancakes, but then they get sidetracked and she burns them, so they settle for not-pancakes instead.

Happy New Year's Eve! Thank you so much for the 370k reads on this story, too. It means the world to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki