The first time Harry met Y/N, it wasn't love at first sight; he simply wanted to devour her with everything he had in him, and it did not matter if they saw each other after that or not. He remembers her black dress, hugging her frame just right, and her questionable shoe choice, though she made the tall heels work beautifully which came as a surprise to him. When she first caught his eye, he remembers the puzzled expression on her face, as if to say, why are you staring at me? He couldn't help but stare though, couldn't help but take her in.

She stood at the bar, next to a friend of a friend, and as they people-watched, Harry watched her. He watched the judgement in her eyes as she eyed a couple of people from her line of work, and Harry couldn't help but smile when she turned the judgement in her eyes into an angelic smile, nodding at said people as they walked past her. She was something else, and Harry simply wanted to hear her voice clearer instead of the hushed chatter coming from where they stood.

So, when she looked up at him for the second time, he had excused himself to go up to them, and introduce himself to her.

The rest was history.

Their first date was a disaster. Disaster, because Harry had gone and fucked it up by trying to cook something he's never attempted to cook before: beef Wellington. While they were busy sipping on the wine she's brought, said beef burned in the oven, emitting an unpleasant smell before the fire alarm had gone off, bringing them back to reality, bursting their bubble. She had laughed, watching from one of the stools as he put some pasta on to boil, and apologised profusely, though according to her, you've nothing to be sorry for, it happens. That was it, he was almost there; he was falling hard, and he didn't know what to do.

He let it happen.

The love only grew, especially when she got pregnant with Theadora. He loved watching her belly grow every week; every month, and never complained when she wanted nothing to do with him at bedtime because I don't like the smell of your hand cream, it makes my head hurt. He loved her, loved her so much, and when the divorce papers got delivered to his flat, he signed them in a heartbeat, just to show her. Show her what she would be missing, though it turned out to be the opposite, having to live without her, without them as a result. Perhaps, he should've protested, and not signed them that quickly. Ever since that day, he lived in what if's, wondering what would happen if held his ground.

It was what it was. He had to learn how to live without Y/N, without Theadora. That was the worst part, he thinks, having to live without his baby, not being able to witness her grow up into the most precious toddler, watch her sleep every so often and feed her, witness bath times and the first steps... he knew he was missing out.

One side of him felt anger towards Y/N. Anger, for she let everything come to this, come to divorce, and ultimately, not giving Theadora the chance to grow up in a single household. Although he wanted and dreamed of that, he also knew he wasn't your ordinary father and that his job held him back from being a 'normal' parent. He felt guilty, for the anger he harboured inside, and for the time he couldn't spend with his daughter. He wanted to do more, he wanted to be more. He was trying, he certainly was, and he knew sometimes, he let work come before every important thing in his life, which included Theadora. As his mother said, he needed to learn how to say 'no', and work less in order to spend more time with Theadora, and help Y/N in co-parenting for he knew she wouldn't be able to co-parent on her own.

He presses the side button on his phone, and smiles at the photo of Theadora, smiling with two bottom teeth with Harry's blue cap on her head, covering most of her face: forehead and green eyes. Though, nothing beats the dimpled-smile, Harry thinks. He sighs, and takes another sip from his wine as Adele sings softly in the background.

The phone call comes just after twelve o'clock at night, and Harry feels his breath hitch in his throat as Y/N's stepmother keeps talking on the other end of the line.

Truth be told, Harry knew Sylvia was an old cat. Having known Y/N and her family for years, he'd also come to know the ever-precious, grumpy family cat Sylvia. Though, he never thought there would come a day where Sylvia wouldn't be here anymore. He just nods, and blabbers on on the phone, trying to make sense of everything as Y/N's stepmother encourages him to be there for Y/N, visit if he could as she knew how much she loved Sylvia.

He grabs his keys from the console table, and gets on the road seventeen past twelve, and curses at the traffic even at this hour of the night. When he finally arrives at her flat, he takes a few minutes just letting the emotions come and go, thoughts swirling in his head, and he finally gets out, hugging the jacket closer into his body to protect himself from the cold.

The sight when she opens the door is heartbreaking.

With bloodshot eyes, and lips trembling, she lets out another sob at the sight of Harry, and lets him in with a silent conversation happening between them.

* * *

The sight of him is truly comforting, she thinks, dressed in nothing but a black jumper and a pair of pink joggers. His socked feet come as a comfort to her as they make their way inside, and she tries not to care too much about the tear stains on her cheek, or the state of her living room, toys and tissues everywhere.

She watches Harry look around for a moment before he sits on the armchair. "Tea?" He whispers, looking straight into her bloodshot eyes.

"No, thank you."

"Do you need anything else?" He says, clearly trying his best not to disturb the stillness of her living room.

She shakes her head, alternating between silent sobs and reaching for more tissues. When she remembers how Sylvia won't be here to see Thea grow up, a pathetic sob shakes her whole body, and she watches Harry bite his bottom lip before he gets up, and walks over to her on the sofa. Without any warning, she feels his arms around her, and he lets her lay her head on his chest, and cry– cry until she can't feel her eyes and mouth.

Then it hits her.

Her head on his chest, it hits her how much she's missed this– his chest, his touch, everything he has to offer. It feels just like the old times, being in each other's arms, so she breathes in the smell of him, the homey smell and the sweet yet tangy smell of him when he's a bit sweaty. She loves it, and basks in the feeling and his touch as his hands rub the small of her back ever-so-gently while she lets out tiny sobs, both because of Sylvia, and also at the fact that she might never get to feel this– feel his touch ever again after tonight.

"Shh, come on," Harry whispers, pressing a kiss on her head.

She looks up, and sniffs. "I don't know why I can't stop crying," she says, voice broken and hoarse.

"It's normal. She was a big part of your life. You've known her since you were a teenager."

"I can't believe she's gone."

"I know... I know," Harry nods, hand never stopping its movement on her back. She lets him continuously rub her back.

It's warm, and it feels like home.

There's a beat of silence, and Harry moves his head so he can see hers better.

"How about that tea?" He asks, a tiny smile appearing on his face, along with his dimples.

She bites her lip, and gives in with a brief nod of her head.

They drink their tea in silence, side by side, and the only noise is the hustling cars outside despite the hours of the night. She places hers on a coaster on the coffee table, and turns to the side, admiring Harry's side profile as he takes occasional sips from the hot beverage.

He looks good.

He looks so handsome under the mellow lights of her living room, shadows casting over his beautiful face as she watches his throat move from time to time. She thinks she could get used to this, having him this close after everything and despite everything. She reckons this is the only time she will get to admire his side profile this much, and it's almost as though Theadora chose not to wake up–which she does often after twelve at night–and she can't help but scoff quietly at this foolish theory of hers. Time would fly, like it always did, and Harry would leave, too, leaving them on their own once again.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, and she realises he also got his mug on a coaster, and is now watching her with curious eyes. He smiles when she focuses back on his face.

She smiles back.

A shrug. "Nothing," she says. "Nothing at all."

This gets a low chuckle out of him, and he leans back. "Oh, come on."

"I'm just thinking– how nice it is, to have you here."

It's stupid, and it's not rehearsed. It's something she's been thinking the whole time, and she realises she's said it out loud as soon as the words leave her mouth. She did not have the time to rehearse these words in her head, like she always did, and in a way, she thinks it's good. It feels good, saying it out loud– what's on your mind.

Harry sighs, a crease between his brows, and nods. It's almost as if he's too stunned and scared to talk– scared the moment will evaporate into nothing but air.

"I agree," he says, voice low, almost in a whisper. He nods. "I agree," he says once again, and it almost feels like he's responding to himself, in his head.

"Sorry," she laughs, reaching for her tea again. "Sorry for making this weird."

"Why is it weird?"

"I'm saying things out of my arse."

"Like?"

She shrugs. "Like, what I just said. About how nice it is... having you here and stuff," she sniffs, biting the corner of her thumb. She takes another sip from her now-cold tea.

Harry looks puzzled, and a little offended at that. "So," he says, like he's trying to make sense of everything. "It's not nice– having me here? That what you're saying?" He tries to smile, but fails.

"It is... forget I said anything."

"No," he whispers, looking down at his hands on his lap. He plays with the ring on his middle finger– one that has 'Theadora' carved onto it. She watches him play with it. "I don't think I can."

She looks up at his face, and he does, too, as if he's sensed it. They hold eye contact for a few seconds before he lets out a chuckle, and shakes his head in disbelief.

"What?" She asks, a defensiveness clear in her tone.

"All these years and you still have me wrapped around your finger."

A hitch in her throat, and she raises her eyebrows. Too stunned to speak, she finds herself shaking her head, though she doesn't know what her reaction is for.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, every little thing you say or do either goes to my head," he says, nodding, "Or to my heart."

They hold eye contact for a moment, and it's her who breaks it first. She can't handle the tension, the emotions swirling in between them, in the air, so she looks down at her knees, her black joggers suddenly way too interesting than they were before. Before she can look up, she feels a hand on her chin, fingers, and she has to look up at him.

He looks beautiful, and pathetically in love; it makes her remember how it was before. That was it really, the way he looked, it reminded her of how they were back then, how in love and hopeful Harry had looked at her. He looked, and stared at her like she was his prize, like he'd waited for eternities to be in her presence, and almost as if she was too good to be true.

She desperately remains put, holding eye contact like she wants him to open up his mouth, and swallow her whole and there, in his stomach, she would be showered with all the delayed love he had for her, the love he couldn't wait to shower her in.

She gulps, and Harry's fingers wander across her chin, thumb stroking the skin there before his gaze falls to her lips, though she notices the moment only lasts for a second or two.

He retracts his fingers like he's been struck by lightning, and the moment is over.

She clears her throat, he does, too. They both look down at their hands, and she leans back on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position for her legs. Harry clears his throat once again, and she turns to him. It's almost funny how Theadora is still sleeping.

They don't mention it.

"Harry," she says, tone hopeful.

He looks up, though he's still playing with his fingers. "Yes," he says, and he has to cough into his fist once before he repeats himself.

"Did you ask your mother, the adoption thing?"

"Oh. I forgot, I'm sorry, Y/N."

"That's okay," a smile. "I know Sylvia didn't live with us, but I really want to adopt a cat soon."

Harry takes his phone out, and taps the screen once. "You know what," he says. "My mum's probably awake. I'll call her."

She lets out a giggle. "Don't be silly, it's past twelve. You can talk to her about it tomorrow."

Despite her words, he's already pressing the phone into his ear with a shake of his head.

"It's okay, she's a night owl– mum?"

She watches a smile appear on his face, presumably at the sound of his mother.

"I wanted to ask you something," he says.

...

"Yeah. Y/N wants to adopt– what?"

...

"Mum... listen. She wants to adopt a kitten. Seeing how you own hundreds of them, I figured you'd be able to help us."

...

"Yeah, I know."

...

He turns to her. "What about a dog, she says," he says to her.

She raises her eyebrows. "Why?"

"She's asking why– yeah 'm with her– no... no."

...

"She just asked why."

...

"Oh. Well, she wants a kitten. Are you– why all the questions, mum," Harry makes a face. She chuckles quietly. "Mum, we want a kitten. Are you able to help, or not?"

...

"Okay, thanks. I'll let her– well, yeah, she's here– no, you're not on speaker."

...

"I'm not gonna do that," he sighs.

...

"Jesus, okay," he places the phone on his knee. "You're on speaker."

She looks up at him, eyes widening at the statement.

Anne talks.

"Y/N?" She says, and she needs to swallow a few times, having not heard her voice in months making her feel all sorts of things.

"Yeah..." she says.

"How are you sweetheart?"

She nods, knowing she won't be able to see her. "I'm good," she looks at Harry. "How are you?"

"I'm good as well, thank you sweetheart. You're looking to adopt?"

"Yes..."

"I will be looking into it, then," Anne says, the smile clear in her voice. "How is my little love?"

"She's good. Um... she's asleep."

"I cannot wait to see her," Anne says, but Harry intervenes right away.

"Mum," he says. "We talked about this, we're coming to visit this week."

Anne chuckles. "I'm talking with Y/N."

* * *

She opens the door with a beaming smile, and utters a 'come on in, loveys, it's cold'.

Harry smiles, and asks Theadora to hold his hand as they walk inside Anne's warm home, the smell of freshly prepared food and vanilla candles welcoming them in. It smells like fresh bread, and something so familiar, though he can't put his finger on it as they walk in and are greeted by two of her cats, Dusty and Maybe. Theadora 'aw's as Harry works the buttons on her coat, taking it off first before he takes her beanie off and moves onto his own coat and hat after his shoes are placed neatly by the front door. He watches with a smile on his face as Theadora tries to pet Maybe, but she runs away with Dusty standing alone, and she lets Theadora pet her head before she tries to reach her tail: that's when Dusty follows in Maybe's footsteps.

Seeing the exchange and watching both cats run from Thea, Anne sweeps in, and takes the toddler into her arms, Thea laughing when she presses kisses in the crook of her neck.

"Harry," Anne says, hugging the girl close to her chest. Harry looks up. "She's gotten so big, I can't believe this."

"I know," Harry says, sighing, because he does know. "Can you imagine how I felt when I got back from tour?" He murmurs, mentioning the last few legs he had to go without his biggest supporters following him around like they did before the divorce.

Anne tuts, and helps Theadora get on her feet, watching her for a moment as she runs to the corner where her toys are.

"Now, let's not do that, hm?" She says, walking over to him. She brings him into a side-hug, and presses a kiss on his forehead. He smiles, eyes closing shut at the familiar and comforting feeling of his mother.

They're in the kitchen, Thea in her highchair–which belonged to one of her cousins who are now too old for it–playing with the crayons before her as Harry and Anne chat over tea. Anne asks about his break, and the conversation takes a turn when she mentions Y/N, recalling their conversation on the phone when Harry was also there. He can't help the blush on his cheeks when he remembers how close they'd gotten before the phone call, though he can't help but feel anger towards Y/N due to how fast she'd seemed to recover from their moment while Harry had still felt the remnants of their almost-kiss everywhere on his body; his neck, his stomach, the tips of his fingers...

"I told Y/N I'll call her as soon as I find something for her," Anne says, cutting up the apple in halves so Thea can hold it in her hands and try and eat it.

Harry looks up, too busy with the theatre of his mind. "I know. I was there when you were on the phone."

"Which brings me–"

"–Mum."

"What?" Anne shrugs, smiling when Thea accepts the apple. They watch her–try–bite into it. "Why were you there?"

"My daughter lives there."

Anne raises her eyebrows. "Just asking."

"Just sayin'," Harry muses back. "It's a silly question."

"Quit being rude to me and start setting up the table," she gestures at the plates and the wine glasses on the counter.

With one hand on his hip, he looks at said plates and wine glasses. "Is Gem coming over?"

"She is. When was the last time you phoned your sister, H?"

"Well..."

Gemma arrives half an hour later, and fifteen minutes is spent with Gemma and Thea hugging, kissing, and numerous selfies later, they sit and eat her mother's shepherd's pie, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Gemma talks about her job but doesn't take long to tease Harry about not even visiting her once now that he's taking a break and is in London.

"How long is your break," she asks, reaching for more wine.

"A year probably."

She nods. "A year of doing nothing, hm?"

"Not exactly. There are a few interviews lined up. I'm just not touring or recording for now. Even if I did," he says, taking a sip from his wine. Anne and Gemma both raise an eyebrow. "I would do it here in London. Not leaving anytime soon."

Across him, Anne nods. "Good," she says.

"How's Y/N?"

"Uh," Harry turns to Gemma. "Why are you asking?"

This makes her laugh, presumably having noticed the blush on his cheeks that is due to both the wine, and the mention of his ex-wife.

"Just asking," Gemma says, shrugging. "I only talk to her through the comment section on Instagram it seems."

"She's good– she's– yeah. She's good."

"Okay..."

"Yeah."

Gemma shrugs, turning to Thea. "Your dad's weird."

"Daddy."

This makes them all laugh, Harry bringing his hands up to his face to cover the blush.

"Yes," Gemma nods, caressing her cheek. "Your daddy. Weirdo."

"Gemma," Anne tuts.

"Daddy," Thea says again, legs bouncing below. "Daddy. Weeduh."

"Thea..." A crease appears between his brows.

Gemma shrugs, chuckling into her wine. Anne gets up, and starts collecting their plates.

"Let's hope," Anne starts. "That she doesn't repeat the word to Y/N."

"She'll forget it," Gemma says, squeezing Thea's cheeks with both hands. The toddler giggles. "Teddy, let's take more pictures. Come on."

Harry grunts, leaning back in his chair. "Stop posting my daughter to your eight million followers," he says.

Gemma looks up from her phone. "I always get the okay from Y/N."

"Y/N?" He raises one eyebrow, an offence clear in his tone of voice. "What about me?"

"Sorry, mate."

* * *

They arrive back to London at around eight o'clock, and Y/N opens the door in her lilac robe, one they'd gotten together years ago. He looks her up and down, somehow feeling jealous that the robe is still in her life but not him.

She notices.

"Well, hello," she muses, arms opening to take the sleeping child. She turns around. He follows.

"Hello," he says, bending down to take his shoes off. "She's not hungry or anything, so I let her sleep."

She nods. "Okay. I'll put her to bed and come back down– can you put the kettle on?"

"Uh," he scratches the back of his neck, then nods. "Of course."

As promised, she comes back down a few minutes later, robe now somehow more open in the chest area, so he tries to avert his gaze, but can't. It's hard, having her this close with possibly nothing but the robe on, and he curses himself for thinking dirty thoughts in the same kitchen his daughter eats in. She notices him looking though, because they share a look, a very brief one before she turns her back to him to get the mugs out.

"How was it?"

"Hm?" He looks up from his feet. "Oh," he says. "It was nice. Thanks..."

"Why are you thanking me? I'm glad it was nice. I know it'd been a while since she saw your family, so..." She falters. "I'm glad it was nice."

The words are all rushed, like she's trying to get them out before she says something else, but what, Harry's not sure. He's not complaining, though, so he keeps watching her back, her exposed neck, and the way she's working, delicate hands getting everything ready just so she can make a cup of tea for her ex-husband. It all feels too familiar, being in this kitchen, having her make him tea dressed in nothing but a robe, like all the mornings they'd decided to spend in bed so the only time they would get out of their bed would be to make a cup of tea.

"How– how was your day?" He asks when he feels he's getting way too ahead of himself.

She turns to him, and gives a smile. "Good. I went out with Robin and Alena. Then came back home and had a long... very long bath," she chuckles, like she's done something naughty.

He doesn't even want to think about her in her bath, the same bath that they once shared, and been in together.

He nods, despite knowing she wouldn't be able to see. "Good. That's– good."

"Yup."

He sighs. She turns around, chest even more open now. He gulps, tries to avert his eyes, but he can't help it. He watches her chest rise up and down, and has to hold himself back from launching himself at her just to kiss all over her chest, that one tattoo he once loved kissing, and getting little moans out of her. He can't help but bite his lip when he feels his cock twitch at the dirty thoughts.

She's aware of her effect. She is, because she takes a step closer, and rubs her chest, like she's scratching there, then their eyes meet.

"Harry," she says. He whines.

He does, because the way she says it, she's done it a million times before. Before everything, before the divorce, before everything came crashing down.

He shakes his head. "Y/N..."

"Harry," she says once again, like honey is dripping down her mouth with every syllable. He loves it– loves it so much.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

His hand goes up to his forehead, suddenly a headache hitting him, and he rubs his eyes, like he's in a dream. He shakes his head, though it's at the way he's feeling at the moment; wrapped around her finger.

He looks up, eyes squinted, and shakes his head once again.

She laughs.

"Harry," she repeats once again, like she's tasting the name in her beautiful mouth– like she wants to chew on the name and hold onto it a beat longer.

He lets her.

"Harry, do you want to fuck me? Now? Here?"

"Y/N," he chokes out, hand on his forehead still. "You're messing with me. You don't know what you're saying–"

"–Bend me over this counter, and fuck me from behind?" She says, voice laced with honey. "Like you used to... have me in every way possible."

"Y/N..." His cock twitches even more in his pants.

"What? You wouldn't like that? Fucking my wet pussy? Have me at your mercy, like you used to? Harry," she whispers, hands going to the belt of her robe. She keeps them there. "Don't you miss my warm, wet cunt? I'm so wet, so wet just from looking at you, having you so hot and bothered in my kitchen."

"You're–"

"–I miss your big cock, Harry. I miss feeling so full, so content with your hard cock fucking into me, filling me up with your cum... I miss it."

"Fuck, Y/N– you know I can never say no to you," he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. "I can never say no to you."

"I miss your warm, big hands all over my naked body. Don't you miss my tits? My big tits, hm? My hard nippes? I miss having your mouth on my tits, H. I miss when you used to bite my hard nipples, bruising me, owning me... I miss it all."

He looks up. "Take it off."

"What?"

"Take the robe off. And turn around."

A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth, and Harry curses himself for giving in too easily. He knows he's playing with fire– they are playing with fire, and that divorced parents should not be having this type of conversation, or these types of moments. Though, when the robe slides down her shoulders, and finds the floor, he doesn't seem to give a shit.

He looks at her tits, her almost-hard nipples, and her pussy– not clean shaven with some hair in the middle because that's how he liked it. He wants to cry, looking at her perfect body, he wants to cry and wail because he's missed being this close to her naked body. He takes a step forward, and she turns around, and places her elbows on the counter, arching her back like she knows he likes. Her ass in the air, pussy visible from between, he shakes his head and lets out a pathetic chuckle.

"Are you going to fuck me," she says, mutters more like.

With fingers working the button on his trousers, he nods. "I am. I'm going to fuck you so hard– use this pussy as my toy just to get off. How's that sound?"

"Yes..." She whispers, slightly shaking her ass in the air.

As he lets his trousers and underwear pool around his ankles, his gaze falls to the birthmark on her left asscheek. He grabs it, and leans in to press a wet kiss on her ass, right on the birthmark before he opens his mouth, and grazes his teeth over the area, getting a whine out of her. He keeps licking and licking, teething at the warm flesh of hers as little, hushed moans leave her mouth, and with one hand on her waist squeezing, he travels the other down so he can part her cheeks, and take a look at her puckered hole. He whines, and gets his mouth on there, kissing first before licking, and he gets his hand on his cock, and swipes a finger across the tip, smearing the precum before he starts stroking his length up and down.

He's slow, like he wants to take his time, and when she moans again as his teeth grazes her cunt, he thinks he's had enough. He presses his cock against her tight hole first, then rubs it all over before bringing his cock to her already wet cunt. When her wetness comes in contact with his cock, he lets out a moan, biting his lip at the warm, wet feeling at the tip of his cock, and he finally presses it inside, in– so in until his cock disappears into her wetness.

It feels like the first time, and he has to bring his hand up to his eye and vigorously dry the tear there before he starts moving his hips, fucking into her like he knows she likes: slow, very slow at first like they're tiptoeing around each other, getting to know each other's bodies like the very first time.

"Yeah," she whispers, ass trying to back up so she can meet his mellow, lazy thrusts. "Fuck me like you mean it, Harry– fuck me like the first time."

He says her name, then his thrusts pick up, wanting to feel more of her body.

He sneaks a hand around her, and grabs her big tits, fiddling with the nipple and tweaking it between his thumb and index finger like he knows she likes. He squeezes, very hard, and groans when she does, hips stuttering for a moment when she backs away harshly. He's in, so in– deep inside her and he doesn't know if he'll ever get to fuck her this good ever again.

"So wet, and tight," he blabbers, like he's just learning how to talk.

He fucks her hard, her tits hitting the counter harshly, but neither of them seem to care. He fucks her hard, and fast, and when she turns around and gives him a look, he raises his hand, and smacks her ass, hard.

She turns her face, and looks down, letting out a whine.

"You like that?" Harry mutters, smacking her ass once again. "You still like pain, Y/N? Love it when I hurt you?"

"Yes– fuck– yes. Keep fucking me, keep owning me."

"You've always belonged to me, haven't you?" He thrusts into her harder now. "Always my slut, my little whore– my fuck toy."

"Always."

"God," he mutters, dropping his head on her back, forehead making contact with her warm waist. "I'm gonna cum– I haven't been inside you in so long you're gonna make me cum so quick– it's pathetic."

"Come then," she whispers. "Come on my tits."

"Fuck... you're killing me," he whispers into the soft light of the kitchen, and utters her name more than once, and before he knows it, he thrusts harder into her once more and gets out of her wetness, finding her already on her knees in front of him.

He shakes his head, a silent, breathy laugh between his lips and he comes all over her chest, painting her tits in white.

"Shit, fuck me– I can't," he tries to talk, talk more, but he fails.

She looks up at him through her long eyelashes, nose in the air like she knows she's the most precious thing in the world– like she knows the effect she has on him.

They still for a while, her watching the cum on her chest as he watches her.

The realisation of what had happened hits him like a tonne of bricks, and when Thea starts crying from upstairs, they both flinch, like their private bubble had popped so suddenly. They look at each other, a silent conversation happening between them before she gets up like she's been struck by lightning, and gets her robe on without caring about the portrait on her chest as she makes her way upstairs, feet so quick it looks like she's escaping a fire.

He sighs, trousers still down, and leans his head back against one of the cupboards, and lets out a pathetic laugh. He doesn't know what would happen now that they've gone and fucked.

Was it fucking, really? It sure as hell wasn't making love. No, it wasn't, because if it were, he would know. He knew how making love to Y/N made him feel. He knew, because it made him feel like a brand new person– but now, standing in this kitchen, he feels angry. Angry, because he somehow thinks he's gone and fucked it all up, their co-parenting arrangement, their calmer, more peaceful relationship now that he was in Thea's life more and more.

He didn't know what Y/N would think, or say now that it happened.

He doesn't have time to think about it more, though, because she's back when he's buttoning his trousers, walking into the kitchen like nothing's happened. But that's the thing; something happened.

"She's asleep," she murmurs, walking over to the kettle. She turns it on, and tightens the belt to her robe. "Tea?"

And, Harry is pissed.

"Tea?" He spits. "Tea– we just fucked, and you're asking if I want tea?"

"Harry..."

"What, Y/N?" He says, a crease between his brows. "You thought we would go back to how it was after I literally fucked you into oblivion?"

"Into oblivion?" She laughs. "Harry, come on."

"No, seriously. What's the plan here? How do we go from here?"

"It's– I don't know."

"We had sex, Y/N."

She shakes her head, and squeezes the bridge of her nose. "I know. I was there."

"So?"

"I don't know, Harry! I don't know anything, okay? I wanted it, I needed it, and you clearly wanted it, too."

"Fuck's sake," he murmurs under his breath. He looks around, then back at her. "I did. I always want it when it comes to you, and that's the problem."

"Harry..."

"What?"

She looks at her feet. "I'm sorry."

"What for," he takes a step forward. "What are you sorry for?"

"For this– this fucking clownery. It was my fault. I– I provoked you..."

"You did no such thing," he places his hands on her shoulders, and squeezes there. She looks up. "You did not provoke me. I wanted it. We both wanted it."

"It shouldn't have happened."

A beat.

"Why?"

"Because!" She shakes her head in disbelief. "Because of Thea. Because we put ourselves and our needs before her. I did. And I– I'm a horrible mother."

"Fuck– don't say that, come here," he hugs her into his chest, and her tears hit his t-shirt like gunshots. "You're an amazing mother."

"Am I, though? I– I just fucked her father–"

"–Your ex-husband."

"Harry, I think you should leave," she sniffs, and wipes the tears. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not leaving until you calm down. Come on, sit down," he helps her to the chair. She sits down. "Have a cup of tea. And then, I'll leave. I'll leave if you still want me to."

"Okay."

"Okay–" he nods, smiling down at her. "Okay."

Harry pours the water into their mugs, and they drink their tea in silence, the only noise being the cars outside and the clock on the wall. He watches the way her hands hold the mug so delicately, like she's trying to get as much warmth off of it as possible, and the way she closes her eyes when she sips from time to time, like she deems herself lucky for such warmth in the back of her throat.

She looks up after a while, hand on her neck as she scratches there, just like she does when she feels anxious. "This can't happen again," she says, whispers, more like.

"Okay," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"For Theadora," she begins again. "For her, we need to maintain a healthy co-parenting... thing."

"For Thea, yes."

When the clock shows just after eleven o'clock, Harry gets his shoes on, and his coat, and she walks him to the door.

They hold each other's gaze for a moment. Harry looks for something in her eyes, and he thinks that he finds it. But before he can say anything, a smile appears on her face, and she brings her body closer to him as she embraces him. Hands in the air for a second, he stops, though he's quick to recover before he wraps his arms around her, placing his hands on her waist, and squeezes her.

They pull apart, and Harry smiles, too.

Just before he's about to leave, he stops and turns around.

"Y/N?"

"Yes," she mumbles.

"Just for the record," Harry starts, a tiny smile on the corners of his mouth. "I don't regret it."

A beat of silence.

He looks up, she does, too.

He turns around, then hears her voice.

"Just for the record," she says, waiting for him to turn his face. He does. "I don't regret it, either."

* * *