You and Harry were supposed to be the "perfect" match. You were, at first. Before the families, the drama, and the slow, crushing realization that he was genuinely, utterly in love with you, a feeling he was too scared to admit, even to himself.

"You have no idea what I feel!" He snapped, his voice sharp with a panic you’d mistaken for indifference.

"Then show me!" You pointed a shaking finger at his chest. "Show me you care, Harry! Show me you love me! But not with materialistic shit! I don't care about the restaurants, or the clothes, or the fancy places you take me... I care about what you feel, what you think, and what you want with me."

"Christ! I do! I do all that because I do! Because it's my way of telling you I-l..." The word caught in his throat like a shard of glass. He couldn't push it out, not knowing why those three simple words felt like a death sentence.

"You gotta know I do... More than anyone I’ve ever been with. I hate waking up and having to leave you in bed. I wish I could be with you all the time." He took a slow step forward, the distance between you closing by inches. "And when I can’t, I send you flowers. Yeah, maybe I overdo it, I'll admit that."

He paused, gently taking your hand and pulling it to his chest, his eyes meeting yours.

"I take you out, I gift you things because that's my way of telling you how much you mean to me..." He hesitantly stepped closer, not close enough to touch but close to stand directly in front of you in the living room of his penthouse. "Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

You scoffed and tried to pull away, but his grip tightened on your hand. His other hand came up, resting on your forearm, a light but firm anchor keeping you trapped in the tension of the penthouse living room.

"I'm serious. Tell me what I'm doing wrong and I promise you, I'll fix it. You want me to stop taking you out? Fine, I'll cook you dinner. You want me to not buy you things? Fine, you take my credit card. You want me to stop sending you flowers? Sorry, love, but that's my way of saying sorry... Sorry I'm not there right now..."

He let go of your arm to cup your face in his hands. His eyes watered as he held your gaze.

"It's who I am, love... It's my..." He swallowed, the movement convulsing his throat. His thumbs gently stroked your cheekbones. "It's my only way of saying... How much I love you."