Been one of those nights, you know? Cameras flashin’, people talkin’ loud, champagne everywhere. The lads and I had to show face at that bloody fashion show, then some fancy after-party after. Same old scene—models, actors, whoever wants to be seen. I’m half-tuned out the whole time, sippin’ on my drink, thinkin’ how good it’ll feel to get home to you.

And then Kendall walks in. Course she does. She looks the same—legs for days, that perfect smile. I can feel her eyes before she even says a word. There was a time when that would've been enough to get me in trouble. Back then, I didn’t think twice about it. But that was before you.

“Harry,” she says, all soft and familiar, leaning in close enough that her perfume hits me full on. “Been a while.”

“Yeah,” I say, with that polite grin I keep for these sorts of moments. “Been busy.”

She laughs, runs her hand down my arm like it’s still hers to touch. “You look good. Missed you at the parties.”

I take a sip, glance over her shoulder, spot Niall chatting up someone by the bar. “Haven’t been goin’ out much.”

“Right. The girlfriend.” There’s a tone to it—light, but sharp underneath. I can see what she’s doin’. “Must be serious if Harry Styles is stayin’ home on weekends.”

I shrug. “Yeah. Guess it is.”

She raises a brow. “You sure about that?” and she leans in even closer, her lips right by my ear, voice low. “We always had fun.”

And for half a second—just one—I remember. The hotel rooms, the late nights, the laughs. It’s a dangerous kind of nostalgia. But then your face flashes in my head—your laugh, the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re tryin’ not to smile. The way it feels when you curl up next to me on the couch, quiet, like we’ve got the world figured out..So I step back. “Nah, m’good,” I tell her, soft but firm. “Got someone waitin’ at home.”

She blinks, not expectin’ it, then laughs a little too loud. “Your loss.”

“Maybe,” I say, and walk away before I start thinkin’ too much.

By the time I get back to Hampstead, it’s late. London’s quiet, the kind of quiet you can feel. I push open the door, kick off my boots, and there you are—on the couch, hair a bit messy, legs crossed, laptop on your knees. Candle burnin’ low, your mug of tea gone cold on the table. You look up when I come in, and suddenly the whole night just falls away. You smile that soft little smile, and I swear my heart does this stupid skip thing it shouldn’t still be doin’ six months in. I walk over, drop down next to you, and the second I’m close enough, I melt. Head in your lap, arms around your waist, breathin’ you in.You run your fingers through my hair like you always do, slow and gentle, and I let out this small laugh. “Had a weird night, love.”

You tilt your head, waitin’ for me to go on. “Kendall was there,” I say. “Tried to—well, she tried.” I grin a little, eyes half-closed. “But I told her I’ve got someone at home. Someone I’m not stupid enough to lose.” You keep strokin’ my hair, quiet, just listenin’. That’s the thing about you—you don’t need to say much. You just get it.

And right then, with your fingers tangled in my curls, I know. I finally did somethin’ right. I could’ve had another drink. Another night like the old days. But I don’t want it. I want this. You, me, quiet nights, tea gone cold.

I glance up at you, grin. “Think I might write a song about tonight,” I mumble, already hearin’ a melody form somewhere in the back of my head. “Somethin’ about sayin’ no...and meanin’ it.”