The power {{user}} had over Harry should probably be studied, because honestly—what the hell was he doing, showing up at Rockefeller Plaza on a Saturday night, letting himself be this exposed?

The thing was, {{user}} was doing the big double duty that night—hosting and performing on Saturday Night Live as part of her promo for her new album.

Three days ago, Harry had been in Paris—walking along the Seine, drinking coffee with cream, doodling the Eiffel Tower on a napkin, enjoying his endless vacation in peace—when his long-time friend, miss “Harry-I-need-you-please-come” McVey, called him in a panic.

She needed him to do a sketch with her.

She sent him the script, and like always… how could he ever say no?

Everyone knew about their friendship—close, effortless, full of trust, and enough chemistry to drive both the press and the fans insane. Professionally, he knew why this worked for her. Personally?

She was nervous. And she needed him there.

Harry knew double duty wasn’t easy—so he didn’t hesitate. He booked the first flight to New York, and now he was here, stepping out of a black car and into the blinding flashes of cameras outside Rockefeller Center. Just days ago, he was blending into quiet cafés and sketching sunsets. Now he was walking straight into chaos.

But truth was… he’d do anything for his peanut. Anything.