he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder while you work. "my sweet girl..." he whispers, announcing his presence.

a few weeks less of a year, you met harry. he came to a small cafe in central london, sat down in a booth, he gave you a small smile and asked you if you would mind sitting down with him for awhile, that he was feeling a little low. you were getting off of work in an hour and you knew somewhere they could go.

you took him to a pier and sat down, he told you he didn't have anyone to send a letter to and wondered if he could send them here... to you. he felt letters were more genuine than instagram messages.

so for the past year, he's sent his letters back here, to you. he always teased, calling himself a soldier because he was always travelling, when in reality he was just on tour. he's never come close to another girl, it's been you, you, you. the letters came, from california then vienna, with one dated a week ago, read: "the soldier's coming home :-)"

and within a few days, he was right back where it all started, in the cafe, with you.