Different 42 (Patreon)

Hello, lovies! Thank you so much for all the support lately. I just wanted to take a moment to say how truly grateful I am. You have no idea how much every single subscription helps — not only with my medical school expenses, but also in helping my mom support me through this journey.

If I could meet and hug each and every one of you, I would.I’ll be forever in your debt. 💛

📌 word count: 3.7K

The airport was too bright.

That was the first thing Y/N thought as she stood by the window near her gate, fingers twisted around the handle of her carry-on. Everything was too fluorescent. Too clean. Too final.

Her flight to London boarded in twenty minutes.

Harry stood beside her, hands deep in his coat pockets, eyes locked on the tarmac like he could will time to stop. He hadn’t said much since the check-in desk — just carried her bags, walked a step behind her, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.

She didn’t know how to say goodbye. Not to him. Not when this didn’t feel like an ending, but it wasn’t quite a beginning either.

“I keep thinking I forgot something,” she said softly, trying to fill the silence. “Like I’ll get there and realize I left something behind.”

“You did,” Harry said, voice rough. “Me.”

Her breath caught.

She turned toward him slowly. He was still looking out the window, but his eyes were glassy now, and she could see the muscle in his jaw twitching like he was trying to hold himself together by force alone.

“I hate this,” he said suddenly, voice low and urgent. “I hate that I don’t get to know what your kitchen looks like. Or the route you’ll take to get to work. I hate that your life’s about to start and I’m not part of it. Not really.”

She stepped closer, pressing her hand to his chest.

“You are,” she whispered. “You always will be.”

He laughed once, bitterly. “You say that now.”

She shook her head. “I mean it. Harry, I—” Her voice broke before she could finish.

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. Like he was trying to memorize every detail. The curl of her hair. The shine in her eyes. The way her lower lip trembled when she was trying not to cry.

“Don’t,” he said gently. “Please don’t cry.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Only if you don’t.”

But it was too late. The tears were already building, hot and heavy. She blinked them away as the gate agent called the first boarding group.

That was her cue.

She turned and reached for her bag, but Harry caught her wrist.

“Wait.”

She froze.

“I love you.”

The words dropped between them like gravity. No build-up. No dramatics. Just truth, plain and brutal.

“I love you,” he said again, firmer now. “You’ve taught me not just how to love — but how to live. How to feel. You made things matter in a way they never did before.”

Y/N’s chest cracked open.

“I was fine before you,” he continued, voice hoarse, “but now I know that fine isn’t living. You changed everything.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she didn’t wipe them away.

“I love you too,” she said, like it had always been sitting there in her chest, waiting to be freed. “God, I love you.”

He kissed her then — not gentle, not frantic, just whole. Like he was saying it again with his mouth, his hands, the space between their ribs.

When they broke apart, they were both crying.

He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in the kind of hug that made her knees go weak — the kind that said please don’t go, even if his mouth didn’t.

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek. Could smell his cologne. Could feel the seconds slipping between them like sand through her fingers.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to get on that plane without falling apart.”

“You don’t have to know how,” he murmured. “You just have to go.”

He pulled back slowly, resting his forehead against hers.

“When you land, text me,” he said. “Tell me what the sky looks like. What the air feels like. Just… don’t disappear.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

She nodded. “Only if you promise to visit. Not just say you will.”

“I will,” he said. “Even if I have to sleep on the floor of your shoebox flat and live off tea and toast.”

A broken smile cracked across her lips.

The final boarding call echoed across the terminal.

She kissed him then. Soft. Desperate. Like it was the last time. Because it might be.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said.

But neither of them knew what soon meant.

She turned before she could fall apart completely, dragging her suitcase behind her, not daring to look back.

And Harry stood there long after she disappeared through the tunnel, staring at the empty jet bridge, heart in his throat, whispering into the silence:

“Come back to me.”

The wheels hit the tarmac with a heavy jolt, and Y/N’s body lurched forward, heart hammering even though the landing was smooth.

London.

She was here.

The rest of the cabin stirred — seat belts clicked, bags were tugged from overhead bins — but Y/N sat still, her fingers tight around the armrest, her eyes glassy and swollen. She had cried somewhere over the Atlantic and never really stopped. Her throat was raw. Her chest was heavy. Every breath felt like it had to be coaxed out of her body.

She was here.

But she wasn’t whole.

Her legs moved on autopilot as she followed the line of passengers through the jet bridge and into Heathrow. The brightness of the terminal lights burned her eyes. The murmurs of families reuniting and wheels rolling across tile echoed too loud in her ears.

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner into the arrivals lounge that she saw her.

Gemma.

Standing just past the barriers, bundled in a coat, holding a takeaway coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other — eyes scanning the crowd.

Y/N’s chest stuttered.

When Gemma saw her, her face broke into a wide, soft smile. She waved once, then started forward.

Y/N dropped her bag the moment they reached each other.

The hug was instant.

Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders. Gemma smelled like soap and rain and a little like home, even if she wasn’t home.

Y/N collapsed into her, face pressed against her shoulder, and for the first time in hours, she let herself sob. Not the quiet kind. The gut-deep, exhausted kind that comes after pretending to be strong for too long.

“Oh, love,” Gemma murmured, arms tightening. “I’ve got you.”

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t say you’re going to be okay or you’re so brave. She just held her. Rocked her gently. Let her cry.

Eventually, Y/N pulled back, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, blinking hard.

“Sorry,” she croaked, her voice nearly gone.

Gemma shook her head. “Don’t be. That flight’s brutal even without heartbreak.”

Y/N gave a breathy laugh, broken and grateful.

Gemma picked up the bag Y/N had dropped and looped an arm through hers. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I’ve got snacks in the car. Blanket in the back seat. We’re stopping for proper tea before we go to the flat.”

Y/N nodded numbly, her body already moving alongside her.

She didn’t know how to feel. Everything inside her felt scraped raw. But for the first time since she’d said goodbye to Harry, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

And maybe that was enough for now.

The drive out of Heathrow was quiet. Grey skies hung low over London, a soft drizzle coating the windows. Y/N leaned her head against the passenger seat window, eyes half-lidded, breathing in the rhythm of the city she barely knew.

Gemma had turned the heat up, knowing Y/N would be cold after the flight. There was a folded blanket tucked across her lap, a thermos of tea in the cup holder, and a chocolate bar in the center console — untouched, but appreciated.

Everything felt like too much and not enough at once.

Y/N blinked slowly, watching raindrops race down the glass. “Is it always this gloomy?”

“More often than not,” Gemma replied with a small smile. “But it grows on you.”

Y/N gave a quiet hum in response.

A few more minutes passed before Gemma spoke again, her voice gentler now. “You should call him.”

Y/N didn’t look away from the window. “I don’t think I can yet.”

“He’s been texting me non-stop,” Gemma added. “Kept asking if your flight landed. What time. If you ate. If you slept.”

Y/N swallowed hard. Her throat tightened.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Gemma continued, glancing at her. “He sounded wrecked.”

“I’m scared,” Y/N admitted after a long pause. “If I hear his voice, I’ll fall apart all over again.”

Gemma reached across the console and gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

“He’ll understand. He just wants to know you’re safe.”

“I know.”

Silence settled again, but this time it felt less suffocating.

Eventually, Gemma turned down a narrow street lined with brownstones and low-hedged gardens. The drizzle had lightened into mist. The car rolled to a stop in front of a small building with a green door and a hanging flower basket that someone had lovingly overwatered.

“This is it,” she said.

Y/N blinked. “Really?”

Gemma smiled. “It’s small. But cute. Cozy. Just enough for you.”

Y/N stepped out of the car slowly, taking in the quiet street, the steady London air, the smell of damp stone and distant coffee.

Gemma helped her carry the bags up the short stoop. The key clicked easily in the lock, and the door swung open with a soft creak.

Inside: hardwood floors. A tiny kitchenette. A window with raindrops gliding down the glass. A couch that looked old but well-loved. A little shelf already stacked with a few books Gemma had clearly picked out herself.

Y/N dropped her bags and just stood there for a second, letting it sink in.

She was here.

This was her new life.

“It’s yours,” Gemma said softly behind her.

Y/N turned, eyes stinging again.

“Thank you.”

Gemma opened her arms and Y/N walked straight into them.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now,” Gemma whispered, “but this is the start of something. Not the end.”

Y/N nodded into her shoulder. Then she pulled back, wiped at her face, and reached for her phone.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll call him.”

Y/N stared at her phone for a long time before pressing the call button.

Her hands were still trembling slightly, the familiar ache in her throat returning as she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The flat was quiet — too quiet — and her suitcase was still zipped in the corner, untouched. Her shoes by the door were damp from the drizzle. Her heart was somewhere over the Atlantic.

The dial tone barely rang once before he picked up.

“Hi.”

His voice was soft, breathy, like the sound alone had been waiting for her.

She blinked fast. “Hi.”

A pause. Not awkward — just full. Charged.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m here,” she said, voice already wobbling.

“I know,” he whispered. “Gemma texted. Said you got in. Said you cried so hard you nearly soaked her coat.”

Y/N gave a watery laugh. “I think I actually did.”

“I would’ve picked you up if I could’ve,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since she left.

“Show me around?” he said after a beat.

Y/N blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… flip the camera. Let me see where you are.”

She hesitated, then did as he asked. The screen shifted, showing the little living room — all warm light and crooked bookshelves, rain tapping against the windowpane.

She heard him smile through the speaker. “It’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“This place,” he said. “It already feels like you. Cozy. Messy. A little dramatic.”

Y/N snorted. “Thanks.”

“I mean it in the nicest way possible.”

She walked slowly through the flat, showing him the tiny kitchen, the impossibly small bathroom, the crooked hallway with a cupboard she wasn’t brave enough to open yet.

“It’s not much,” she said quietly.

“It’s yours,” he replied. “That’s what matters.”

She sat back down on the couch and tucked her knees under her chin.

“I feel like I don’t know where anything is. Like I just dropped into someone else’s life and forgot the instructions.”

There was a pause, then Harry said, “Send me your address.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because I can help.”

She did — and within seconds, her screen lit up with a series of messages.

“For groceries: try the shop on Rosehill Street. It’s small, but their bread’s good. For coffee, there’s a place called Beech & Sons two blocks over. Tell them you like cinnamon and they’ll do you right. If you want to go shopping, avoid the high street on Saturdays unless you want to hate people. Oh — and never buy tomatoes from that market on Laughton Road. They lie. Always mushy inside” Y/N smiled, the first real smile she’d felt since boarding the plane.

“You remember all this?”

“I remember you.”

She closed her eyes, letting the weight of that settle in.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to yet,” he said. “Just do today. And call me tomorrow.”

Her voice was a whisper. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The line went quiet again, but neither of them hung up. She left the call open as she made tea. He stayed on as she folded back the blanket on the couch. They didn’t say much else. They didn’t need to.

It was enough to just be — together, apart.

For now.

The rain had stopped sometime between the train ride and her walk across the cobblestones, but the streets still shimmered with a thin sheen of silver, like the city hadn’t quite dried off yet.

Y/N stood at the front steps of the clinical building, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, heart hammering hard against her ribs. A small plaque beside the entrance read St. Aldwyn’s Psychological Research & Clinical Institute.

This was it.

Day one.

She pressed her lips together, trying to settle the storm inside her. Her coat felt too warm. Her breath too loud. Everyone walking past her looked like they knew exactly where they were going — coats fluttering, ID badges swinging, phones pressed to ears — and she hated how small she suddenly felt.

She had worked so hard for this. Years of studying, endless applications, late nights and missed holidays.

And yet, standing there, all she could think about was how badly she wanted to hear Harry’s voice in her ear, low and steady, saying You’ve got this, love. Go make them regret underestimating you.

Instead, her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.

A text.

Harry

You're there, yeah?

Breathe. Shoulders down. Chin up. You’ve done harder things than this.

She stared at the message, heart squeezing, before replying.

Y/N:

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Harry:

Then do it. But after you walk in like you own the place.

She smiled — barely — then shoved the phone deep into her pocket and climbed the stairs.

The building smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh paint. She found the orientation room without much trouble, already buzzing with early arrivals. About twenty other fellows stood scattered around — most talking in pairs or small groups, all looking polished and confident and like they belonged.

Y/N hovered near the back, trying not to fidget. She folded her arms. Unfolded them. Tried to remember how to look neutral. Approachable. Not like she was spiraling inside.

Then someone tapped her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She turned.

A guy — tall, dark curls, kind eyes — stood beside her, hands in his pockets. He looked just as nervous as she felt, which was somehow comforting.

“I’m Theo,” he said. “I figured I should introduce myself to someone before I pretend I’m not panicking.”

Y/N blinked. Then laughed softly. “Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he said, “can I stand awkwardly next to you so we both look like we’re part of something?”

She nodded. “Please do.”

They stood there in silence for a second, two strangers orbiting the same storm.

“Where’re you from?” he asked.

“Chicago”

“Oh American. I am from here, actually. Grew up just outside the city.” He hesitated. “You here alone?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Theo didn’t press. Just offered a soft, understanding smile.

“Well,” he said, “now you’re not completely alone.”

Y/N felt something shift in her chest. Just a little. Just enough.

Maybe she could do this. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like home yet — not without Harry — but maybe, just maybe, it would start to feel like hers.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was.

Harry’s curls were messy, pushed back like he’d been running his hand through them all day. He was wearing a hoodie she’d stolen once and then returned — reluctantly. The lighting in his new apartment was dim, warm, casting soft shadows across his jaw and the curve of his tired smile.

Y/N curled deeper into her couch, the blanket Gemma had left her wrapped around her shoulders.

“There you are,” he said, voice low and already soothing. “I was starting to think you’d ghosted me for good.”

She smiled, eyes tired but warm. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Exhausted.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Tell me everything.”

So she did. She told him about the building, the strange lemon-cleaner smell, the nerves, the way the director spoke too quickly during orientation, and how she was fairly certain she forgot how to spell her own name at one point when introducing herself.

Harry laughed softly, eyes never leaving her. “Sounds like you crushed it.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t cry in the bathroom, so I’m calling it a win.”

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Then she hesitated.

“What?” he asked, instantly attuned.

“There was a guy. At orientation.”

Harry blinked. “A guy?”

“His name’s Theo. He introduced himself. He was… nice.”

Harry’s jaw twitched — barely noticeable, but she caught it.

“Oh,” he said. “Nice.”

She arched a brow. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you act chill but your eye does this twitchy thing because you’re trying not to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, too quickly. Then added, “I mean, I’m a man, and if I’d seen you walk into a room like that — fresh off a plane, all wide-eyed and sharp — yeah, I’d be trying to talk to you too.”

Y/N’s lips quirked. “Exactly. So maybe don’t act so surprised he said hi.”

He looked sheepish. “Right. Yeah. Fair enough.”

There was a beat of silence, soft and charged.

Then: “I miss you,” he said quietly.

Her heart clenched.

“I miss you too. How is everything over there?"

He leaned back on the couch, running a hand over his face. “Is… intense. Classes started this week. It’s all lectures and labs and not enough hours in the day.”

She nodded slowly, watching him. He looked exhausted. Worn out in the way only someone running on fumes can look. And yet, she knew — somehow — that if she had called in the middle of a lab or lecture or a sleepless night, he would have answered. He always did.

“You don’t have to pick up every time,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said simply.

“You’re the part of my day I still feel certain about.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat. “You’re mine, too.”

Harry stared at her through the screen like he wanted to reach through it and touch her — just to make sure she was really there.

“Will you show me your flat again?” he asked, softer now.

She flipped the camera. Showed him the little lamp on the side table, the window still glazed with mist, the open book on the arm of the couch, the blanket tossed over the chair. Her life, trying to bloom.

“You’re doing it,” he whispered.

“What?”

“You’re building something.”

Y/N flipped the camera back to her face. “So are you.”

He nodded. But his eyes were glassy again.

“Still wish you were here.”

She curled deeper into the blanket, then smirked slightly. “Careful saying things like that, Harry. You know what happens when I’m actually in your bed.”

His brows shot up, then lowered as a slow, crooked smile threatened to grow — but didn’t quite.

“You trying to distract me now?” he asked, voice lower, a bit unsteady.

“Maybe,” she said coolly. “Would it work?”

There was a quiet beat. Her voice dropped, velvet and teasing. "Also helps me sleep."

He blinked. “What does?”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on him. “Touching myself.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He cleared his throat, looked down, then back up. "Wh—Really?"

“I’ve been doing it most nights,” she said, matter-of-fact, like she was telling him the weather. “It helps. Especially when I think of you.”

His mouth parted, breath catching. “You think of me?”

Y/N let the corner of her mouth lift into a slow smile. “All the time.”

He flushed, color creeping into his cheeks. “Christ.”

“You blushing, Harry?” she asked, voice lilting with mischief.

“No,” he mumbled, clearly lying.

“You’re cute when you get flustered.”

“You’re evil.”

She grinned. “Miss me a little more now?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You have no idea.”

They stayed on the call long into the night, the air between them now charged, humming, hearts soft and wanting — both of them aching and reaching for what wasn’t quite there… but almost.

And tonight, almost was more than enough.

Don’t forget to like the chapter if you enjoyed it and leave a comment sharing your thoughts! It really helps me stay motivated, and your feedback guides me as I shape the rest of the story. 💛

Theo as Jacob Elordi