Different 43 (Patreon)

Author's note: I've had a rough few week. I haven't been able to enroll in school, mostly bc my mom keeps using the money for something else which has been incredibly frustrating. I've been trying to figure out how to raise money between my friends and family (just my uncle). I have until de 20th to come up with the money which makes it even more frustrating. I am open for suggestions -> i need 1500 usd. I feel like this is becoming an every semester kind of thing with my mom. I love her, but its just becoming very frustrating. Anyway, here is a new chapter. I hope you enjoy.

I know you are already paying subscriptions which help me SO MUCH and are enough, but I'll just leave my Ko-Fi here incase any of you are able and willing to help me a little bit more to reach my goal -> https://ko-fi.com/mariabernal8706 (DO NOT FEEL OBLIGATED)

warning -> smut

word count: 3.3K

The clock on the kitchen stove blinked 11:42 p.m.

She glanced at her phone again.

Still nothing.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the couch, the TV screen casting pale light across the empty room. The show she’d put on — something she’d already seen — played unnoticed, background noise to the whirring in her chest.

She checked her phone again. The signal bars. The Wi-Fi. The battery.

Fine. All fine.

Her thumb hovered over his name — Harry Styles. Still starred. Still glowing like something sacred. The last message sat there, unopened:

Y/N: Are we still talking tonight?

Read. 8:57 p.m.

Nothing after.

She pressed her phone to her chest and leaned back into the cushion. Tried to breathe past the tightness in her ribcage.

He always called. Even if he was late. Even if he was tired. He always called.

Except tonight.

And she didn’t want to spiral. Didn’t want to be that girl — the paranoid one, the one who lets a missed call morph into a whole movie in her head.

But the thing about spirals is: they don’t ask permission.

Suddenly she was back in Chicago. January. The snow, the sharp cold. The way Ivy had walked in like she belonged, and Y/N had waited for him to say something. To say anything. But he hadn’t. Not then. How he had told her that it was complicated. How Ivy had showed up uninvited in their lives.

The clock blinked 12:13 a.m.

Four missed calls.

None from him.

She turned her phone face down and let it slide to the floor.

She woke to the vibration. A soft buzz against the floorboards that rattled her bones more than the sound ever could.

Y/N reached down, groggy, eyes half-shut.

Harry: Shit. I’m so sorry. I fell asleep in the lab. I should’ve texted. Are you okay? Please call me when you’re up.

Another followed a minute later.

Harry: I hate that I made you wait. Please don’t shut me out.

She read them both twice.

Then three times.

She didn’t reply right away. Just stared at the screen, throat thick, the ache sharp and quiet.

She missed him. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was — she didn’t know what they were anymore.

Not together, not exactly apart. Tied by a thousand invisible threads.

Exes who still spoke in “I miss you”s.

Strangers when it came to labels.

She got up and made tea, waiting for the water to boil like it might give her the answer.

When she finally called, his voice came through soft and apologetic.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“I’m so sorry, love. I had no idea I’d pass out like that. I meant to set an alarm but—”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“But I want to. I—”

“I’m not mad,” she cut in gently. “I just… I don’t know what we are. That’s all.”

Silence.

Then, barely audible: “You don’t?”

“No,” she said. “Sometimes I think we’re starting again. Sometimes I think we’re pretending we never ended. And sometimes, like last night, I wonder if I’m just a comfort habit you haven’t shaken off.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m not angry. I’m just—trying to protect myself.”

He exhaled sharply. “You’re not a habit. You’re… God, I don’t even have the words. You’re the only thing that still feels right.”

“Then tell me what this is.”

He hesitated. Not long — but long enough.

“I’m scared to name it,” he admitted. “Because if I do, and I lose you again, I don’t think I’ll come back from it.”

She looked down at the tea in her hands. Steam curling up like ghosts.

“You don’t have to name it yet,” she whispered. “But I need to know we’re not just pretending this time.”

“I swear to you,” he said, voice shaking slightly, “this isn’t pretend. Not for me.”

Another pause.

Then softly: “I missed you. All night.”

She nodded slowly, eyes burning.

“I missed you too.”

She heard the quiet rustle of sheets on his end, the telltale creak of his mattress. “You in bed?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. His voice was thick with exhaustion but soft, gentle. “I FaceTimed you when I was walking back to the apartment”.

“You did?”

“Mmhm. I couldn’t help looking your profile picture. That one of you at the lake. Your hair’s all windblown and your smile’s half-there. Killed me.”

A slow smile curved on her lips. “You really miss me.”

“I do”.

Her fingers ran absently along the rim of her mug, and a subtle shift in her tone came next—low, teasing. “You know what helps when I miss you too much?”

“What?”

She bit her bottom lip and let the pause linger.

“Masturbating.”

There was a brief silence on his end. Then a slightly choked, “Christ.”

Her grin widened. “It helps me sleep better.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, the kind that sounded like he was smiling with his whole body. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious. Most nights, actually.”

“Fucking hell,” he murmured. His voice had dropped a little. More breath. More rasp. “You— What do you think about?”

“You want the PG version or the one that’s worth the $10 monthly tier?”

That made him laugh, low and boyish. “Definitely the latter.”

She reclined on the couch, letting her voice slip into something silkier. “Sometimes I think about your mouth… how soft it was the last time you kissed down my stomach. That little moan you made when you got to my thighs. Like you were starved for it.”

Harry inhaled sharply.

“Other times,” she continued, slowly, “I imagine your fingers. How they’d feel if you were here. In bed with me. Right now. Touching me the way only you know how.”

“Fuck.” It came out strained, barely above a whisper.

“Do you ever think about me?” she asked, sweet but edged in mischief. “When you do it?”

“Y/N…”

“Be honest.”

“I do,” he confessed after a beat. “Almost always. It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s… you. I’m supposed to be composed around you. But then I close my eyes and all I can see is the way your lips part when I kiss your neck. Or the way your thighs tremble when I hold you open and—” He stopped himself, exhaling shakily. “You’ve got me all kinds of fucked.”

“Good,” she said, licking her lips. “I like you like that. All unraveled and desperate.”

His breath caught. “Are you in bed?”

“Not yet.”

“Go.”

She didn’t move.

“Please.”

Her heart thudded. “Only if you come with me.”

He groaned. “Y/N…”

She walked to her bedroom, phone in hand, and set it down against the lamp for the best angle. She wasn’t in anything special — just an old university T-shirt and cotton panties — but the way Harry looked at her through the screen made her feel like she was wearing silk.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, eyes trailing the slope of her thighs, the way the shirt clung to her waist. “Like this. All soft and tired… and mine.”

She smiled, crawling onto the bed. “Yours, huh?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

She tilted her head, teasing. “Would you?”

“For you?” His voice was husky now. “Absolutely.”

Y/N lay back against the pillows, letting her legs part just slightly, just enough to tease. Harry swallowed.

“Take off your shirt,” he whispered.

She obeyed, lifting the soft cotton fabric over her head and tossing it aside. The cool air touched her bare skin, and she watched his breath hitch on the screen.

His eyes darkened. “God, baby…”

Her fingers brushed over her breast, her nipple tightening beneath her touch. “Tell me what to do,” she said, her voice light, barely a breath.

He exhaled hard, like she knocked the wind out of him. “Touch your thighs. Slowly. I want to see how you tease yourself when I’m not there.”

She trailed her fingertips down her stomach, into the curve of her hip, and then finally to the inside of her thigh. “Like this?”

Harry had gone quiet, his gaze fixed, completely transfixed.

“Exactly like that.”

Her fingers inched higher, skimming the hem of her panties. Her clit already ached with anticipation, heat pooling deep inside her.

“I think about your mouth,” she whispered. “The way you talk to me when you’re fucking me. So slow. So filthy.”

Harry let out a sound halfway between a groan and a prayer. She heard a shift of fabric and knew he was touching himself now too, out of frame.

“Show me,” she said.

He hesitated—just a second—then tilted the camera down. His cock was thick and hard in his hand, veins prominent, tip flushed. He was already leaking.

Her thighs pressed together, desperate for friction.

“Fuck, Harry…”

His breath was ragged. “Are you wet already?”

She nodded. “Dripping.”

“Let me see.”

She slid her panties down her legs, baring herself to the screen. Her fingers dipped between her folds, gathering slick. She moaned softly at the first touch of her clit.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

She teased herself slowly, eyes locked on his. “You know what I miss?”

“What?”

“The way you hold me down when you eat me out. Like you’re starving. Like you don’t care if I cry.”

Harry swore again, hand stroking himself faster now.

“I miss your fingers inside me,” she said. “How deep you go. How you curl them just right—” she gasped, sliding two fingers in, back arching slightly “—right there.”

“Y/N…” He sounded wrecked. “Don’t stop. Please. I need to see you come.”

She worked herself faster, thumb circling her clit, breath coming in little whimpers. “Talk to me,” she begged. “Tell me what you’d do to me if you were here.”

He growled, low and dangerous.

“I’d flip you over. Face down. Spank you once for teasing me on this fucking call. Then I’d fuck you slow, so deep you’d feel me for days. Wouldn’t let you come until you begged.”

She whimpered, fingers trembling. “I’m so close…”

“I know, baby. Look at me.”

She did. His voice turned soft. Commanding. “Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel, even from thousands of miles away.”

That did it.

She gasped, legs shaking, mouth falling open in a moan as she came, pulsing around her fingers. Her body went still, pleasure curling through every nerve ending. She blinked at the screen, flushed, dazed, panting.

Harry was biting his lip, close too. “God, that was so fucking hot…”

She gave him a lazy smile. “Your turn.”

He didn’t last much longer—just a few strokes, her name on his lips like a prayer as he came with a strangled groan. His chest heaved, head falling back, neck flushed red.

They both lay in silence for a moment, recovering, the screen filled with nothing but breath and soft smiles.

Then she spoke again, voice warm and teasing. “So… still wish I was there?”

He chuckled, throat still raw. “More than ever.”

Y/N woke up with a slight buzz in her chest and a flutter in her stomach. The night before lingered in her bones — Harry's voice, the way he blushed when she teased him, and the things they'd said across the distance of a screen. The way he looked at her like she was something sacred, something he couldn’t wait to ruin in the sweetest way.

The next morning, her phone lit up with a message from Theo:

Theo: “Coffee after class?”

She hesitated, thumb hovering. Part of her knew Harry wouldn’t love the idea, but it was just coffee. Harmless. Theo was funny, warm, had kind eyes.

Still, her chest ached a little at the thought of Harry’s missed call the day before.

Y/N: “Sure. Free around 4?”

Theo sent back a thumbs-up and a winky face. She didn’t overthink it.

The café near campus was warm and dimly lit, all exposed brick and wood, the kind of place that made average coffee taste better. Y/N arrived a few minutes early, already sipping on her drink when Theo slid into the seat across from her.

He had a lazy smile and a cable-knit sweater slightly too big on him, the sleeves bunched at his forearms. “You beat me here,” he said, brushing a few curls from his forehead. “I was hoping to be the one waiting all mysterious in the corner.”

She laughed. “I’m always ten minutes early. Control issue.”

“Noted. So if I ever want to throw you off your game, I show up twelve minutes late?”

“I’d murder you. Nicely.”

He grinned, eyes scanning her face in that way psychologists did — curious, sharp, but gentle. “This feels long overdue.”

She raised a brow. “What does?”

“You and me, coffee. Not... a date, unless you want it to be,” he added quickly, holding up his hands. “But I’ve been waiting for an excuse to talk to you outside of class.”

She stirred her drink. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Could’ve. But you always looked busy. Or distracted. Or like you had someone.”

Her eyes flicked down. “Maybe I do.”

Theo didn’t push. He just smiled, folding his hands around his cup. “So what made you say yes today?”

She hesitated. “I think I needed a reminder that I could still say yes to things.”

“Then I’m honored to be your little reminder.”

He told her about his thesis project, about how he wanted to specialize in trauma therapy. About how he took night walks when he couldn’t sleep and listened to jazz like a retiree. He was funny, but grounded. Easy to talk to. She found herself smiling more than expected — not because she was charmed, but because it felt good to laugh again.

When they finally stood to leave, he held the door open and gave her a look — soft, interested, but respectful. “Same time next week?”

She tilted her head, eyes searching his. “We’ll see.”

Theo gave a short laugh. “Fair enough.”

Later that evening, as she walked back from the cafe with a warm buzz from the espresso and Theo’s easy charm, her phone lit up.

Harry [Facetime Incoming Call]

She smiled softly and accepted.

He looked freshly showered, hair pushed back, glasses on, seated in a corner of the campus library.

“Hey, you,” he said. “Missed you today.”

Y/N curled up onto her bed. “Hi. Sorry. Had class, then I grabbed a coffee with a classmate.”

His brow twitched — subtle, but there. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Theo. You remember, the one I told you about from Behavioral Psych.”

Harry cleared his throat, nodding like he didn’t already know. “Right. Him.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward, but loaded.

“He’s funny,” she offered, watching his jaw tick.

“I bet,” Harry replied, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Lot of funny guys in Psych.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You jealous?”

He scoffed gently, adjusting his glasses. “I’m just saying… if I saw you walk into a café, I’d be trying to flirt with you too. Doesn’t mean I’d succeed.”

Her heart did a little flip. But still, a part of her bristled.

“Wasn’t a date,” she said softly. “Just coffee.”

He looked at her, really looked. Then nodded. “Okay.”

She sighed, settling deeper into the bed. “How’s med school? You haven’t said much lately.”

Harry hesitated, eyes shifting. Then he let out a tired breath. “It’s been... hard.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because every time I call you,” he said, voice quieter now, “you talk about your classes and your weird professors and your walks through London… and it distracts me. Makes me feel normal for a bit.”

Y/N’s face softened. “You could’ve still told me. I don’t want to be selfish.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “You’re the best part of my day. I just… I don’t want to weigh you down with my stress. Everything feels heavy right now. Exams. Labs. My sleep’s a mess. I’ve never felt this behind.”

His voice cracked, barely, and he blinked quickly.

“Oh, Harry…” she whispered.

He gave a broken laugh and wiped under his eye. “God, I wasn’t gonna cry.”

“Cry if you need to,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to. I hate that you’ve been holding all this in.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “You showing up in my day, even on a screen — it keeps me going.”

“I’m here,” she said. “Even when you don’t want to talk about it. Especially then.”

Harry looked at her with so much affection it almost hurt. “You’re everything.”

Y/N smiled, eyes glassy. “So are you.”

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them full and safe. A lifeline stretched across time zones, holding tight.

Y/N tugged her coat closer as a gust of wind whipped through the narrow London street. The chill didn’t bother her much today—her mind was too preoccupied with the plan she’d been forming since last night’s call with Harry. His voice, usually so composed and steady, had cracked when he told her how hard med school had become. How her stories were the only distraction keeping him afloat.

She hadn’t been able to shake the image of him, eyes glossy through the pixelated screen, trying to smile through the weight of it all.

So, here she was, weaving through a small shop tucked between a café and bookstore, on a mission.

She paused at the display of sweets and picked up a small packet of sour candies—the kind he used to pop into his mouth one after the other during late-night study sessions. She added a box of Yorkshire tea, too, even though it was likely more for the sentiment than the flavor. A smile ghosted her lips as she spotted a tiny plush teddy keychain with an absurdly grumpy face. That was going in, definitely.

Next came the small stationery section. She ran her fingers along the rows of blank cards until she found one with a cartoon of a brain lifting weights. It said, “You’ve got this, genius.” Perfect. She slipped it into her basket, along with a few sheets of printed London landmarks. Maybe he could tack them up in his dorm room—some part of her here, watching over him.

She passed by the fragrance aisle and hesitated. Her perfume. The one he always said made his head spin. Without thinking too much, she grabbed a tester strip, spritzed it lightly, and slipped it between the pages of a folded note she’d been working on all morning.

It read:

"Only open this if it’s one of those days. You know the kind. Where everything feels too much and nothing feels enough. I love you. I believe in you. And even from across an ocean, I’m here. —Y/N"

She packed everything back at her flat with careful hands. The snacks at the bottom, cushioned by socks she’d stolen from him before leaving Chicago. The photo she printed of herself in his grey hoodie—her smile soft, hair tucked messily behind one ear—went in last. On the back, in her neat handwriting, she’d scribbled: "Return this in person. No exceptions."

By the time she stood in line at the post office, the box tucked securely under her arm, her heart ached—but in a good way. A steady kind of ache. Like maybe, just maybe, she could carry this distance.