Different — 44 (Patreon)

Author's note: Hello everyone, I hope you are doing well! Here is the new chapter of Different. Tomorrow – Vicious and on Wednesday — Heavy Hands. Let me know what you think! I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Reminder Theo is played by Jacob Elordi

Harry sat cross-legged on the dorm floor, the cardboard box propped between his knees. He’d nearly missed the delivery slip taped to his door — crumpled beneath a stack of unread notes and half-finished case studies — but now the weight of it sat heavy in his lap.

He tore the tape carefully, like it might break if he rushed. Inside, layer by layer, pieces of her spilled out: sour candies he hadn’t touched since Chicago, a box of Yorkshire tea, socks he instantly recognized as the ones she’d stolen from him months ago. He laughed — a short, choked sound that felt too much like relief.

And then he saw it.

A photo of her. His hoodie swallowing her frame, hair tucked behind one ear, the smile on her face small but unshakably hers. On the back, her neat handwriting:

“Return this in person. No exceptions.”

His throat tightened. He pressed the picture to his chest, closing his eyes, letting the scent of her perfume drift up from the folded note tucked just beneath it. He unfolded the paper slowly, already trembling at the thought of her voice caught in ink.

"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"

The words blurred. He blinked hard, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. God, she had no idea what she’d just done to him. No one had ever seen him this raw — not his professors, not his family, no one.

Only her.

Harry lay back on the floor, hoodie sleeve brushing his cheek, candies pressed into his palm like some ridiculous talisman. For the first time in weeks, he felt less like he was drowning.

The hum of the radiator filled the silence, punctuated by the muffled sound of someone’s laughter down the hall — a reminder that other people’s lives kept moving while his felt perpetually on pause.

He should’ve been studying. His anatomy flashcards were spread out across his desk, ink smudged from late-night cramming, but the thought of forcing more information into his head made his chest ache. He’d been running on caffeine and four-hour stretches of sleep for weeks, existing on a loop of lectures, labs, and half-hearted meals.

The hoodie in the photo — his hoodie — stared back at him from the floor. He could picture her curled up in it, sipping tea, looking infinitely softer than anything he touched these days. His reality was harsh lighting, sterile hallways, professors who didn’t even know his name. He hadn’t laughed in days, not the way he used to with her.

A knock thudded on his wall, his neighbor’s signal. “Bro, we’re heading out — drinks?”

Harry called back, “Can’t. Exam tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a lie. There was always an exam tomorrow. But even if there hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have gone. The idea of squeezing into a bar, pretending to belong, pretending not to feel the ocean of space between him and the people around him — it exhausted him before it even started.

He rolled onto his side, reaching for the card again. His fingers traced her handwriting, the curve of each letter. I believe in you. Simple. Direct. Exactly what he didn’t know he needed.

His phone buzzed with a notification: group chat reminders about a study session he’d already skipped twice. He ignored it. Instead, he pulled up Y/N’s contact, thumb hovering.

He missed her voice like oxygen. Missed the way she filled silence with nonsense, stories about London professors who hated her essays or classmates who made her laugh. She always sounded so alive when she called, and he clung to it like proof that the world wasn’t just this sterile loop of labs and exhaustion.

But there was that name again. Theo. The one she mentioned with a lightness that twisted something ugly in his stomach.

Harry shut his eyes, clutching the photo tighter. He didn’t want to be the insecure boyfriend. Didn’t want to choke her joy. But the thought of someone else sitting across from her, making her laugh the way he hadn’t been able to in weeks — it made his skin prickle.

The radiator clicked loudly, jolting him back. He sat up, pulled his phone into his lap, and finally hit the call button.

Harry’s thumb hesitated for half a beat before the screen lit up with her face.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathless, cheeks flushed like she’d just come in from the cold.

His chest eased, some knot loosening just from seeing her. “Hi, love.” His voice came out softer than he meant, rough around the edges. “Got your package.”

Her whole face lit. “You did? That was fast.”

“Yeah.” He lifted the card into view, tapping the corner with his finger. “This nearly killed me, you know.”

She laughed, embarrassed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” he admitted. He didn’t care if it sounded pathetic. “You’ve no idea what it means. Everything feels so—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You made it better.”

Her smile softened. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”

Harry wanted to hold onto that warmth, let it carry him through the rest of the week. But then she shifted in her seat, hair slipping forward as she tucked it behind her ear. “Sorry if I seem a little out of it. I just got back from coffee.”

“Yeah?” He tried to keep his tone neutral.

“With Theo,” she said casually, sipping from a mug. “He’s ridiculous, Harry. He told me this story about his professor nearly falling asleep during a therapy roleplay exercise. I laughed so hard I almost spilled my latte.”

Harry’s mouth twitched into something that looked like a smile but didn’t feel like one. He adjusted his glasses, looking down so she wouldn’t catch the flicker in his eyes. “Sounds… funny.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that tone?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Just glad you’ve got someone keeping you entertained.”

Her brows pulled together. “You don’t sound glad.”

“I am,” he insisted, forcing a grin. But his jaw was tight, and he couldn’t help adding, “You seem to spend a lot of time with him, though.”

There it was. The silence stretched, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

“We are just hanging out after class, Harry” Her voice was gentle, but firm.

He nodded, looking down again, the photo of her in his hoodie peeking out from the open box beside him. The ache in his chest was sharp now, his gratitude souring into something restless, unsettled.

“I know,” he murmured. “Just… wish I was the one making you laugh like that.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment she looked at him like she could see straight through the screen, through all his bravado, down to the exhaustion he carried.

“You do,” she whispered. “Even when you don’t realize it.”

Harry swallowed hard, throat thick. But somewhere deep inside, the worry lingered.

Y/N tucked her hair behind her ear again, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re overthinking it,” she said gently. “Theo’s just a classmate. Coffee and lecture notes. That’s it.”

Harry forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t sound so tortured about it,” she teased, lightening the air before it got heavy. “I promise, you’re still my favorite person to talk to.”

That should have soothed him. It usually did. But instead, Harry felt the words slip right through him, like water through a sieve. He wanted to believe them. He did. But the way she said Theo’s name — casual, easy, unguarded — stuck in his head like a splinter.

He shifted on the floor, propping the phone against the open box. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time.”

“I did.” She sipped her drink, looking cozy in her flat, the golden light behind her making everything about her seem warmer. Softer. Worlds away from the harsh fluorescents buzzing in his dorm.

Harry glanced around his own room — the scattered textbooks, the laundry he hadn’t folded, the untouched takeout box on his desk. He looked back at her and felt the distance stretch wide and cruel.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, tilting her head. “Don’t disappear on me. I like seeing your face, even if you’re quiet.”

He tried to smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just tired. Long day.”

She gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe him but wasn’t going to push. “Go easy on yourself. You’ve got this.”

Her voice was light, playful even, but those last words clamped tight around his chest. The same ones she’d written on the card. He wanted to tell her how much he needed them, how badly he needed her. Instead, he only nodded, lips pressed tight.

They talked for a few more minutes — her stories filling the silence, his replies shorter than usual — before she yawned and said she should sleep.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she whispered, eyes soft through the glow of the screen.

“Night, love.”

He hung up, the quiet rushing back in instantly, heavier than before. The package sat open beside him, her handwriting staring up at him like a lifeline. But it didn’t drown out the echo in his head: Theo. Theo. Theo.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, restless. He couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that across an ocean, someone else was slipping into the spaces he was too far away to fill.

The rain came out of nowhere again. One minute the London sky was gray and moody, the next it was opening up in sheets, drenching the narrow street outside the lecture hall.

Y/N cursed under her breath, tugging her coat tighter as she fumbled with her bag. She hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella.

“Guess we’re both screwed,” Theo’s voice said behind her, light and amused.

She turned to see him standing there, curls damp, his too-big sweater clinging at the shoulders. He held up his empty hands like proof. “No umbrella. Rookie mistake.”

She laughed, brushing wet strands from her face. “Control freak me is very disappointed right now.”

“Tell you what,” Theo said, stepping closer, “my flat’s just down the block. We wait it out with tea?”

She hesitated. He must’ve seen it, because his tone softened. “No pressure. Just… better than standing here getting pneumonia.”

Her lips twitched. “Fine. Tea.”

The walk was short but soaked. By the time they stumbled into his flat, both were dripping, cheeks flushed from the cold. Theo tossed her a towel and disappeared into the kitchen.

When he came back, he had two mugs, steam curling in the air. “Don’t judge. It’s cheap store-brand.”

She grinned, curling her hands around the cup. “As long as it’s hot, it’s perfect. Can't tell the difference either way”

They sat on the couch, shoulders just barely brushing. Theo told her a story about his thesis advisor nearly tripping over a therapy dummy, and she laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Harry’s name lit the screen.

Theo noticed. He didn’t say anything, just took another sip, eyes kind but curious.

Y/N glanced at the phone. Her thumb hovered. The air between them shifted — not romantic, not yet, but charged with the quiet awareness that Theo was here. Present. While Harry was a glowing rectangle an ocean away.

She let the phone buzz once. Twice. Then silence.

Theo gave her a little half-smile. “You don’t have to answer.”

Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if that was comforting or dangerous.

She ignored it and set her mug down on the coffee table, steam curling into the air. Her jeans clung damp and uncomfortable to her legs, her sweater sticking at the shoulders. She tugged at the fabric with a little grimace.

Theo noticed instantly. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“You’re not,” he countered, already pushing up from the couch. “Hang on.”

He disappeared into his bedroom. A minute later, he came back holding a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that looked like they belonged to a much larger man. “Not exactly runway fashion,” he said, setting them in her lap, “but dry’s better than chic.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re really trying to ruin my aesthetic, huh?”

“Only a little.” His grin softened. “Seriously, though. You’ll get sick if you stay in those.”

Her chest warmed at the simple care in his voice. She muttered a “thanks” and slipped into the bathroom, swapping her soaked clothes for his hoodie. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves past her fingers, the hem nearly to her thighs.

When she came back out, Theo glanced up — and paused. For just a second, his expression shifted. Not bold, not predatory, just… warm. Like he’d seen something he wasn’t expecting but couldn’t quite look away from.

She tugged self-consciously at the sleeves. “Okay, fine. Maybe comfort wins this time.”

“Looks better on you anyway,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip.

The air hung between them for a moment, charged. Then Theo cleared his throat, patting the cushion beside him. “Sit.”

She rolled her eyes but sat again, curling into the hoodie, her damp hair leaving dark spots on the fabric.

They watched the rain streak the window, conversation dipping into easy silence. At one point, her hand brushed his as she reached for her mug, fingers grazing. Neither of them moved right away. The contact lingered — light, accidental, but not entirely.

Her phone buzzed again on the table. Harry’s name.

Theo’s eyes flicked to it, then back to her, expression unreadable. He didn’t ask. Didn’t push. Just sat there, steady and present, while her chest pulled tight in two different directions.

Outside, the rain poured harder, muting the world into something small and cocooned.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, not a call. A message lit the screen, sharp against the cozy dimness of Theo’s flat.

Harry: Did you forget I exist?

Y/N blinked at the words, her stomach tightening. Harry never texted like that. Not clipped. Not biting.

A second bubble popped up before she could respond.

Harry: Or are you just too busy with Theo to pick up?

Her chest went hot, caught between guilt and irritation. Theo glanced at the phone again, but stayed quiet, giving her the space to choose.

She pressed the device face-down on the table, heart pounding.

“Everything okay?” Theo asked softly.

“Yeah,” she lied, forcing a small smile. “Just… complicated.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, eyes steady on hers, and passed her the blanket draped over the couch arm. “Complicated’s easier with tea.”

She pulled it around her shoulders, the warmth seeping in — but her mind was already oceans away, circling Harry’s words.

She pushed up from the couch, clutching her phone. “Bathroom,” she muttered, not waiting for Theo’s response before slipping down the hall and shutting the door behind her.

Her reflection in the mirror looked guilty before she even dialed.

Harry picked up on the second ring. “So you do remember me.” His voice was tight, sharp in a way that made her chest ache.

“Don’t start,” she whispered, lowering her voice so Theo wouldn’t overhear.

“I’ve been calling you all afternoon, Y/N. Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m home,” she said automatically. Too quickly. “Got soaked on the walk back from class. Just—warming up.”

Silence. Heavy. Then “You’re lying.”

Her stomach twisted. “Harry—”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me. Where the fuck are you?”

She closed her eyes. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. “I told you. I’m home.”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked on the word. “Don’t fucking lie to me, love. I hear it in your voice.”

“I can see you.” His words were low, trembling with anger and something darker. “We share our location, remember? You’re not home, Y/N. You’re at his flat.”

“Harry, you’re being paranoid—”

“I’m being paranoid? You’ve been with him all day and now you are lying me” His words tumbled out, jagged, spiraling. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you sleeping with him?”

Her heart lurched. “What? No! How could you—”

“Then swear it,” he snapped. “Swear you’re not touching him.”

Something inside her snapped right back. “You don’t get to ask me that. Not after Ivy.”

The silence on the other end was brutal.

Her pulse pounded, voice shaking now. “Do you remember her? Do you remember me standing there while she smiled in your kitchen, and you said it was complicated? Do you know what it did to me, Harry? Because I do. I remember every second.”

He breathed out hard, ragged, like she’d ripped open a wound he thought had scarred over.

“Don’t throw that at me,” he said hoarsely. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair that you’re oceans away accusing me of things I’m not doing,” she shot back, throat thick with tears she refused to let fall. “You don’t get to tear me apart with jealousy when I’m the one still piecing myself back together from the last time you broke me.”

“Y/N—” His voice cracked, desperate, but she ended the call before he could finish, staring at her trembling reflection in the mirror.

The screen stayed black in her hand. For the first time in months, she didn’t rush to turn it back on.

The following days were heavy with silence.

Harry didn’t call again. Not that night, not the next. The unread texts on her screen glared like open wounds, each one colder, shorter than the last until they stopped altogether.

And Y/N… she couldn’t bring herself to reply. Not after the bathroom. Not after her own reflection had looked back at her with eyes swollen and red, phone still buzzing in her hand.

When she’d stumbled out of Theo’s flat that night, she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye. He’d stood there in the doorway, confusion written across his face, his hoodie drowning her frame, and she’d only muttered a broken, “I have to go.” Then tears blurred the hall as she rushed out into the rain.

Now she barely spoke to him in class. Theo tried once, a small, careful smile as he asked if she was okay. She only shook her head, offered something that might’ve been a smile but felt hollow, and slid into her seat without another word.

The absence of his name lighting up her screen was worse than the accusations had been.

Her flat felt colder without his voice filling it. Tea tasted flat. Even the rain, usually a comfort, only reminded her of that night — of Theo’s quiet steadiness, of Harry’s sharp voice breaking through the line, of her own lie splitting the air wide open.

She tried to write. She tried to read. Nothing stuck. She told herself she wanted space, that Harry needed it too. That time might soften the edges of their last conversation. But the quiet only grew heavier, pressing down on her chest until even breathing felt guilty.

On the fourth night, she came home late from class. The flat was dark, quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag, and tugged her damp coat from her shoulders.

Her phone was still stubbornly blank. No new messages. No missed calls.

She sighed, moving toward the kitchen, when a knock startled her. Three sharp raps against the door.

The knock rattled through the flat like a gunshot.

Y/N hesitated, heart pounding. It was too late for visitors, too quiet outside for neighbors. She padded barefoot across the floor, hand trembling as she slid back the chain and pulled the door open.

Her breath caught.

Harry stood there.

Rain clung to his hair, damp curls plastered against his forehead. His hoodie was soaked through at the shoulders, his bag hanging heavy at his side like he’d dropped it a hundred times on the way up. His eyes were bloodshot, glassy with exhaustion and something rawer.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The hallway smelled like rain and cold air.

Then Harry’s voice broke the silence. Low. Cracked. Fragile.

“I tried not to come,” he whispered. “I told myself to stay. But I can’t breathe not knowing where I stand with you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her throat closing around his words.

And that was it — the dam breaking, the storm at the door.