roaming (Patreon)

Author's note: Hey loves 🤍 I wanted to share something personal that’s been happening outside of Patreon, and also explain why I’ve been a bit distant lately. After losing my dad to cancer, my mom has been doing everything she can to support me, but she recently lost her job, which has made things much harder. With a deadline in February, I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to figure out ways to make more money so I can enroll in school and cover essential expenses.A friend helped me set up a GoFundMe to help with this. There is absolutely no pressure at all — your support here already means more than I can explain.But if you’re able to donate or even share, I would be incredibly grateful 🤍 Thank you for your patience and for always being so kind to me.

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Anyway, here is something that was requested on Tumblr, but I wanted you guys to read it first. It's short but cute. Let me know what you think.

📌 word count: 2.0k

This type of silence was different. It was heavy and suffocating. The house had become too quiet since his departure. In the day, the house felt alive but at night his abcense felt vast. It had been three weeks since tour started.

You pulled at the sleeves of his jumper, covering your hands. It was navy blue and it had a small hole on the cuff. even with the hole, he refused to get rid of it. it smelled like detergent and a small hint of his cologne, that had started to fade after wearing it so much.

You walked barefoot across the heated kitchen floor, where is his prized plants stood. He had even sent you a schedule for its care.

“Don’t die on me” you whispered, cheking if the soil was still wet with her pinky. “He’ll never forgive us”.

You moved to the living room, dropping the neddle of the record player on one of Harry’s favorite album. It had become an afternoon ritual for you. You decided to stay at his after much arguing and going back and forth. You spent the days in sweatpants and his blue jumper.

You pulled out your phone and quickly typed out a report for him. Even if he couldn’t repond right away, you knew he would appriachiate knowing about you.

You: The neighbors cat tried to break in. I think he is looking for you or smells the expensive ham in the fridge. seriously considering stealing you identy. Have been wearing your jumper for three days. I am becoming you.

Your phone rang three hours later. You were laying on the sofa, half asleep while Tokyo was just waking up. You accepted the facetime request and Harry’s face iluminated the sceen. He looked tired. His curls were damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead. A towel slung around his neck.

“Hi” A grin splitting his face. The loud sound of the crew packing down the gear in the background.

“Hello” you mumbled, running the sleep from your eyes. “You’re loud”.

“And you’re sleepy”. He squinted bring the phone closer, inspecting you. “Is that a mug of tea? Show me. How dark is it this time?”

You held the mug up to the camera. Harry squinted then groaned theatrically.

“Too milky, love. Might as well just had milk. You’ve ruined it. Disgraceful”

“It’s perfect actually. You’re just delirious from the show”.

“Don’t fall sleep on me” his voice softerning, shifting from the performer to the boyfriend. “I just need to see you for five minutes. Just let me look at you while I come down from the high. The hotel room is too quiet and I- I just need a minute”

“I am awake” you promised, propping the phone up against a cushion. “Are you eating? You look exhausted, H”

“Tell me about the cat. Tell me about the house”.

Two weeks later, the pacience had worn off.

You were at home, trying to cook a proper roast to have a proper meal, while Harry was on the phone supervising. He was in a hotel room in LA, eating room service pasta out of a heavy and very fancy plate.

“It looks really good” he commented, watching you baste the chicken.

“It’s just chicken, H.”

It’s home” he corrected, sounding tired. “I hate how the air conditioning smells like chemicals. And I hate that I know you are wearing my clothes and I can’t reach through this screen and touch you”.

You stopped moving, setting the baster down.

“H, don’t” you whispered. “You are making it harder”.

“I can’t help it. I see photos of you online or you send me these videos and it’s…it’s torture, baby. It’s actual torture that I still have four more weeks.”

“We can do four weeks”.

“Can we?” He ran a hand through his hair, frutration evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Because right now, four weeks feel like four years”

You sighed, turning back to the over to check on the potatoes, mainly so he wouldn’t see your sadness or your watery eyes.

“Oi” He said suddeny, “Stop that”.

You frowned, glacing back at the sceen. “Stop what? Checking the food?”

“Stop fidgering. You’ve checked the roast three times in the last minute. It’s dead, love. It’s not going anywhere”.

A small laugh especaped you. “I am just making sure that I don’t burn the house down”.

“You’re ignoring me” he countered, leaning his chin in his hand. A small crooked smirked appeared in the corner of his mouth. “You’re fussing over vegetables so you don’t have to look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” you argued, leaning your hip against the counter and brining your face closer to the phone. “I’m looking right at you. You look tired”.

“I look bored” he corrected, his eyes scanning your face before dropping lower. “And you look comfortable…”

“I told you. I’m stealing your identity,” you said, pulling at the waistband of his grey joggers. “I live in these now”.

“You’re drowing in them,” he mumured, tilting his head. A playful glint in his eyes sharped. “You’ve had to roll the waistband?”

“I have to, or they fall off”.

“I bet one tug and they’d be on the floor” he said, his voice dropping.

You paused, your hand freezing on the drawstring. The sadness was still there but your heart had started beating faster.

“Makes me wonder” he contienued, leaning forward until the camera was filled with his face.

“Wonder want?”

“If you bothered putting anything on underneath them”.

You froze, heat rising instatly to your necks but you held his gaze through the screen. “I might have”.

Harry let out a short laugh. “You might have? That’s not an answer, love.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. A cheeky challege written across his face. “Because I’m sitting here imagining you in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, with absolutely nothing underneath. And it is driving me out of my mind”.

You didn't answer, but you didn't deny it either. You just stared at him, your breath catching.

Harry watched you, reading the flush on your chest, the way your pupils had blown wide. He licked his lips, the smirk vanishing, replaced by pure hunger.

"Leave the food," he said.

"It’ll burn."

"Let it burn. I don't care." His voice dropped an octave, turning into a command. "Turn the oven off. Right now."

Your hand moved automatically, twisting the dial to Off. The hum of the fan died down, leaving the kitchen silent.

"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise sent a shiver straight down your spine. "Now, take the phone and go upstairs."

You felt your pulse jump in your throat. You didn't argue. You grabbed the phone and walked up the stairs, the darkness of the house closing in around you. When you got to the bedroom. In this case his bedroom, you sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Turn the lamp down," he instructed, his eyes dark on the screen, fixated on you. "No, not off—I want to see. Yeah, just like that."

The golden light cast long shadows across the duvet. You felt exposed, but the way he was looking at you made you bold.

"I miss you," you whispered, the words trembling.

"Show me," he growled low in his throat. "God, I would give anything to be the one doing that to you right now. I’d be on my knees for you."

You lay back, the phone propped on the pillow next to your head. Harry watched, his breathing hitching as you moved your hand. The connection was grainy, but the sound was clear, the rustle of sheets, your sharp intake of breath, his low groan of approval.

"Tell me how it feels," he demanded, his voice rough, cracking with the strain of it. "Don't go quiet on me. I want to hear you."

"It feels… empty without you," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

"Pretend I’m there," he said, his voice urgent, pleading. "I’m right there. My hands on your waist. My mouth on your neck. You can feel me, can’t you?"

"Yes… H, yes."

It was a desperate and messy. It was just people trying to bridge six thousand miles with nothing but voices. But when you finally fell apart, crying out his name into the empty room, it felt for a split second like he was right there in the dark with you.

The silence after was heavy, but less sharp. Harry stayed on the line as you drifted off, the adrenaline fading into sleep. He was lying in his hotel bed, the phone on his pillow, just watching the rise and fall of your chest.

"I’m going to sleep now, H," you murmured, eyes heavy.

"I know. I’m right here. I’m not hanging up."

The last thing you heard was the faint static of the line and his soft breathing. You slept deep and dreamless, the phone eventually dying on the pillow beside you.

You woke up late the next morning. The bed was cold. Your phone laid dead on the pillow beside you. You plugged it in, hoping to find a text from him but there was nothing. It was rainy Tuesday.

It was a slow, heavy day. The hours seemed to stretched. You watered the plants. You tried to read and then watch a show but nothing seemed to calm your mind.

It was 7:00 AM when you heard it.

A sound that you hasn’t heard before. It wasn’t the wind, and it wasn’t the house. It was a heavy clunk of the front door. The deadbolt sliding back downstairs.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You stood up from the sofa. Freezing. Alarmed.

“Hello?” You called out with a shaky voice.

Heavy foodsteps thumped down the hallway. Fast. Urgent.

Harry appeared in the doorway of the living room. He looked wrecked, wearing a hoodie, a beanie pulled low, dark circles under his eyes and carrying the unmistakble scent of plane. He dropped his duffle bag on the floor with a thud.

“Harry?” You breathed, blinking as if he were a hallucination. “You’re…”

“11 hours” he crocked, his voice rough. He croeed the room in three long strides, until he reached you. “Caught the red-eye. Landed an hour ago”.

He didn’t want for an answer, he just pulled you into him. The impact knocking the wind out of you. You buried your face in his neck, smelling the underlying scent that belong to him. He held you so tight it almost hurt.

“You’re here” you said into his hoodie.

“Only for three days”, he mumbled into you hair, swaying you slightly. “Couldn’t stay away”

He pulled back just enough to catch your lips into a desperate and messy kiss. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes drooping.

“I need to sleep” he whispered. “But first I need to remind these sheets what I smell like”. He brushed a thumb over your cheekbone, a tired, crooked smile.

Outside, the rain began to hit the window again but the house didn’t feel big anymore. It was full.