Different (22) (Patreon)

Author's note: Enjoy!

The biting wind of Chicago was a rude awakening. It didn’t have the crisp, magical quality of the Aspen air; it was just cold, sharp, and unforgiving as it whipped off the lake.

Harry and Y/N walked side by side across the quad, their chins tucked deep into their scarves. The holiday season—filled with snow-covered mountains, roaring fireplaces, and days spent entirely tangled in each other’s arms—felt like a fever dream now that they were back on familiar pavement. The reality of responsibility had hit them the moment the plane touched down.

The campus was buzzing with the chaotic energy of the spring semester. Students dragged rolling suitcases over salted sidewalks, greeting friends with shouts that echoed off the brick buildings. Harry and Y/N, however, sought refuge.

They pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the university library, and the silence washed over them instantly. The air here was warm and smelled of old paper, dust, and floor wax. It was a stark contrast to the lively greenery of the quad in the autumn, or the white wonderland they had just left.

They navigated the maze of shelves until they found a secluded corner table by a drafty window. Outside, a dusting of greyish snow clung to the dead grass.

"I am ready to leave already," Harry groaned quietly, dropping his heavy bag onto the table. He rubbed his face with his hands, looking at the syllabus he hadn't even opened yet.

Y/N chuckled, unwinding her scarf. "So am I. I wish we were back in the cabin. Just... hibernating."

"Hibernating sounds good," Harry murmured, his eyes darkening slightly as he looked at her.

They tried to settle in. For a while, the only sounds were the scratching of pens, the aggressive clacking of laptop keys, and the distant hum of the radiator. The library was meant to be a place of focus, a sanctuary for academic pursuit, but for Harry, it was quickly becoming a torture chamber.

He tried to read the introduction to his history assignment, but the words kept swimming on the page. His mind refused to stay in Chicago. It kept drifting back to Aspen. To the firelight dancing on Y/N’s skin. To the sound of her breath in his ear. To the way she had looked at him when he told her he loved her.

He stole a glance at her. She was focused, a strand of hair falling loose from her bun to graze her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was such a simple, mundane action, but it made Harry’s chest ache with how much he adored her.

Y/N sensed eyes on her. She looked up, catching him staring. "What? What are you grinning about?"

Harry shrugged, feigning innocence, though a playful twinkle danced in his green eyes. "Just thinking about... that night. And you."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a flush of pink crept up her neck. "Focus, Harry. Flatterer."

She went back to her book, but the damage was done. Harry shifted in his hard wooden chair, suddenly feeling very warm in his cable-knit sweater. The memories weren't just mental; they were physical. He could almost feel her skin against his, the ghost of her touch lingering. His cheeks burned, a heat spreading down his neck that had nothing to do with the radiator. It was a delicious, agonizing mix of embarrassment and pure, unadulterated desire.

Sitting next to him, Y/N wasn't as oblivious as she pretended to be. She could feel the restless energy radiating off him. He was bouncing his leg under the table. He was shifting his weight every thirty seconds.

She glanced at him again from the corner of her eye. He was flushed, biting his lip as he stared blankly at his laptop screen.

Y/N smiled to herself. It was endearing, really, seeing him this flustered. It gave her a thrill to know that even here, in a dusty library surrounded by hundreds of students, his mind was entirely consumed by her.

Feeling a sudden burst of boldness, Y/N reached under the table. Her hand landed softly on his thigh, her fingers grazing the denim of his jeans.

The contact was electric.

Harry jumped slightly, his eyes snapping to hers, wide with surprise. Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand moved higher, a slow, deliberate caress. It was a silent challenge. A promise.

Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked around the library—at the students with their heads down, the librarian stamping books in the distance—and then back at Y/N. Her eyes were dark, teasing.

"Fuck it," he whispered.

Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers with a firm grip. He stood up, abandoning his laptop.

"Come with me," he murmured.

Ignoring the confused looks from a nearby table, he guided her toward the back of the library—the section with the periodicals and archives that no one had touched since the nineties. The silence grew heavier the deeper they went into the stacks. The air was still, filled with the scent of aging paper.

When they were finally hidden behind a towering row of bound journals, Harry didn't waste a second. He pinned her against the metal shelving, his body pressing hers into the books.

"You're driving me crazy," he breathed, his voice a low growl.

Y/N’s mischievous smile deepened as their lips connected in a searing, desperate kiss. Harry’s hands were everywhere—in her hair, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him so she could feel exactly how much she affected him. His hand found its way under the short skirt she was wearing, his cool fingers contrasting with the heat of her skin.

He encountered the sheer fabric of her stockings and groaned against her mouth. He didn’t ask. He didn't wait. The confidence she loved so much took over. Both of his hands reached down, gripping the nylon at her inner thighs. With a sharp rip that sounded explosively loud in the quiet library, he tore a hole in the fabric, creating an opening just big enough for what he needed.

Harry broke the kiss to look at her, his pupils blown wide. He didn't enter her immediately. Instead, his fingers slipped through the torn nylon, teasing the wet heat that had been building there since they left the table. Y/N gasped, her head falling back against the spine of a leather-bound book as he rubbed her through the lace of her underwear, making her knees weak.

"Harry," she breathed, her hands clutching his shoulders to stay upright.

"I need to be inside you," he whispered, frantic.

Harry quickly unzipped his jeans, freeing himself. He hooked his fingers into the lace of her panties and roughly shoved the fabric to the side, clearing the final barrier. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back to pull him closer.

He entered her in one smooth, fluid motion, burying himself deep.

Harry groaned, the sound vibrating in his chest. He dropped his head forward to rest on her shoulder, taking a moment to just breathe her in. The sensation was overwhelming—the illicit thrill of the library mixed with the tightness of her body. He braced his left arm against the shelf for leverage, his knuckles turning white, while his right arm hooked firmly under her thigh to hold her in place.

He began to move, setting a steady, punishing pace. He was careful, moving with controlled power, terrified of knocking a book off the shelf but unable to stop himself. The friction was incredible, the heat between them building rapidly in the cool aisle.

Y/N buried her face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his sweater to muffle the sounds bubbling up in her throat. The risk was intoxicating. The silence of the library amplified everything—the sound of their breathing, the friction of their bodies, the soft, wet sounds of their connection. Every thrust pushed her closer to the edge. She ran her hands down his back, feeling the muscles bunch and release, her fingernails digging in.

"So tight," Harry hissed, nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck. He adjusted his angle, hitting a spot that made Y/N’s vision blur. She stifled a cry, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Shh," he whispered into her ear, his voice rough. "Quiet, baby. Someone might hear."

The warning only made it hotter. The danger of discovery was an aphrodisiac, sharpening every nerve ending. Harry picked up the pace, his hips snapping against hers with more urgency. They were lost in it, a tangle of limbs and suppressed noise, the world narrowing down to just this aisle, this moment.

Just as the pleasure was beginning to peak, spiraling toward the edge, a voice cut through the haze like a knife.

"Harry?"

They froze.

Harry’s hips stopped moving instantly. Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Harry turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Standing at the end of the aisle, clutching a stack of books, was Ivy.

For a second, nobody moved. The silence was deafening. Ivy’s eyes traveled from Harry’s flushed face, down to where Y/N’s legs were wrapped around his waist, and the realization hit her like a truck. Her friendly smile vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock.

"Oh!" Ivy stammered, taking a step back, her face turning crimson. "I... I am so sorry! I—I’ll see you later!"

She spun on her heel and practically ran back toward the main reading room, her footsteps echoing on the floor.

Harry looked back at Y/N. For a heartbeat, there was panic in his eyes. Then, Y/N let out a snort of laughter. Harry chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. They had been busted. Completely and totally busted. But the adrenaline was still coursing through them, and the absurdity of it was too much.

"Well," Harry breathed, helping Y/N down as they quickly began to fix themselves. "That happened."

They adjusted their clothes with frantic efficiency. Harry zipped his jeans while Y/N smoothed her skirt down, trying to hide the torn stockings. The air around them still crackled with the energy of what they’d just done, but the mood had shifted.

"That was awkward," Y/N whispered, checking her reflection in the glass of a bookcase. "How do I even face her now?"

She shrugged, realizing she didn’t actually care that Ivy had seen them. If anything, it was a clear message: He’s taken.

But as they walked back toward their table to pack up their things, a thought nagged at her.

"Wait," Y/N said, lowering her voice. "Has she always been a student here?"

Harry frowned, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "No. I thought she attended Colorado State. That’s where she was last year."

"So..." Y/N narrowed her eyes. "She’s visiting? In the middle of January? On the first day of the semester?"

Harry looked unbothered, reaching for her hand to lead her out of the library. "Maybe she transferred? Or maybe she's just visiting a friend."

"It kind of seems like she’s following you, Harry," Y/N said, the suspicion heavy in her voice. "Aspen was a coincidence. But this? Walking down the exact aisle in the back of the archives where we happened to be?"

"Don't be silly, love," Harry said lightly, pecking her lips as they pushed through the library doors and back into the cold. He was too high on the endorphins of the last twenty minutes to be paranoid. "It’s a big world, but it’s a small circle. Let's just go home."

Y/N followed him, but she couldn't shake the feeling. Coincidences didn't happen twice. Not like that.