Meeting her || Pt. 3 (Patreon)

Author's note: hello everyone, this is the final part! I hope you enjoy it! 

word count: 4K

The freezing air rushed into Y/N's apartment as she opened the front door, and she instinctively pulled the sides of her bathrobe closer to protect herself from the cold. Still groggy from sleep, she squinted to get a good look at Harry standing at her doorstep.

His rain-drenched figure, with curls flattened against his forehead and a shirt clinging to his torso, puzzled her. "Are you going to let me in?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. She widened the door, and he stumbled in, clearly affected by alcohol. Y/N hoped he hadn't driven in such a state for everyone's safety.

As the cold air swept into her apartment, she felt a shiver down her spine, not only from the weather but also from the unexpected presence of Harry. She wrapped her bathrobe tighter around herself, creating a shield against the unwelcome chill.

"Why are you here?" she inquired, moving towards her bedroom to fetch pain relievers for the inevitable hangover. Y/N handed them to him along with an Alka-Seltzer.

“You know you are actually meaner than I thought," he slurred as he downed the fizzy water. Y/N observed him, amused by his intoxicated state. She couldn't help but notice the disarray of emotions playing across his face—frustration, confusion, and a tinge of vulnerability.

"How dare you come to my match with another man?" Harry accused, banging the glass on the coffee table. The abrupt sound echoed in the room, mirroring the abrupt intrusion of chaos into Y/N's quiet night. She could sense the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“We aren’t doing this with you drunk,” she retorted, “You can sleep on the couch.” Y/N's tone carried a mix of exhaustion and irritation. She was tired, not just physically, but emotionally worn out from the tangled mess that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

“On the couch?!” Harry exclaimed, “I have seen you naked, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken desires and the complexity of their relationship.

"Harry!" she cut him off, “This is not okay. You can’t just barge in here, accuse me of taking a man to your match, and then ask to share the bed with me.” The room felt charged with tension, a palpable awkwardness that only intensified with every word spoken.

“You did take a man to my match!” he insisted, “It’s mean. It’s rude. I would never do that to you!” The bitterness in his voice clashed with the vulnerability in his eyes, creating a stark contrast that left Y/N torn.

“It was my brother! Emma invited my brother and my father to your game!” Y/N clarified, frustration seeping into her words. The revelation brought a mix of realization and embarrassment to Harry's features.

“This is insane,” she muttered under her breath, running her fingers through her hair. The chaos outside seemed to reflect the chaos within her own mind. She felt a surge of irritation and helplessness, trapped in a situation she hadn't anticipated.

"Why were you ever angry? You have no right. You have a girlfriend and are in a serious relationship," Y/N argued, her tone cutting through the room's tense atmosphere.

“I don’t want you to be my mistress. I don’t want to be with another woman. I want you to be mine,” Harry confessed, fueled by the courage alcohol provided. Y/N's eyes widened at the raw honesty in his words, but beneath that honesty, she could sense a layer of confusion and conflict.

Y/N was at a loss for words, torn between emotions. The room felt like a battleground of conflicting feelings—desire, guilt, frustration, and a hint of longing. She didn't know what to tell him. She also didn't want to keep arguing and keep going back and forth. Y/N just wanted to move on either forward with him or alone. The guilt was killing her, and until he didn’t resolve his issues with Emma, she wasn’t going to keep her distance.

“I’m tired, and you're drunk. Let's sleep. Tomorrow we can talk about the rest,” Y/N suggested, signaling the end of the argument. Harry silently agreed with a nod as she prepared the couch for him.

“I’ll leave this extra blanket out here for you in case you get cold,” Y/N added, “it sometimes can get very cold. Goodnight.” The room felt heavy with unresolved tension, emotions lingering in the air even as Y/N retreated to her bedroom, leaving Harry alone with his conflicted thoughts.

The room was cloaked in darkness, and Y/N lay in her bed, staring into the emptiness of the night. The silence enveloped her, broken only by the occasional sounds of the city outside. Despite the late hour, sleep remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like grains of sand.

Her mind was a tempest of conflicting thoughts, each wave crashing against the shore of her consciousness. The recent encounter with Harry echoed in her thoughts, creating ripples of confusion and longing. His presence, so close yet unattainable, cast a shadow over her solitude.

She turned restlessly in her bed, the sheets whispering in protest. The subtle creaks of the mattress mirrored the restlessness within her soul. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage trapping her with her own thoughts.

She couldn't shake the image of Harry standing at her doorstep, drenched in rain, his vulnerability exposed. The scent of alcohol lingered in her memory, and the echo of his words reverberated through the silent space. "I want you to be mine," he had confessed, and the weight of those words hung in the air.

A sigh escaped her lips as she contemplated the complexity of their connection. In the quiet of the night, she couldn't escape the truth: the magnetic pull drawing her toward Harry was undeniable. The intoxicating blend of desire and guilt was an intricate dance, a labyrinth of emotions that seemed impossible to navigate.

Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the thoughts that tormented her. Yet, as darkness surrounded her, memories flooded back with vivid intensity. The touch of his hand, the warmth of his breath, the raw honesty in his gaze—they lingered like ghostly imprints on her skin.

The proximity of the couch where Harry now slept only heightened the internal conflict. He was near, separated by mere walls, and yet a vast chasm seemed to stretch between them. The unspoken words hung in the air, leaving an uncharted territory of emotions that begged exploration.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sat up in bed, the city's distant hum a lullaby that failed to soothe her restless soul. The desire for clarity battled with the fear of unraveling the delicate balance they had maintained. Y/N couldn't ignore the truth any longer—the emotions she harbored for Harry were a force beyond her control.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she padded softly across the room. The cool floor beneath her feet served as a grounding force, a reminder that the world continued to spin beyond the confines of her thoughts.

The door to the living room stood slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilled into the darkness. Y/N hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, revealing the silhouette of Harry on the couch. He slept peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his presence had stirred.

As she watched him, an ache settled in her chest—a longing for something undefined, a yearning for the answers that remained elusive. She wondered if he, too, wrestled with the complexities of their connection in the realm of dreams.

"Can't sleep either?" Harry's voice cut through the quiet darkness, his eyes still closed.

"No," Y/N admitted, standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room. The familiar surroundings of her apartment felt foreign, and an unspoken tension lingered in the air. Y/N felt like a visitor in her own space. A thick silence enveloped them as she contemplated the best way to invite him into her bedroom without sounding desperate. "Can you please sleep in the room with me? I can't sleep thinking you're out here and probably uncomfortable."

In the dimly lit room, she could barely discern his silhouette. Watching him rise to his feet, he reached for the pillow she had given him from her own bed. Y/N silently led him to her bedroom, a space he had never seen before.

The room emanated a tasteful vibrancy, adorned with colorful paintings and a large round paper lamp suspended in the center. Her bed boasted an array of pillows, matching a knitted throw blanket at its foot.

As Harry settled into the bed, his body relaxed. The room's cleanliness and orderliness prompted a desire for a refreshing shower. The bright white comforter was incredibly fluffy, the cold sheets providing a pleasant contrast against his skin. The pillows carried the comforting scents of lavender and vanilla, reminiscent of Y/N herself.

Y/N turned off the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

"I've never been in your bedroom," Harry whispered into the obscurity.

"Neither have I," she replied, settling into a comfortable position. A sense of ease washed over her, and sleep followed shortly after.

The morning dawned, and Harry ventured out to grab some breakfast for them. Surprisingly, he felt no hangover—just a slight ache in his body, understandable given the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Pulling up the hood of his jacket to conceal his famous hair, he strolled down the street with a clear destination in mind. A craving for eggs, hot sauce, black coffee, and a desire to surprise Y/N motivated him. With her still in slumber, he aimed to make their morning delightful, eager to start the day on a positive note. Apologizing for his previous night's state was his first priority, and what better way than to begin with a hearty breakfast for her.

His purchases included breakfast sandwiches, hot chocolate, a latte, an americano, and a cinnamon roll for Y/N. Though he may have bought more than necessary, hunger and the appealing array of food influenced his choices.

On his way back to her apartment, he couldn't escape the harsh gaze of newspaper covers featuring him. As anticipated, the media had capitalized on their loss, blaming him for the game's outcome. The penalty shot had been particularly abysmal, out of character for him, and he braced himself for the media's ruthless criticism. Lowering his head, he quickened his pace toward the apartment.

Arriving at the entrance, he noticed he was now plastered across newspaper headlines. The doorman greeted him with a smile, clearly relishing the newfound excitement his job had acquired since last night. The fact that the Manchester star had spent the night added an unexpected twist to his duties.

She was still asleep when he returned, so he ventured out into the living room. Taking a moment to appreciate up close all the pictures, the art, the books, and everything else she owned.

“Harry?” He finally heard her call out from the bedroom, her voice tinged with surprise.

“I am right here,” Harry responded as he walked into the bedroom carrying the bags containing the food, hoping it was still warm and delicious. “I bought us some breakfast.”

Her face and eyes were puffy, hair slipping out of the ponytail she had gone to bed with. She was still sleepy, and Harry found it adorable.

“How long have you been up?” She yawned as he climbed into bed with her. Y/N was surprised she hadn’t heard him get up or leave; she was a light sleeper. Harry proceeded to take out the food and prepare everything.

“About an hour or so,” Harry explained. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made sure to get you some different things.” Y/N nodded and kindly smiled at him.

“Thank you,” Y/N was the first to take a big bite out of the breakfast sandwich. “This is so good!” she exclaimed after swallowing. “You need to tell me where you got this.”

“I’ll show you someday,” he chuckled as he continued taking ferocious bites. “When is your next show? Soon?”

“Yeah, in two weeks. I am a bit nervous about this one. It’s special.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You have a talent that not everyone has.”

“What are you talking about? You are insanely good at football. Not everyone can play like that,” Harry chuckled and shook his head at her as he sipped some coffee to pass the food.

“Most people would disagree with you today.”

“You mean because of the penalty shot?” she asked. “Everyone has bad days, H,” Y/N shrugged. “Everyone could have missed it, and the majority of the people currently judging you can barely get up from the couch or dribble a ball.”

“I guess you are right. It will pass,” Harry said as he finished his coffee.

“Unless football isn’t what you truly want, then you shouldn’t quit or put yourself down just because of what someone else says or does,” Harry nodded, wiping his mouth and cleaning his hands.

“Are you going to invite me to the art show?” Harry bluntly asked, “I promise to behave and not get drunk. I am sorry about that.”

“Mmm,” Y/N had only one condition, “I’ll invite you, but no one else.” She didn’t have to say a name for Harry to understand that she was talking about Emma and how she had made a big scene at her last show.

“Don’t worry. I am breaking things up with her today,” Harry said, making Y/N almost choke on her food. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I want to be with you and only you. That is unless you no longer want me.” Y/N gulped heavily as she tried to find the right words to express how much she wanted to be exclusive with him and be his.

“I— I do, but you have to make things right with her,” Harry nodded and reached for his phone in his back pocket. The coach was trying to reach him. He had training in a few hours and planned on telling Emma in the evening that he was done.

“I’ve got to go,” Harry said as he read over the urgent text he had received. They obviously had to do damage control after everything that had happened in the last game, and they needed Harry in attendance. “I’ll see you?” he asked as he leaned over and gave her a gentle hug. Harry didn’t leave without attempting to give her a kiss, but she refused, telling him only after he broke up with Emma.

It had been a few hours since Harry left, and Y/N found herself in her home studio, hunched over as she meticulously painted three canvases, adding the final touches. The music blared loudly, creating an atmosphere where the gloominess seemed to vanish, and she no longer felt trapped in sadness. Just as the song faded into the next one, the doorbell rang vigorously.

"I'm coming!" Y/N yelled as she set down her paintbrush and rushed to the door. Upon opening it, her regret was instantaneous—it was Emma. Without wasting a moment, Emma barged into the apartment.

"I know he's here," Emma declared as she walked into the living room.

"Who are you talking about?" Y/N asked, closing the door behind her, feeling an instant surge of nervousness. She hoped Harry hadn't left any evidence of his overnight stay.

"Harry! Who else!?" Emma yelled, storming into Y/N's bedroom. "I know he's here, Y/N. I'm not an idiot! People saw him around here this morning!"

"You're insane. Why would he be here?" Y/N questioned, trailing behind Emma, who was now opening every door in the apartment. Finally, they entered Y/N's studio. "And I don't appreciate you barging in here as if it's yours."

"I don't know! You tell me, Y/N!" Emma shouted, turning to face her for the first time, arms crossed. A friend had texted her about spotting Harry during a jog, and after analyzing the location, Emma realized it was Y/N's apartment.

"Lower your voice, Emma. This is my house. My home. I don't go to your house and yell at you there," Y/N retorted, clearly unwilling to tolerate Emma's attitude. She was nervous and just wanted Emma out.

"Why was he here?! I know he was here! My friend would never lie," Emma insisted.

"This is crazy!" Y/N replied. "Harry isn't here. Call him!"

"Don't you think I've done that already! He's not picking up!" Emma snapped, scanning the room for any evidence of Harry's presence. She didn't want to believe it, but things were starting to make sense. Emma finally understood why he always stood up for Y/N and shut her down whenever she mentioned her.

"I don't know what you want me to do or say! Leave! I have stuff to do!" Y/N pointed to the door, her eyes drifting to the covered sculpture, the main piece for her art show, which could easily give her away.

"What's under there?" Emma asked, eyeing the tall, protruding sculpture.

"A sculpture? For my art show?" Y/N replied as if it were obvious, giving Emma a look as though she had grown two heads. "Enough, Emma! Go!" She nodded, turning to leave, but before Y/N could stop her, Emma pulled off the sheet, revealing Y/N's masterpiece: Harry, wearing only a sheet.

“I knew it! You are a whore! How could you!”  She exclaimed as she laid eyes on the sculpture of her boyfriend. It was undoubtedly him. Y/N had meticulously crafted him from his toes up to the neck, deliberately omitting the head to avoid making it glaringly obvious. She also chose not to incorporate his tattoos, purely for the sake of aesthetics.

"Since when?!" Emma erupted, "you've always been jealous that I lead a fabulous life while yours is miserable!"

"Leave," Y/N asserted.

“You are a shitty friend and a fucking whore! I am going to ruin you, Y/N. Say goodbye to your career” was the last thing she said before she left. Y/N was left scared for the future as an artist. 

Harry had just finished training when he spotted her in the distance, struggling to walk on her heels as she trudged across the field.

"Is that your bird?" One of Harry's teammates inquired, catching sight of her. The men on the field halted their activities, diverting their attention toward her.

"Yeah. Just give me a second," Harry replied, jogging over to her. "What are you doing here?"

"You've been with Y/N," Emma blurted out instantly. "How could you? I've been nothing but a perfect girlfriend to you. I've done everything for you!"

"Perfect? Are we in the same relationship? We constantly fight. You're always nagging and making me do things I don't want, and if I don't, you just throw a fit," he calmly explained. "It's not healthy, and I'm tired of pretending that we're this perfect couple just so you can get your five minutes of fame."

"Five minutes of fame?! I always go to your games and stand beside you during your matches." Emma tried her best to start crying. She wanted to make him feel bad. She wanted him to beg for her forgiveness. However, Harry just wanted to leave her. He was defending his actions.

"You're just not a nice person, Emma. I don't want to be with you anymore. Clearly, we're incompatible. I'm sorry for cheating on you; I definitely shouldn't have done that to you, and I wish things weren't ending this way," he said, not wanting to waste any more time in a futile argument. Harry simply wanted to move on and remove her from his life. "I wish you the best."

The burden of secrets and the weight of a toxic relationship were lifted from Harry's shoulders as he finally came clean and ended things with Emma. He felt a newfound sense of freedom, but it wasn't long before the aftermath unfolded.

Emma, seeking revenge, exposed Harry's actions to the media, accusing him of cheating. However, Y/N's name was spared, thanks to legal advice. Harry was relieved that Y/N remained unaffected by the public storm.

Despite the personal turmoil, Harry faced professional consequences. His manager, publicist, and coach advised him to maintain distance from Y/N for a few weeks until the media frenzy subsided. The tabloids scrutinized his every move, dissecting his life beyond football.

The club, wanting to distance themselves from the scandal, enforced strict rules on Harry's public interactions. Although he disliked the restrictions, Harry complied to protect his contract. A month passed before the media found new topics, allowing Harry some breathing room.

As Y/N's art show approached, Harry, aware of the potential media circus, decided to wait until the event concluded before making his presence known. He couldn't risk overshadowing Y/N's success or jeopardizing her career.

Once the gallery cleared out, Harry entered discreetly. He observed Y/N from a distance, captivated by her beauty in a red cocktail dress, a vibrant contrast to the monochrome surroundings. Y/N was engrossed in a sculpture, and Harry couldn't believe his eyes—it was a detailed portrayal of him.

"He looks familiar," Harry remarked, his voice breaking the silence from behind her. Y/N turned, recognizing the unmistakable depth of his accent. "Who is he?" Harry's eyes widened in disbelief as he observed the sculpture, realizing it was a detailed and tasteful rendition of himself.

"That's the man I fell in love with, who tragically disappeared," Y/N explained with a hint of playfulness as Harry took a few steps closer, pressing his chest against her back. "Thinking of removing him from my collection. He didn't make a big splash," she joked, though the sculpture had already found a buyer.

"I doubt that," Y/N giggled, "I didn't know you were using me for your art. If I had, I would have hit the gym more vigorously."

"I wanted to capture you through my eyes and everyone else's. This is how you look from other people's perspectives," Y/N elucidated, "Perfect, actually."

Harry planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck, sending shivers through her body. She turned to face him, meeting the eyes of the man who had occupied her dreams and thoughts.

"I've missed you terribly," he confessed, a profound sense of love, understanding, and connection evident in his words. She had become an integral part of his life, consuming his thoughts and desires. Harry longed to be with her constantly, to be everything for her, just as she had become everything to him.

"It's good to see you," she smiled, a mixture of emotions in her eyes. Y/N had many questions, but on this special night, she didn't want to taint the atmosphere. "I thought you had forgotten about me."

"Never," Harry assured her, cupping her face and sealing their reunion with a kiss. The shared moment spoke volumes, an unspoken promise to navigate the complexities of their relationship together.