It was Wednesday's own anxiety that woke her. Not the birds chirping outside, or the sounds of construction in a street nearby. Not the light funnelling through the curtains, hitting her face. No, it was that on edge feeling that lingered in her stomach, telling her something wasn't quite right that forced her eyes open.

Though, it was hardly difficult to guess why it was coursing through her body, igniting every inch of her with a nervousness that almost felt palpable. She'd woken up to a different day with the same problems. Same scrutiny, same negativity. Same weird limbo state with Harry.

If there was any chance of her mustering the energy to deal with the day, she needed coffee or alcohol to help first. But apparently, drinking a glass of wine at nine in the morning isn't socially acceptable. So, she settled for the coffee.

Padding down the stairs to the kitchen, she flicked on the kettle and stood against the counter, rubbing her tired face. It felt like she'd aged ten years in the space of 48 hours, her limbs feeling achy and her head heavy. Turning around, she pulled a mug from the cupboard and began putting the coffee into it, when suddenly a noise broke her attention.

It was a knock. Three knocks to be precise. Three gentle but firm knocks that let her know exactly who was on the other side of the door without even needing to look.

Her stomach clenched as she looked gingerly to the source of the noise, seeing his distorted silhouette through the door window. Suddenly, that anxiety she'd felt before felt tame in comparison to the jolt of electric anxiety that made her fingers tingle and heart pound against her chest. For a second, she stood pinned to where she was, like her legs couldn't hear what her brain was telling them to do. Until more knocks came and broke her from her statue like trance.

Practically tiptoeing to the door, her fingers nervously undid the latch as she tried to wrap her head around him being there. With one flick, the lock was undone, and she grasped the handle and pulled the door open with a nauseating feeling.

There he stood. Tired, darkened eyes, hair pulled under a beanie. Harry.

His eyes raked up and down her body, but not in a sexual or suggestive way. There was a worry behind his gaze, almost like he was checking to see if she was okay. Hadn't fallen back into the grip of despondency like he'd found her in at the start of the year.

"What..." she tried to say, but her voice was hoarse from the day before. Clearing her throat, she furrowed her brows at him. "What are you doing here? You have a show tomorrow night, you should be there getting ready for it."

He shook his head, like it didn't matter to him as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Making sure you're okay is more important to me than any show."

She smiled sadly, hiding just how guilty that sentence made her feel. Once more, her actions had impacted not only his personal life, but his career too. Something that should have made her feel better made her feel worse.

"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes drawn together as he looked between her eyes. Almost like he would find the real answer there.

"I'm—I'm okay," she nodded, opening the door up further so that he could step inside.

Was there a point in telling him about the panic attack the night before? Would he want to know? She had a suspicion that if she did tell him, he'd start to feel guilty, like somehow the fault laid with him. Quickly, she decided some things are just better left unsaid.

He stepped into the house as Wednesday moved backwards awkwardly. Shutting the door, he turned back to her and for a second, the air was so thick with uncertainty that she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. It's weird, isn't it? How quickly you can go from being so entangled with someone else that you never want to let them go, to not even knowing how to act around that same person.

She wanted to hug him. Tell him how much she missed him. Ask how he was feeling about everything. But that wasn't what left her mouth as she looked at him, rubbing her arm nervously.

"Do you want a cuppa?"

Classic Wednesday.

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked up to her eyes, nodding earnestly. It was almost like he'd been thinking the same thing. Wondering whether he was allowed to kiss her and wrap her up so tightly she couldn't feel anything bad.

Wednesday walked into the kitchen as he trailed behind with nothing but a small bag in his hand. He was wearing loose jeans and a hoodie. None of his usual cool airport outfits he loved to wear. She noticed his nails were chipped. Almost like he'd been picking at the edges.

"You must have flown early?" she asked, to fill the silent void more than anything as she kept her back to him, making the drinks.

"Yeah, I..." he replied, trailing off like he was struggling to gather his thoughts. "I got the earliest flight available from Hamburg when we arrived there from Amsterdam."

She nodded at no-one, prolonging the making of the coffees purely so she didn't have to turn around just yet.

"How was the show last night?"

She heard his shoes squeak against the tiles as he fidgeted.

"Alright, yeah. Crowd was loud, as usual."

Wednesday stirred in the milk.

"Are you excited for tomorrow's show?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

There was a pause. And then a sigh from Harry.

"Wednesday, can you—can you please just look at me."

She stiffened, the spoon in her hand unmoving as his words registered. He was always two steps ahead of her. Always aware of what she was trying to do. Breathing out, she didn't even bother to hide the pained expression on her face that she'd had since he'd appeared as she turned to him.

There was a crease between his brows as he looked at her, arms folded across his chest. Jaw clenched tight.

"Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me, so that I know how to make you feel better," he asked, desperation in his tone.

At this point, she didn't know the answer. Everything was still so raw and new that it felt like every solution was pointless. At least it was until her head felt less hazy and overwrought with emotion.

She shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It's all just been overwhelming. Going from the happiest I've ever felt to..." she looked up, swallowing as he listened. "To seeing our personal business splashed across every tabloid and talked about by people who don't know us. I saw those comments online and I...I did what my first instinct always is. I ran."

Harry looked past her to the window behind, shaking his head.

"Why didn't you just tell me that?" he said quietly.

Wednesday chewed on her inner cheek, looking down to the tiles.

"I was just so panicked that there was no rationality in my mind. It was like I went into fight or flight mode and I...well, I chose the latter option," she replied, ashamed saying it out loud.

His face softened and for a second, he looked like he was going to push himself from the counter and walk over to her. But he didn't.

"I'm sorry it came out like this. I know you wanted to tell people on our terms, especially our mums."

She'd almost forgotten the strained conversation she'd had with her mum the day before about that exact topic. The reminder made her stomach muscles tense.

"It's just shitty. And it makes me feel powerless and like I don't have control over my own life. The one thing that should be mine," she replied dejectedly, feeling anger creeping into her bones, replacing the anxiety.

It was unfair. And shitty and demoralising and hurtful. Her life wasn't an entertainment show for people to dissect and laugh at, giving their opinions as if she wasn't real. She was human, same as them. A person, with feelings and emotions. Too often, people forgot that the person they're making stories about aren't just a face on a screen.

"I know it is," he said, nodding in agreeance.

"The comments just—they felt never-ending," she said, sighing in frustration as all of those words came back to her from the day before.

Slut. Fat. Desperate. Ugly. Fake.

She pushed it out of her mind, having zero energy for it when she'd not even had a coffee yet.

"But Wednesday, the people who make those comments online aren't worth being given any attention to. They're nameless, faceless trolls. Why give so much weight to them when they don't mean anything?" he asked.

She shrugged again, looking away to the wall, unable to meet his eyes.

"I don't know." She did know. Knew the exact reason those comments affected her so much. But he didn't. "There's no logic to it, I know. I just do."

Harry breathed out, and she could see from his eyes that he wished she didn't take those comments personally, that she could ignore and brush them off like he'd come to do. More than anything, she wished that for herself too. But the rational side of her was eclipsed by the dark part of her that told her they were all right. At that point, it was like a battle in her own mind that felt desperately hard to win.

A silence passed between them, both of their positions mirroring each other's. Arms crossed, leant against the kitchen counters across from each other. The only difference was in their outfit—where he was wearing day clothes, she was still in her pink striped pyjama top and shorts. She even had the fluffy socks on to match. It would have been funny, had the mood not been so dire.

Harry breathed out, looking up to her with a less pained expression.

"Okay. Well, what do you want to do? How do you want to approach things? Because I don't think we can keep avoiding all of this any longer."

Wednesday, so bold and brash usually, felt small. Quiet. She didn't have answers. Nor did she have anything to say that sounded even vaguely useful.

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I...I don't have any answers or solutions."

"You and me both," he mumbled, sighing.

She looked down to her bare legs, fidgeting where she stood as she spoke again. She felt the words come out before she could fully realise what she was saying.

"Maybe we just...need some time."

Wednesday felt his gaze latch onto her and it felt like it was burning her skin. There was a distinct shift in his demeanour as he processed what she'd just said. Something like nervousness.

"What do you mean 'we need time'?" he asked, his words laced with something that sounded an awful lot like fear.

A lump rose in her throat as she avoided his eyes, keeping her mouth clamped shut to the point her jaw ached.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting? Do you—do you mean time apart?" he continued, the fear rising.

Finally, she looked up to him with red eyes, painful from the effort she'd put into not letting them get glossy with tears. And the way he looked so scared, so apprehensive, almost sent her over the edge.

Unable to keep looking at his face and seeing the pain she was responsible for, she cleared her throat and turned around, looking down to the steaming mugs of coffee that were sat there forgotten. Her fingers gripped the counter as she swallowed back the lump, trying to make her voice sound as clear as she could.

"I don't think...I don't think we should talk about this right now Harry. You need to focus on the show tomorrow night and...and I—"

"Fuck the show!" he said loudly, the hairs on her arms raising as she heard him step towards her. "Stop running from this!"

His hand touched her arm, just above her elbow. But she recoiled like he was a stinging nettle that would only cause her pain. Because she knew if she let him touch her, she'd never want him to leave.

"I just—I think it would be the best thing to do at the minute," she said, feeling her chest rise and fall quickly.

Without turning back to face him, she walked back towards the door, down the hallway and into the living room. It felt like the panic of wherever this conversation was going was starting to feel too real. But Harry didn't give her the opportunity of space. She heard his footsteps trailing behind her and saw him in the doorway as she turned, biting her lip so harshly she could taste blood.

"You're doing it again," Harry observed firmly, eyes wide.

"Doing what?" she asked, her own voice raising defensively. "Suggesting a solution?"

"No. You're running from your problems again, so that you don't have to deal with them!" he shouted, his own chest rising and falling rapidly with the sharp decline in the mood of the conversation.

"You asked for a solution and I gave you one! How is that running?!"

"So, your suggestion at the first sign of trouble is to end this? What we have?" he said, gesturing between them. "That sounds an awful lot like running."

She flung her hands out to the side, feeling her cheeks redden in frustration.

"Well, what do you want me to suggest? What do you want me to say Harry?"

He looked to her with creased brows, taking a step forward. "Something other than what you have suggested. Because you and I both know that's not really what you want."

She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face frustratedly.

"All I'm trying to do in this situation is protect you!" she yelled.

Protect him from her. Protect him from the broken person she was that inevitably always fucked up. The person who still didn't quite understand why he was with her.

Because when the low moments came, it was always him that had to mend her. Burdened with the task of piecing her back together. Even then, in that moment, she could tell he was holding back for fear of hurting her. Pushing her too far over the edge. The constant worry of another problem on the horizon.

It wasn't fair to him.

"I don't need protecting!" he shouted, loud enough that she jumped slightly. "I need you to talk to me! Open up, tell me the real reasons for why you're feeling the way that you're feeling! I can't keep trying to guess what's on your mind Wednesday, I need you to tell me."

Her eyes looked to the art prints on the wall as she shook her head, biting down hard on her lip. She could feel the panic in her ears, blood pumping throughout her whole body.

"You know it's not easy for me! I'm not like other people, I can't just open up whenever I want to. I'm trying to be more open, I am but—"

"Are you trying?" he asked with an expression of doubt. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're not trying at all. Just making excuses."

His words cut like a knife, straight through her heart. Her eyes found his as her bottom lip wobbled, displaying all of the hurt he'd just inflicted on her.

"That's not fair," she said sadly, her throat hurting under the strain of the emotion she was keeping at bay. "I am trying, but like I said, it's just harder for me."

"But why is it harder?" he pushed. "Explain it to me."

"Because it just is, okay!" she snapped.

He laughed humourlessly, rubbing his face with one hand like he was trying to rid the annoyance held in his expression.

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. I gave you a chance to talk and instead you put your walls up again! That's not trying at all, it's being closed off!"

Wednesday could feel how heavy her breathes were coming through her nostrils as her jaw clenched together.

"If you don't think I've been trying to be more open and transparent with you these past few months," she began, wetting her lips. "Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

For a split second, she saw his nostrils flare as her words hit him like a dagger in the chest. Something flicked through his eyes; fury or sadness, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she'd struck a nerve. And she hated that for that brief second, she was happy about it.

He took a step forwards slowly, his eyebrows lowering as he looked at her with such a deep hold, she felt uncomfortable.

"What did you say?" he asked, though he knew exactly what she'd said. It seemed like more of a chance for her to say she didn't mean it, that she was wrong.

But clearly, he'd forgotten he was dealing with an Aries woman.

"I said," she said, firmly and unwavering in her stance as their eyes were locked like two bull horns in a fight. "That maybe you don't know me as well as you like to think you do."

She hated when they argued. It wasn't often it happened, but when it did, all rationality was lost and replaced with something more sinister. It was like they were always looking for the words they knew would sting the most, cause the most pain—even if it wasn't true. From the look on Harry's face, like he'd just been slapped, it seemed her words had done exactly that.

Only, it didn't feel good. It felt like they were spiralling to a place she was scared to go to for fear of no return.

"So, I don't know you, is that what you're saying?" he asked, jaw tight and eyes black.

It was almost a challenge, but she didn't bite. Instead, she shrugged. A non-verbal way of saying 'if the shoe fits' and it seemed to only increase his anger.

"Should I list off all of the things that I do know about you then? To prove myself?" he continued, his voice raising with every word.

He didn't give her chance to reply this time, looking up to the ceiling as if he was deep in thought.

"Okay. I know that your favourite smell is strawberries. I know that you read Pride and Prejudice once a year, every year, because you love it. I know that the show you watch when you're sad is New Girl. I know that you pick at your nails when you're nervous. I know that when you're in the shower, you listen exclusively to 90s hip hop. I know that your coffee order is a large iced almond latte, sometimes with caramel syrup, sometimes vanilla. I know that your favourite album of all time is Thriller."

Wednesday felt her anger crumble into something sadder as she listened to him list all of the things he knew about her. Little details that only someone who paid attention could know. It made her heart ache as he kept talking, in such a broken but determined voice that meant she could feel that heat behind her eyes once more.

"I know that you talk in your sleep, not all the time, but sometimes. I know that painting is one of your favourite things to do and you wish you did it more. I know that you avoid walking over three drains in a row outside because you think it's bad luck. I know that your favourite spice girl is Ginger. I know that the easiest way to put you in a mood is to tell you that you're wrong."

As he stood there, listing everything off one by one, she felt her heart physically hurt in her chest. Each sentence felt like a squeeze on her heart, making her chest feel tight with pain. He looked so angry and so sad at the same time, that her lips began to quiver.