Pulling into the curb on Harry's street with the most ungraceful parking she'd ever carried out in her life, Wednesday turned the gas off and took a deep, calming breath in preparation of what she was about to do. Nerves tingled under her skin as she looked out at the affluent neighbourhood, her body in meltdown as the tornado of anxiety ripped a pathway of sheer terror throughout her. But she was determined to not let her momentum slow down, hopping out of the car not a minute later.

As she approached the familiar gates to Harry's house, she tried to organise her thoughts into some semblance of order. Pick out the key points of everything she wanted to say to Harry, to make sure she left no stone unturned and no part of her heart undeclared.

I love you.

A lot.

You're the only person I've ever truly loved.

I never want to spend another day without you.

I want you to hold me so close to you that we don't know where we start and where we end.

I want to feel you under me, on top of me, inside of me, all around me forever and ever.

She shook her head at that last one, deciding that maybe it wasn't the most appropriate point to state during a big romantic speech.

"You can do this, you can do this," she whispered to herself as she walked to the gates, holding a hand to her heart and feeling the crash of it against her chest.

A cyclist passed by, shooting her a concerned look, though she could hardly blame him; she was stood in the street, gripping her chest and talking to herself manically. He was most definitely assuming she was either mad or having a heart attack. Or possibly both.

When she felt as ready as she could be despite the overwhelming anxiety, she stepped up to the tall gates and held her key up, hearing them unlock a moment later as the scanner worked. Swallowing back her trepidation, she moved across the gravel slowly.

The house loomed tall and overbearing in front of the blue sky, and as she got closer, she got a strange sense of déjà vu. She'd been in this position before, nervously walking up to his front door with dizzying nausea at the thought of revealing her true feelings to him. On that occasion she'd chickened out, the words stopping in her throat and refusing to come out no matter how hard she'd tried. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she wasn't about to let a repeat of that scene happen again. If the words lodged in her throat this time, she'd find another way to say them. If she needed to spell it out on the carpet with fucking lego, it was what she'd have to do.

She exhaled a long calming breath before lifting her hand and knocking against the wood door. It echoed through to the other side and she imagined Harry's confused face, his brows drawn together as he bounded down the stairs trying to work out who was on the other side of the threshold.

But no footsteps came. No sound of muffled movement on the other side of the door, feet tapping against tile. After what felt like the longest minute of her life, she raised her hand and knocked again with more force.

She waited. And again, nothing.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, she saw her grand gesture fizzling away before her very eyes. It seemed so much less romantic and so much more pathetic if she had to sit on his doorstep and wait until he came home for god knows how long. Maybe it had been slightly unrealistic to assume he would have been home without checking first, but it never seemed to be an issue in the movies. You never saw Julia Roberts or Jennifer Garner hanging around on a doorstep waiting for their Richard Gere's and Mark Ruffalo's.

Stepping back, she looked up at the house for any sign of life or movement. But there was nothing. No lights on, no windows open. Pinching her keys between her fingers, she looked to the door. In the position they were in, it felt strange and weirdly like infringing on his privacy to just let herself in. She'd done it plenty of times before in the past, but those times had all been consented to, expected by him. A time when they weren't avoiding any form of contact with the other so as not to get hurt even further.

But what Harry didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And if he did happen to be inside and caught her sneaking in, well...it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Twisting the key into the lock, she heard the pop of it opening and with one hand on the handle, she gently pushed it open. Peeking her head around the door, she remained rooted to the spot.

"Harry?" she asked unsurely into the silent house.

Nothing.

Biting her lip, she pushed the door open further and stepped inside. The silence only exacerbated the beating of her heart, blood pumping in her ears furiously. Instantly, the familiar smell of the house, of him, hit her with the force of a punch from Mike Tyson, and she had to grip to the side table for some sort of leverage as she adjusted to the setting she'd grown so accustomed to at one point. Now, after all this time, it felt like she was stepping into a graveyard filled with the reminders of them. It was eery and left a strange feeling in her heart.

When she'd regained her composure, she let her hand drop from the table and stepped forward, leaning through each door frame she passed to check into the various rooms.

"Harry?" she shouted, a little more loudly than last time.

She tried to ignore the memories of what had happened there the last time she'd let herself into Harry's silent house, assuming he'd been asleep alone. For a second, doubt seeped in that maybe the exact same scene was unfolding again upstairs like a nightmare she couldn't escape from, and she worriedly angled her vision up the stairs towards the bedroom. But she quickly shoved that notion from her head. Harry was many things, but he wasn't cruel. And he wasn't flippant with his feelings.

"Harry?" she yelled up the stairs, waiting for any sign of movement or sound. But there was nothing again.

The house was completely empty. And as she looked around hopelessly, she realised that it seemed colder without his presence. Greyer. Like the key ingredient to his house feeling like a home had never been the fancy furniture or expensive art. It had always been him. The source of happiness, light, love.

Furrowing her brows, she dug her hand into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She quickly scrolled through her contacts, landing on Sarah's name and pressing call.

"Hello?" she answered after the third ring.

"Sarah, hi. I can't really talk for long, I was just calling to ask you something."

"Sure, of course. Is everything okay?"

"It's fine, I'm fine," Wednesday said, biting her lip. "Is...is Harry still staying at yours at the minute?"

"Harry?" Sarah repeated in confusion. "No, he went back home yesterday to pack. His flight to LA is today."

As her words crackled down the receiver into Wednesday's ear, she felt her body instantly tense, her blood suddenly turning icy. For a moment, she stood with the phone to her ear in silence, eyes darting between spots on the ground as she tried to comprehend what she'd just said.

'His flight to LA is today.'

He'd already left.

"Wednesday? Are you still there?" Sarah asked when she'd said nothing.

With a sharp intake of breath, Wednesday was snapped from her daze, pulled back to the conversation itself. Though, she couldn't ignore the hopelessly sinking feeling occurring within her at Sarah's revelation.

"I'm still here. He...he left today?"

"I think he said his flight leaves at 4," Sarah replied. "Why are you asking anyway?"

Pulling the phone from her head, she looked at the time on the screen.

14:15.

And suddenly, the hope that had deflated in her body seemed to spark up again. A light flickering back to brightness. Before she knew what was happening, her feet were running across the floor and back out of the door.

"I'll tell you later Sarah, but I need a favour. Do you know his flight number, or where he's flying from?"

She locked the door, turning on her heel and pacing down the garden as quickly as her legs would carry her.

"He's flying from Heathrow, flight VI0 something in Terminal 5, I think. Are you going to tell me what's going on? And—are you running?"

"You're a star and I love you Sarah Jones. But I've got to go."

"But—"

She ended the call, rounding the corner and diving back into her car with all the grace of a fish out of water. Pressing the ignition, she wasted no time before slamming her foot onto the accelerator and turning haphazardly in the direction of the way she'd come. It was extremely lucky for her that her house just so happened to be on the route to Heathrow.

5 minutes later, she was dashing in to grab her wallet, tote bag and most importantly—her passport.

When she had everything she needed, she was back in her car and speeding away the moment her seatbelt clicked into place. She silently prayed as she drove slightly over the speed limit that fate was on her side and there was little traffic to contend with. Her eyes flashed to the open road in front of her as she raced her way through London, trying to ignore how much she hated the motorway. But Harry was worth it. And she couldn't let him leave without expressing how she felt. How she truly felt.

Her heart beat against her chest with every stop at the traffic lights, every flash of blue lights behind her, the possible obstacles that would put an end to her mission taunting her as she kept her foot firmly on the accelerator. Time was of the essence, and she couldn't afford even a minute to be lost.

As she entered the most renowned section of the motorway for being a traffic jam hazard, she wiggled in her seat victoriously and let a large grin cover her lips as she flew by without any queues or pauses. Something about the sun beaming down and the ease of the journey told her that maybe fate was on her side this time.

Approaching Heathrow's terminal 5, she looked to the clock. 15:24. She knew it would be the tightest of time crunches, down to the very last second. It was a race against the clock that would take every ounce of faith, spirituality and pure, raw hope that she possessed.

Pulling into the first space she found in the carpark, she didn't have any time to pay for parking, seeing the queue of people stood at the closest meter. Making peace with the fact that she would most definitely have a parking ticket, if not multiple, left for her when she eventually returned to her car, she quickly got out and locked it, sprinting across to the entrance.

She didn't need to be on the same flight as him. In fact, she was sure that would be pretty impossible at this late of a stage. No, she just needed to talk to him before boarding. Just a moment to say everything she needed to say and then he was free to travel wherever he wanted to go. Free to do as he pleased.

But she needed to tell him she was in love with him first.

People around her were rolling their cases in with excitement, ready to jet off on their summer holidays. A couple of people eyed her uber casual appearance, though maybe it was actually nothing to do with her laidback outfit and everything to do with her aloof, wide eyed, rushed demeanour as she crossed the floor, looking up to the large departure board.

Her eyes scanned, her brows furrowed.

"VI0, VI0..." she muttered under her breath, searching until she saw what must have been his flight in flashing red lettering.

Flight V10089 to LAX. 16:00. Gate A23.

Bingo.

Running to the first check in desk available with her passport and purse clutched between her fingers, she breathed out heavily as the woman sat behind the desk stared at her like she was trying to determine if she had come to the right place.

"Hi. I need to buy a plane ticket," she said, planting the identification down and pushing it towards her.

The woman's eyes dropped from hers to the documents and then back up to her with a clear air of disdain, silence ensuing for a moment.

"You want to buy a ticket for...today?"

Wednesday sucked in the biting response of 'what other fucking day would I want it for?' and forced a smile at her, knowing this process would go a lot faster if she remained composed and kind.

"Yes please."

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"Any particular destination?"

Wednesday shook her head, her eyes flicking to the intimidating clock on the wall behind her nervously. Was time going faster on that day only?

"Nope. Any destination will be fine, as long as it gets me close to Gate A23," she assured.

The woman peeked over at her as if she was trying to determine whether she was in a sound state of mind or not. Or maybe, she was trying to size up whether she was a criminal going on the run. Wednesday could hardly blame her; with only the clothes on her back and her practically empty tote bag, she looked like she was fleeing the country, not going for a relaxing vacation.

"I'm just letting you know it will be very expensive to purchase the ticket here on the same day—"

"I really don't mind," Wednesday interrupted, forcing another smile. "Any flight, any price will do."

Accepting her answer with an irked expression, the woman began to type into the computer, looking for available flights.

"There's a flight headed for Paris departing in two hours, one seat available in economy. £345, and it will cost extra if you need baggage—"

"I don't need to check in baggage," Wednesday clarified, chewing her lip so hard she was sure it was bleeding.

Looking to her with furrowed brows like she was eyeing up a wild animal on the other side of the desk, she leant forward. "Miss, this would be a lot quicker and easier if you prebooked in advance."

Wednesday looked down to her, using every scrap of refrain in her body from leaning over the desk and throttling her.

"Okay, here's the thing—" she looked to her name tag, "Stephanie. The man I love is currently about to board his flight at any point now, only the issue is he doesn't know I am in love with him. And I can't let him leave without him knowing that. I don't care about the price, or the destination, or the add ons. I'll pay for whatever gets me through to the flight gates, so that I can tell him I love him. I don't care for the flight, I care for getting through as quickly as possible. Does that make sense?"

Stephanie's eyes widened and for what felt like the longest few seconds of Wednesday's life, she remained tight lipped and silent. But as if she could see the truth painted across Wednesday's face—and no doubt the desperation too—she nodded and sat forward, typing into the machine without any further questions.

"Passport please, and the card you will be making payment on," she said after a minute of typing.

Wednesday handed it over to her victoriously, watching her type a hell of a lot faster than she had been previously. Her eyes flicked to the tannoy to the side of her, and she wondered if it would be pushing her luck to ask if she could make an announcement to specifically hold back passengers from Harry's flight. Maybe hopeless romance had scored her access through to the airport, but it would most certainly not ground flights, no matter who she was in love with.

"So," Stephanie said after a few minutes of inputting her details and checking her identification, "you are booked onto flight BA3409 to Paris which departs at 17:40 from Gate A18. Economy seat 78D, at the total cost of £360 after tax. No baggage to check in. Boarding begins at 17:10."

Grabbing the ticket that had printed out, she placed it into the passport and slid it across the desk to Wednesday, who took it with a grateful smile.

"Security is just around the corner, through the doors. When you go through, go to row 4. They are usually always empty, and you will get through in no time," she added. Wednesday was ready to hasten away, until she spoke again. "Oh, and miss? I wish you the best of luck."

Wednesday smiled down at her nervously, feeling like it was all finally becoming real. The blur of chaos dawning on her.

"Thank you," she replied earnestly, turning and setting off in a quick sprint to security.

Stephanie was right. Row 4 was practically empty, and because of the lack of items in her bag, the lack of anything even remotely suspicious on her persons, she passed through like a breeze in the trees. The scanner didn't go off, nor did her bag in the x-ray. With every passing moment, it felt like fate truly was on her side.

Her eyes scanned the direction boards once she passed through, swarms of people all around her in the duty free and restaurants. She narrowed in on one large yellow sign.

Gates A4 – A26 ahead.

Once again, she set off in a jog, dodging and weaving the multiple bodies in her way. It was crowded chaos and on more than one occasion, her running caused her to accidentally brush against others, earning shouted remarks after her of "watch where you're going!" and even more unceremoniously, "don't say sorry then wanker!".

She followed the maze of the overhead arrow indicators, determined to get there. The loud, crackling of the speakers filtered through the air with updated travel announcements. Wednesday tried to hear it through the madness and the pounding of her own over exerted heart, cursing under her breath when she vaguely heard them announce a final call for passengers on a flight to LAX and upped the pace even more.

Sweat was forming on her forehead, lights burning into her retinas, but she was determined not to stop. If anything, her growing tiredness was only a motivator for her to run faster, reminding her of everything she had to lose if she didn't manage to catch him.

Turning a corner away from the rows of shops, she barrelled into a much more subdued section, full of open waiting areas with large windows to the side showing the airfield, planes lining the tarmac outside. She looked up to the sign. Gates A4 – A26. Finally.

The last part of her plan was unfolding, and as she slowed down to walk down the pathway, her eyes scanning each chair, each waiting area for the sign of his face, the effects of the adrenaline began to wreak havoc on her. Her hands began to shake, her breathing becoming ragged with nervous energy of what she was preparing to do. Everything she'd just done for this very moment. Would fate lead her to the finish line, or let her fall miserably a meter away from it? It would be the cruellest twist to lead her so easily to victory, to then snatch it away again as it grazed her fingertips.

She followed the sign of each gate, hr vision flicking between the faces of every single person seated and that of the gate they were waiting for, just in case.

A9. A10. A11. A12. A13. No sign of him.

A14. A15. A16. A17. A18. Nothing.

With every passing gate, and no sight of him waiting to board, the bright beam of hope in her began to shrink with every passing second. She looked to the windows for the plane that would be his, praying he wasn't already on board, ready to fly away before she'd had a chance to say what she wanted to say.

A19. A20. A21. A22.

A23. His gate.