"Jesus Christ, what have you got in this box, bricks?!" Wednesday huffed, hiking the large sealed carboard box further into her arms as she slowly walked forward into the tall building.

"Nope. Just all of my sex toys," Zara replied from in front of her, making Wednesday stop dead in her tracks and look at the box like it was suddenly something she wanted nowhere near her.

"I'd say I hope that's a joke, but knowing you I'm not so sure," she mumbled, following her through the lobby.

They came to the lift, pressing the button and stepping in a second later, the same trip they'd repeated 6 times already with different boxes from the loading van outside. And they weren't even remotely done yet.

"This is tiring," Zara moaned, leaning back against the mirror in tiredness. "My noodle arms weren't built for this kind of labour man. Why did women fight for rights again? I could have done with a man being expected to do all of this shit for me right now."

Wednesday breathed out a laugh, hearing the doors ping as they reached the level of her new apartment, stepping out once they opened.

"Yeah, but if a man offered to help, you'd probably tell him to go fuck himself and to stop assuming women can't do anything."

Zara shrugged in front of her, walking into the wedged open front door of the apartment.

"It's not my fault they all have hero complexes."

They both sat the boxes down into the middle of the bare living room, bar the one large powdery pink shell sofa in the middle of the floor that they both collapsed down onto simultaneously.

Zara's new apartment was a world away from her humble old flat in Hackney that had a major damp problem and was practically falling to pieces. This new apartment was situated in Soho and was high enough to overlook the entirety of the city, with Canary Wharf to the left on the horizon and the London eye opposite on the riverside. It was bright and airy with the large windows looking out, and she even had a balcony that wrapped around the side of the room. Not to mention it was decorated in sleek monochrome shades that she was sure Zara would jazz up in her own way as she got settled in.

Apparently, it seemed that working as a stylist for British Vogue paid extremely well.

"So, tonight will be your first official night back in London in your own place again. You excited?" Wednesday asked, turning to look over at her.

She'd officially flown back the week before, but whilst she'd been waiting for her items and furniture to be brought back, she'd been staying at her mum's place in East London. And from the stress texts Zara had been sending her all week long about her mum coming into her room at the crack of dawn to ask what she wanted for breakfast, it seemed like she was more than ready for her own space again.

"I'm so excited. Never been more ready for the sound of silence and peace. I love my mother, but god that woman could talk the hind legs off of a donkey," she sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.

Wednesday laughed, seeing her less than amused expression. "If I'd been at home, I would have said you could have stayed at mine."

The last of the American tour dates had ended just a few days beforehand in Las Vegas, and they'd only been back in the country for a total of two days, one of which was spent doing absolutely nothing else other than sleeping off the jetlag with Harry and lounging around together. This was Wednesday's first jaunt outside of the house after promising that she'd help Zara move her stuff into the new place now that she'd officially moved back to London.

"God, I don't know what would be worse. My mother asking me constantly when I'm settling down or hearing you and Harry rawdogging it through the walls," Zara grimaced.

"We aren't animals! We do know how to tone it down when people are around, believe it or not," Wednesday laughed.

"Yeah?" Zara replied, turning to her with raised eyebrows before pointing a finger at her neck. "Tell that to the thousand hickeys on your neck. You look like you've gone five rounds with an octopus."

Wednesday's eyes widened, forgetting the array of marks on her neck and shoulders that Harry loved to leave, much to her chagrin when she had to find new ways to constantly cover them up.

"Actually," she mumbled. "It was three rounds last night, and it was with Harry."

Zara looked to her with drawn together eyebrows and a shocked expression.

"I can't even pretend that isn't impressive. You're well and truly dickmatised."

Smiling at the memory of lazily riding Harry's face the night before, Wednesday looked over to her.

"I think I am you know, I can't get enough. I'm like a dog on heat. He's just too good at it," she sighed, hating that even the sheer mention of sleeping with Harry was making a slight ache appear between her legs.

"That might also have something to do with the whole being in love thing too," Zara said, throwing her feet up onto one of the boxes as she yawned.

"Yeah, that too," Wednesday nodded, shooting her a smile.

"Can't relate," Zara snorted. "Maybe I should try to snap up Niall? Get myself a fit boyband member boyfriend too."

"Niall? You always seemed much more like a Zayn girl to me," Wednesday observed.

"Right well, that might be true, but he's a taken man and there is no version of reality where I'm fighting Gigi Hadid and coming out on top," she reasoned. "So, I'm officially a Niall girl as of today."

Wednesday grinned, sitting up. "It would be so fun to set you two up on a date. Play cupid and help you fall in love. That would be so cute."

Zara rolled her eyes at her, suppressing a grin.

"What is it with you loved up people always trying to set up your single friends? I can plan my own dates and fall in love on my own just fine, thank you," she replied, putting an end to that particular prospect before Wednesday could say anything different.

"Suit yourself. But just so you know, I've heard from a few sources that he's a particularly generous lover," Wednesday said, raising her eyebrows and shrugging.

"Oh, really? And what sources might those be?"

Wednesday thought about it, stifling a laugh. "I mean, mainly from himself bragging about it. But there have been whispers too!"

Zara shook her head. "That source is null and void then."

Standing up and rounding the sofa, Wednesday walked to where her bag was laid on the floor, speaking over her shoulder.

"Maybe so. But I still think you would make a hot couple." Pulling out the bottle of champagne she'd brought along to officially christen the flat and celebrate her move in day, she grabbed the two plastic flutes and sat them down on the counter as she began to unravel the metal stopper. "Anyway, I think it's time for us to have a little mid moving in celebratory drink."

"Now that, I can get on board with," Zara smiled, turning on the sofa to look at her as she popped the cork from the bottle.

Filling the plastic glasses, she handed one over to Zara and stood with hers in her hand, above her head in a toast.

"Here's to you being back in London with a sick new job and apartment!" she said with a proud smile.

"Ameen to that," she grinned, clinking her cup against Wednesday's before swigging the entire thing down in one large gulp. "I didn't realise how much I needed that until now."

Wednesday similarly necked hers back, collecting both the glasses to pour more in and passing it back to her.

"Here's to...new beginnings. For both of us," Zara affirmed, Wednesday nodding in agreement as they both continued to repeat the same action and swallow their drinks in record time, leaving them both feeling a bit lighter and more energised.

Looking around at the swarm of boxes and miscellaneous items, knowing there were still a whole load more to go, Wednesday placed the glasses down and looked down to Zara with a raised brow.

"Should we get back to it then?"

Sighing like she suddenly regretted ever deciding to do this for herself, Zara pulled herself from the sofa and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "If we must. Remind me never again to engage in any sort of manual labour in the future though. We're both too pretty for this kind of work."

Throwing her head back in laughter, Wednesday stepped out into the cool hallway.

"Agreed."

She arrived back at her house later in the evening once the last of Zara's things had been brought up into the apartment. After staying to help her sort through the first few main boxes of stuff, she'd left when she saw the sun lowering in the sky, not fancying trekking home in the dark. The sky was awash with pinks and oranges as she stepped through the front door to the smell of something delicious, hearing Harry pottering around the kitchen.

Dropping her bag to the floor and yawning tiredly as she stepped down the hallway, she paused in the doorway to watch as he crouched down in front of the oven, checking the food inside as the soft sound of Aretha Franklin drifted from his phone on the counter. Watching him be so content and comfortable inside of her own house with an adoring smile, she felt a wave of love crash over her at the scene. Harry Styles, the global superstar with millions of adoring fans, making her dinner. It made her feel loved and appreciated in a way that she was still learning to adjust to.

"Something smells nice," she said, leant against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

Harry looked to her as he shut the oven door, throwing the tea towel over his shoulder and shooting her a toothy grin.

"Salmon and roasted mediterranean veg. Aaaaand," he said, crossing over to the fridge to open it up and pull out a box. "I bought us a carrot cake on the way home."

Her eyes widened as she stared at the confectionary in his hand, silently wishing that they could just skip to the dessert already. But knowing how proud he would be of his meal, she kept her mouth closed and grinned at him.

"You know me so well," she gasped, stepping forward to grab the cake from his hands and inspect it with an increasingly salivating mouth. "Singer, actor and now a chef. Is there anything you can't do? I'm beginning to think you're superhuman."

He stood back, thinking about it for a moment as he pinched his lips with his fingers in thought. "Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm pretty shit at doing good latte art. Can't get the hang of it at all. Always try to make a leaf and it ends up looking like a penis."

Wednesday breathed out a laugh, putting the cake down onto the side so she could step forward to peck his lips and scratch her fingers into his hair lightly.

"Don't worry, I like your penis coffees," she said, her lips quirking at the corners.

"Is this your way of trying to dirty talk? Is penis coffee a euphemism?" Harry said, looking at her with a suggestive raised brow.

She rolled her eyes, grinning as she opened the fridge again to the place the cake inside.

"You wish it was," she replied, stepping back to sit down at the island counter. "Did you finish everything you needed to do today?"

Leaning against the opposite counter, he folded his arms across his chest and nodded. Wednesday wondered if the way his arm muscles flexed under the honey sunlight streaming in was on purpose or not. Either way, it was having a profound effect on her as she tried to keep her eyes on his and not watch the way his tattoos stretched as his muscles contracted.

Maybe Zara was right. She was well and truly dickmatised.

"Yeah. The work stuff didn't take too long really. Caught up with Gemma after and then went to the gym. How did you get on at Zara's? Is she all moved in now?"

"Eventually yeah, after she had about ten meltdowns and enough coffees to make her jittery," she laughed tiredly, rubbing her face. "I think she'll be having a flat warming party when she's all settled in eventually."

Harry looked to her with a concerned look, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Last time I went to one of Zara's parties I ended up having to be escorted out wearing a sombrero with bare feet," he said, making Wednesday recall the scene fairly vividly in her mind. Harry and absinthe were a combination that really did bring out the crazier side of him.

"I know because it was me escorting you out," she stated matter of factly. "Maybe no hallucinogenic spirits this next time around, yeah?"

"Can't make promises I won't keep," he shrugged, pushing himself from the counter and leaning his hands down in front of her to narrow his eyes. "Anyway, speaking of promises. You've still got something you need to play for me, now that another section of the tour has ended and we're back in London."

She fidgeted on her seat, averting her gaze away from his as a sudden rush of nerves overcame her.

Shit.

Wednesday had been hoping he would have forgot about the song she'd told him about weeks beforehand. Maybe by some miracle it had just slipped from his mind, the knowledge that a song about him existed out there, one specifically written by her. Clearly it wasn't a fact he was prepared to forget about any time soon.

Tapping her fingers together coyly and pursing her lips, she hoped the innocent face and puppy dog eyes she was throwing in his direction might work to soften him up and in return, buy her a few more days of courage.

"Does that have to be today?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

Ignoring her clear attempt to deflect the song to another day, he nodded solemnly. "Yes, it does. I want to hear my song."

Biting her inner cheek, she sat back and looked to the window.

"I haven't quite finished the melody," she said, clutching at straws for reasons to not do it.

He shrugged, smiling knowingly. "That's fine. I'm more interested in the lyrics anyway."

Deflating with another one of her excuses slashed away, she breathed out in annoyance.

"The lyrics aren't completely finished either. There's only two verses and a chorus."

"Fine by me. There are smaller songs out there in the universe anyway," Harry cut back, his excitement at her clear lack of excuses making him taste the oncoming victory he was about to be awarded.

Wednesday played with her fingers under the table, suddenly feeling like an ant under a microscope. She was sure it was getting warmer in the room too. Though maybe that was just her body having a meltdown from the thought of revealing something she'd created that was so vulnerable to him. Something about him to him.

"Can I...can it wait until after dinner?" she asked, perking up as he remained silent. "Pretty please? With a cherry on top?"

Sensing her nerves, his hardened demeanour softened as he breathed out in compromise.

"Fine. After dinner. But don't even think about faking being tired and going to bed early to get out of it. You made a promise," he said, with a face that said she was most definitely playing that song for him today, one way or another.

Hopping off of the stool with a satisfied grin, she stepped forward to kiss his cheek.

"Deal. Well, I guess I better go and tune my guitar then. Please don't get your hopes up for some incredible song, because it was literally a spur of the moment thing and it's really not that good and—"

Her words were stolen away from her by Harry's lips, forcing her into silence as she inhaled out of shock against him. When he parted from her not even a second later, a smirk lined his lips.

"Please shut up. I'll love it regardless."

She screwed her lips up and narrowed her eyes at him in fake annoyance, pressing one last quick kiss to his lips before huffing and turning around.

"Fine."

She yelped when she felt the sting of a screwed-up tea towel hit her expertly on the ass, the crack of contact echoing in the air as she turned around to see Harry mischievously smirking at her with the fabric in hand.

It wasn't long after tuning the guitar she'd not reached for in months and retrieving the piece of paper from the locked drawer that Harry shouted that dinner was ready. Sitting down to the food that looked ridiculously nice, she tried to make each bite last for as long as possible if it meant putting off the inevitable for longer. By the time she'd taken her last bite of carrot cake, Harry was practically leaping from his stool in excitement whilst her stomach felt like a washing machine of nausea.

"I'll do the washing up first," she began to say, but he quickly stole the plates away and began to wash up in the fastest manner she'd ever seen.

A minute later, he turned to her with a knowing smile.

"All done."

Biting her lip, she rocked back and forth on her heels as she stared at him in annoyance, before finally turning towards the door.

"Fine. Go sit on the sofa. I'll get the guitar now."

He didn't need to be told twice. He bounded through to the living room like a new-born gazelle, all gangly limbs and breathlessly cheery.

When she walked through to the room a moment later with the guitar and sheet of paper clutched in her hand, she breathed out a laugh to see him sat up expectantly on the opposite sofa, with his legs crossed and a blanket thrown over his bottom half like he was about to sit around a campfire for his own personalised sing along.

Taking a seat on the other sofa, she did some last-minute tuning, more to prolong actually having to sing than anything else. When she realised there was nothing else she could do to prevent the inevitable, she looked to him with no hint of amusement or teasing. Instead, she knew the fear was clearly dashed across her face, the fear of revealing a song she'd wrote about him in the tumultuous months of their being apart.

"Can you—can you turn around when I sing?" she asked nervously, wetting her lips.

Seeing how much courage it was taking for her to play the song for him, to step outside of her comfort zone so readily, meant that Harry nodded his answer and turned so that he had his back to her, his eyesight level with the window and the darkening street outside through the blinds.

Breathing out a steadying breath, she placed the sheet of music onto the coffee table where she could read it easily, positioning the guitar against her. Her fingers were shaking as they took their position on the strings, her heart rapidly pounding in her chest.

She didn't know why it felt like such a big deal, but it did. When she'd played the chorus of To Be So Lonely to Harry all that time ago, it had been nervy, but that was from pure inexperience. A fear of entering a world where she had zero prior knowledge. But there were no stakes at play then. It hadn't been a song about him. Not like now. A song she'd written in the throes of sadness and heartbreak, words pouring from her like a crack in a dam she couldn't plug. It was like a direct insight into her mind, her heart, her soul, and for someone who still managed to keep her cards close to her chest, playing the song to the person it was about was utterly terrifying.

But, she knew she needed to. Harry deserved to hear a song about him, one that was written from a place of sheer love and admiration.

Biting her lip, her fingers began to slowly strum against the strings, a shaky but steady melody flowing out into the air as she quickly found her footing with the instrument again. She'd never been the best player, but she could keep her head above water with it.