"Genius! That Styles guy is seriously genius! Pulled the best stunt ever!" Brenda kept saying in the car next to me.

"Liam Payne takes home the prize, but everyone is talking about Styles and how he surprised them by walking away from a definite win," she continued, just as I was stopping outside her house.

Although I was eager to get rid of her unstoppable blabbering, she wouldn't have it.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "You haven't said a word all night."

"I'm fine," I replied, but it was clear she wasn't buying it.

"I hope you're not coming down with something," she added, pointing a finger at me. "I need your piece by tomorrow morning."

"Fine, Brenda," I agreed quickly, desperate for some time alone.

I barely registered saying goodnight before I drove away, her words fading into the background as my mind looped through the events of the evening.

Harry just walked away.

One foot after the other, without hesitation.

Away.

Away from the one thing he'd worked toward for months. Away from a guaranteed win. Away from everything he seemed to want.

Why?

The question wouldn't stop circling in my head, restless and unanswered. I should have been happy—I was happy—but it still didn't make sense. He fought so hard for this. He suffered through training, took every gig he could, put himself through hell with Charlie, and just like that, he let it go.

I barely noticed when I reached my apartment, a blur of traffic lights and turns that I couldn't remember taking. If someone had asked me how I got home, I wouldn't have been able to tell them. The only proof I made it back safely was the fact that my car wasn't wrapped around a lamppost.

A hot shower was supposed to clear my head. It didn't.

Curled up in bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts still tangled.

"I guess we'll never know."

His voice echoed in my mind, deep and steady, like a confession meant only for me.

I felt something close to pride.

Pride that he walked away from something that no longer felt right. That he wasn't willing to win a contest he knew was rigged in his favour. That he refused to let himself be a pawn, a whispered scandal in elite circles.

He chose the long road.

"When you set out for distant Ithaca, fervently wish your journey may be long, full of adventures and with much to learn."

Harry Styles had chosen adventure, uncertainty, and integrity.

For that, I was proud.

Only then did my restless mind allow me to drift into sleep.

The next morning, Chrys found me hunched over my laptop, typing furiously.

"What the hell are you doing at..." she glanced at her watch, "six twenty-seven in the morning?"

"Morning to you too," I mumbled, my fingers never leaving the keyboard. "I need to finish this," I told her still typing speedily like my fingers were burning.

"Apparently," she chuckled, running a hand through her messy hair.

"I'm texting Jimmy and Ed in a sec to see if they want to get breakfast at The Corner Café. Want to come?" I asked, finally turning to acknowledge her.

"You shouldn't text Ed," she said, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Why?"

"I'll... uh... tell him when he wakes up."

"Missy, do you have Ed Sheeran in your bed as we speak?" I whispered, barely containing my excitement.

"Mayyyyyybe," she admitted, covering her face with her hands.

"Chrys!" I practically bounced in my chair.

"We didn't!" she clarified quickly.

"You didn't what?" I asked, deflating slightly.

"Go all the way," she giggled. "But that boy is really, and I mean really talented."

I let out a loud cheer, throwing my hands up in victory. "Yes!"

"Shut up," she laughed, smacking my arm.

"So... are you guys together now?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

"God, no!" she protested. "We're just having fun."

I sobered slightly, levelling her with a look. "Don't hurt him, Chrys. Talk about this, make sure he knows what this is."

She sighed. "We're both adults. We're taking things easy."

By noon, we were all gathered at The Corner Café for brunch. Jimmy had worked late the night before since the club had been short-staffed, so he arrived looking half-asleep, a beanie covering most of his hair.

Ed, on the other hand, looked suspiciously well-rested.

I sipped my coffee, biting back a smile as I caught the two of them high-fiving like teenage boys in the back of the café.

"So?" I asked Jimmy the second he sat down.

"So what, kid?" He smirked, taking a large bite of his bagel.

"Kid?" I scoffed. "You're barely older than me."

"Say what you want to say," he urged, mouth full.

"You're dying to ask, so ask."

"You are disgusting! Stop talking and chewing at the same time," Chrys cried out.

"What does she want to ask?" Ed was clueless.

"She wants to ask if I talked to Harry" Jimmy looked into my eyes to see if he was right and of course he was but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that so I stayed silent and rolled my eyes.

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, drawing out the suspense.

"I will save you the embarrassment and tell you that yes, he did contact me," he finally said. "He's going back to work tomorrow, and we're all invited since we have the night off. He didn't talk about last night, though. He just said he had 'business to take care of' today."

"Oh, that's nice," I muttered, my stomach twisting.

Business to take care of.

Did that mean he was going to Charlie?

Was he going to apologize? Ask for her back?

Jimmy sighed, reading me like an open book. "Ella, get yourself together."

"I'm fine," I said too quickly.

Jimmy smirked. "Say that to the bagel you just crumbled to dust on your plate."

I glanced down. He wasn't wrong.

Later, alone in the quiet of my apartment, I tried to focus on schoolwork. It was useless.

I read the same paragraph four times before I gave up, my thoughts already spiralling.

I had just decided to shut my laptop when my phone vibrated.

Harry: Are you at home?

I stared at the screen, my heart stuttering.

Yes.

Harry: Are you alone?

Yes. Why?

Minutes passed. No response.

I bit my lip, hesitating, then started typing a follow-up message—just as a knock sounded at my door.

I froze.

A heavy weight settled in my stomach as I hesitated, debating whether to answer.

Taking a breath, I walked over and pulled the door open.

There he was, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

"Hi," I whispered, my stomach twisting painfully.

"Are you alright?" I asked, forcing myself to meet his eyes.

His gaze flickered over me, unreadable. Then, in a quiet, almost amused voice, he said, "So you're proud of me, huh?"

I blinked. "What?"

He pulled out his phone, scrolling before holding it up. "Let me check one minute... Ah, here it is."

Then, in a slow, deliberate voice, he read aloud:

"Proud that he didn't want a tainted win. Styles chose the Laestrygones and the Cyclopes rather than a victory that would be questioned by many circles behind the scenes. A win that he undoubtedly deserved as he is undeniably an amazing man."

My heart nearly stopped.

"Where... where did you get that?" I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

"Facebook. Apparently, your friend posted it, and it's gone viral."

"Oh. I thought it would only be posted in the school newspaper," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the floor. Or, better yet, crawl under my bed and stay there for the next decade.

"Is that what you really think of me?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing, more intent.

I nodded, unable to look at him, my fingers twisting together like I was trying to physically hold myself together.

The space between us shrank, his presence warm, steady. He reached out, his fingers brushing under my chin, lifting my face until our eyes met. It was unfair how easily he could unravel me with just a look.

"After everything you've seen," he murmured, searching my face, "you still think I'm an amazing man?"

Something about the way he asked made my breath catch. Like he needed me to say yes, even if he didn't believe it himself.

I took half a step back, overwhelmed, but he didn't let me go.

"Ella..." His voice softened, but the intensity in his eyes held me in place. "I'm not amazing. Far from it."

I barely had time to react before his hands framed my face, thumbs grazing my cheekbones, his touch impossibly gentle.

"But I am lucky," he continued. "Lucky to have friends who have my back. Who care about me. About my family." His forehead nearly rested against mine. "Lucky that, even when I screw up, they still stand by me."

His lips were so close I could feel his breath when he whispered, "Lucky that maybe, just maybe, they can look past my shit and forgive me."

I felt like the room had shrunk, like the air had changed, thick with something I couldn't name. My body refused to move, refused to stop him.

His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, searching for permission, for some sign.

"That maybe," he exhaled, "they wouldn't mind if I kissed them."

I didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

The space between us disappeared.

His lips met mine, slow at first, testing. But the moment I responded—when I melted into him, my hands gripping the fabric of his shirt—something in him snapped. The kiss deepened, heat unravelling between us, his hunger undeniable.

Electricity coursed through my veins as his hands moved from my face, down my arms, tracing fire wherever he touched. My knees felt weak, my breath stolen, like he was rewriting the way my body worked with every move he made.

He must have noticed because, just as I thought I might collapse, his arms tightened around me, locking me against him in an embrace that was as steady as it was consuming. When he finally pulled back, I barely had time to catch my breath before his fingers swept a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"My beautiful Ella," he murmured, his voice rough, his thumb still lingering on my cheek.

I could barely think, barely breathe.

"Yeah?" I managed weakly.

His lips twitched, and for a moment, something mischievous flickered behind the intensity in his eyes.

"What the fuck are the Laestrygones and the Cyclopes?" he asked, dead serious.

A laugh burst out of me, breaking the spell, and just like that, the moment was ours.