Starting To Think I Have A Type

loving carmen fics rn

nemesis

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you made carmen’s life hell in culinary school, except you had no idea. now he finds out you run a restaurant in Chicago, and he’s confronted with the emotions he projected onto you.

word count: 2.9K

notes: kinda got inspired by the lyric “I’m the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean?” by lana del rey but this was prompted by this ask!!! anyway this starts off in carmy’s culinary school era and then goes to somewhere around the start of S1. this will def get a part two!!

warnings: cursing, slight mention of suicidal thoughts, angst

comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! 

You were like the average person’s depiction of an angel.

You were so incredibly good at what you did, excelling in every class they got, you were unanimously liked by everyone, always helping out your peers and taste testing, and for all he knew you probably fucking rescued baby polar bears in your spare time too.

You were perfect.

And he couldn’t stand it.

Lees verder

Harry for Hits Daily Double back in 2019.

Break Me

Pairing -> Tom Holland x Actress! Fem! Reader

Word Count -> 6,025

Synopsis -> You thought time apart would be the best for you and Tom. Hell, after your last conversation, you’d be happy if you never saw him again. Haha, silly girl – did you forget you had Uncharted press?

Warnings -> Sexual Context [18+ please and thanks. Short kings have more sex on average, claims Tom; spanking - but this is an established green light in their relationship], swearing, lack of knowledge regarding Twitter, angst and a sense of betrayal lol, talk of PR relationships. Some characters in here are kinda trash, too, ngl. I look some artistic liberties.

Author’s Note -> Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own. This fic is purely fictional (I feel like I need that bolded) and written so I could complete my bingo. I couldn’t help where the inspo took me lol. Read the warnings and connect the dots to see if this is a fic you want to read. This is for @venomsilk’s Valentine’s Bingo. My bingo card is attached under the fic if you want to scroll down and get an idea before reading. I suggest you don’t, though, because the surprise is a part of the ride hehe. I had a lot of fun so I hope you will too :) *forgive me by Chloe x Halle blasts through the speakers*

Sidenote: I could not find a straight answer for how long press is so just let the story ride lol. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, lol. Feedback is much appreciated.

Keep reading

Harry at Ariana Grande’s show in London - 17/08

Respectfully, I want to tug on his hair.

dominic fike moodboard <3

love frat rafe

thought i wouldn’t find out?

pairing. frat¡rafe && reader

content. fluff. suggestive content/thoughts. language. blood. violence(?)

summary. you’re the designated ‘frat girl’, but when rafe’s ‘brothers’ start getting too close, he’s gotta remind them who you belong to psa i have nooo clue about frats so i just used names i found on the internet (yes, i’m in college and still have no idea about them)

“so i told the idiots at kappa sigma that they can suck my dick! i’m not working with them for the annual formal, and if they wanna run their mouths to whoever the fuck’s in charge– i really don’t give a damn,” was the first thing you heard as you walked through the door of rafe’s frat house, pi kappa phi. him and some other ‘brothers’ were scattered about in their messy living room. it was friday afternoon, so they were all just hanging out before frats opened at 11pm. almost all of them had a beer in their hand, including rafe.

he turned once he heard the sound of the door, a smile subconsciously forming on his face.

“there’s my girl,” he said, moving his arm up, waiting for you to take your place next to him. his eyes panned over your body– cropped white t-shirt with a jean skirt, and some country looking belt that hung off you, proving it was just for looks– his eyes landed on the pack of beer in your hand. it was pretty customary for you to bring drinks for the weekends– not for the parties– just for him, and the other guys.

he rested his arm on the back of the couch, telling you to put it in the refrigerator– as if this wasn’t routine.

once you returned from the kitchen, you took your spot in his arm. he craned his head to give you a quick kiss on your cheek, moving his mouth to ghost over your ear.

“how you doin’ baby?,” his voice was low, almost slurring as if he was a bit tipsy– he wasn’t, you knew that he was just getting started.

“‘m good,” you nuzzled into his touch. after a long day of classes, rafe’s presence was calming. it grounded you in a way you craved throughout the stress of your day.

he continued to talk to the guys in the room, his fingers rubbing little circles into your soft shoulder with the hand that was slung around you. your head rested between his chest and the under part of his arm.

“be right back,” he said to the other guys, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before wandering somewhere in the house.

you suddenly felt a lot of eyes on you. you were used to these guys, but something about this exact moment felt… uneasy. you didn’t make it known that you were slightly uncomfortable though. you knew who you were– you knew how crazy your boyfriend was. they wouldn’t try anything if they knew what was good for them.

“so, y/n… long day?,” jake asked with a smirk before taking a swig of his beer. you knew all of them– unfortunately– it’s not like they were all bad, just a majority. jake included. you tried to hide the discomfort in your face. you thought you were doing a good job…

“dude. what’re you doin’?,” cam butted in before you could answer– apparently your discomfort wasn’t that hidden. he was one of the only ones without a beer in his hand, and he was probably your favorite of the guys– besides rafe, of course. he was the nicest, and he never really made you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. he kept all the other guys in check when rafe was gone– mainly because he was rafe’s right hand man, and his best friend.

“jus’ askin’ pretty girl how her day was,” his smirk still glued to his face, turning from cam back to you, still awaiting your answer.

“cut it out jake,” his tone was serious. you just sat there awkwardly, but you wanted jake to know he didn’t bother you– even if he did.

“no, no cam… it’s fine,” you began, a fake smile on your face, “my day was long. jus’ happy to come home to rafe, y’know?”

jake was clearly tipsy, maybe even already drunk. that’s the only thing that would explain the next words that came out of his mouth.

“rafe… rafe is a little bitch. wouldn’t know a pretty girl like you if it hit him,” cam gave you a look– should i jump in?– you shook your head gently, intrigue plastered over your face. you wanted to see how far jake would go. the other guys surrounding him watched him with bated breath as if he was actually making a valid point. it almost made you laugh.

“bet he can’t even make ya cum… ya ever need a real man you come to me sweetheart,” the words made you cringe. did he really think shit like that would make you… what? swoon? cam’s jaw was slacked, in utter disbelief of what just came out of his ‘brother’s mouth. you went with it– kind of.

“well, jake that is a very kind offer, but i gotta tell ya…,” you stood up from the couch, moving toward the chair he was sat on. you leaned down, right in his face– close enough for him to not just hear the words you were about to say, but feel them too.

“you shouldn’t be concerned about me getting off. rafe’s got plenty of photo proof of that,” your smile was evil, challenging. just as you moved away from jake’s face, walking back to your spot on the couch, rafe reentered the room.

“what’d i miss?,” he was clueless, you knew cam would try and tell rafe, but you didn’t want to cause even more of a scene. you weren’t jake’s biggest fan, but the things rafe would to do him if he found out were… probably illegal. and it’s hard to run a frat from jail.

“not much,” you shrugged, plopping yourself back on the couch. the look on cam’s face was just pure confusion and shock. jake’s on the other hand… well, his was just shock. you smiled to yourself while rafe made his way to sit next to you.

—

the house had so many bodies, loud music, flashing lights that would make anyone’s head spin. you were currently fighting your way through the crowd of people to get to the bathroom. once you closed the door behind you the music was a little more muted, giving you some peace. not for long.

“so i told her– if she wants a real man she can come to me. probably come for me, too,” jake’s agitating laugh could be heard from the other side of the door.

“so she got all up in my face– hot as fuck– told me not to tell rafe. that i’d be hearing from her real soon,” whatever group of people he was talking to began ‘ooo’-ing and laughing. little did you know, cam was in that group– observing. you stayed in the bathroom until their voices faded away, giving you a clear to exit.

you needed to find rafe.

luckily, he hadn’t really moved from the spot you left him in, but once you saw rafe, cam came into view too.

cam was turned away from you. you could see rafe’s face, and he was furious. his face was basically turning red, jaw locked, eyes wide and narrowed at the same time. you watched his hold on his beer bottle tighten, knuckles turning white.

even over the noise in the house, you could hear the sound of rafe’s bottle thud against the counter, followed by a “fuck no. oh, he’s fucking dead. they’re all dead.” he was about to walk away, leaving cam to himself, before his eyes caught yours. suddenly, rafe was right in front of you– towering over you.

“we gotta talk,” was all that he said before grabbing your hand, and dragging you upstairs into his room. he closed the door behind him. most of the noise was muted now, giving you a chance to talk privately.

“what did cam tell you?,” you weren’t scared of rafe when he was like this, but you were still a little concerned. he looked like he could break just about any and every thing in his room right now.

usually rafe would play mind games– ask you what you thought cam told him– but he was in no mood right now.

"told me what that jackass jake said. ‘bout how i couldn’t make you cum?,” breathless laughs were breaking up his sentence, like he couldn’t believe what he had to repeat right now.

“told me what you said…,” he leaned toward you. you swallowed hard, big eyes looking up at him. you weren’t sure how he was going to take you basically telling jake that he had explicit photos of you on his phone.

“‘nd as hot as that was…,” he began, smirking spreading across his lips, “i gotta ask– why didn’t you tell me, babe?”

“‘s not a big deal, rafe. y’know how jake is…,” you started before he cut you off. backing away from you as if he was astonished by your answer.

“yeah. i do. that’s no excuse f’r him to say the shit he did, and then go around tellin’ people you’d actually leave me for him. actin’ like you’re gonna hook up with him behind my back,” how the fuck did he know about that?

“tryna tell people my girl would go anywhere near his tiny dick. it’s laughable,” he ran his palm over his mouth like he genuinely couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“rafe…”

“no, no. he wants to play that game? we can play that game,” suddenly he grabs your wrist again, dragging you downstairs. you didn’t know what he was doing, but before you could process anything he cut the music off. everyone in the house either complaining, or looking around confused. rafe’s loud voice was the next thing to reverberate through the house.

“HEY! LISTEN UP, ANYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE– TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUT! PARTY’S OVER, ALRIGHT?,” his voice boomed in your ear, making you flinch at first. after some frustrated groans, and some ‘what the fuck’s, people began to flood out of the house.

your confusion was evident, staring up at rafe– his hold on your wrist still there, but looser now.

“what’re you doing?,” you whispered to him, his eyes not moving from the crowd leaving the house.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, baby,” he mumbled back to you before walking away from you to close the door as the last few people trickled out.

“rafe, man– what the fuck?!,” jake was walking up to rafe like he was trying to intimidate him– obviously he wasn’t. the look on rafe’s face was lethal. all rafe’s ‘brothers’ gathered around him, everyone confused except cam. not that he knew what was going on, but he did know rafe, and whatever was going on wasn’t going to be pretty.

you were still stood where rafe left you– just a few steps behind him.

“my bad bro… jus’ got some things i wanna address,” rafe’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and a sense of humor. jake tried not to seem worried, tried to have a poker face, but you could tell he was sweating under that dingy baseball cap.

“something so important you had to kick everyone out, bro?,” one of the other guys questioned. rafe didn’t answer, just gave him one look and the guy was backing off, hands up in surrender.

"jake… anything you wanna tell me? actually, anything any of you wanna tell me?,” rafe didn’t sound this serious most of the time, so the guy were rightfully scared– well, guys minus cam.

“man, i d’know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” jake tried to just shrug it off, make rafe think he was crazy for this.

“don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?,” rafe had that classic fake confusion on his face, walking closer to jake, getting in his face to utter his next words.

“just figured a real man would own up to what he did before i made him own up to it… take some responsibility y’know?,” he almost whispered. he squinted his eyes with a fake smile on his face. the whole room went deadly silent, and jake’s face was nothing short of entertaining.

"you are a real man, right? at least– that’s what you told my girl,” his aggravation was starting to break through his facade. jake just stood there– he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to come back from this.

"lemme ask you somethin’… how many people left this house tonight under the impression that my girlfriend was gonna hook up with you behind my back? hm?,” he was furious at this point. it was one thing to speak that way to you in the first place, but run around and lie? tell everyone rafe cameron couldn’t keep his girl satisfied? oh, his blood was boiling. you just stood still where you were. when rafe got like this there was no stopping him– it was no use, and you knew that.

jake was grasping at straws at this point, “listen man, i don’t know what y/n told you… but it’s a lie. okay? i didn’t say shit to her, rafe. and i didn’t say shit to anyone else.”

“jake… jakey boy! how stupid d’you think i am? you really thought i wouldn’t find out? as if the rest of this story wasn’t humiliating enough– i’m almost offended,” rafe had turned his back on him at this point, giving you that evil smirk one more time before quickly turning on his heel, and punching straight into jake’s nose.

a loud crack! sounded through the room, jake’s hand immediately coming to hold his bleeding– probably broken– nose, bending over in pain, droplets of blood hitting the floor. rafe leaned down to get on his level.

“get. the fuck. out. i see you anywhere near this house, myself, or my girl again. you’ll wish i had just killed you tonight,” he spoke quietly, but his message was clear as day. jake quickly exited the house, but not before muttering a quick ‘you’re fucking insane cameron’.

rafe shook his hand out, moving his fingers to combat the pain from direct contact with jake’s bone.

“oh, and just so everyone’s clear… i’m goin’ easy on those of you who let him say that shit– those of you who gassed him up after he said that nasty shit to y/n. you’re on thin ice, yeah? say shit like that to my girl again, and you’ll wish i only broke your nose.”

© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅.   est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears

i second this.

Gals, Gays, Theys, and everyone in between, we as a community need to contribute to the Billy Hargrove collection of fiction. Please, please make more. 🙏

The Sound of My Voice

Based off this request:

Where Y/N and Harry were once bandmates until a bitter fallout ended everything. And where, years later, a forced reunion puts them back on stage.

Word count: 2.2k

Content warning: cursing, mentions of smoking.

Y/N arrived at the festival grounds at 12:17 PM, her right hand gripping a paper cup filled with black coffee, her left clutching a crumpled setlist. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the asphalt, the temperature hovering around 95°F. Roadies, their shirts drenched in sweat, darted between stages. Multiple soundchecks filled the air with a mix of drum beats, guitar riffs, and microphone feedback.

Y/N's gaze fixed on the large LED schedule board. Her name appeared in bold letters, slotted for 8:45 PM - her debut as a solo act at a major festival. The sight of it twisted her stomach into knots. She took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.

A woman in a black polo shirt with 'STAFF' emblazoned on the back approached, her brunette hair escaping a messy ponytail. "There's been a cancellation," she said, her voice strained. "The headliner dropped out. We're scrambling for a replacement."

Y/N nodded, her eyes scanning the festival grounds. Technicians scurried about, carrying cables and equipment. A forklift beeped as it backed up, hauling speaker stacks. She took another sip of coffee, the liquid now lukewarm.

"We're thinking of a reunion set," the staff member continued, her tone shifting to excitement. "Your old band. The demand is insane. It would be—"

Coffee sprayed from Y/N's mouth, droplets splattering the asphalt. "What?" She coughed, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.

"It makes perfect sense," the woman pressed on, oblivious to Y/N's reaction. She counted off on her fingers. "You're all here. Your solo slot could be expanded. It'd be—"

"No," Y/N said immediately, and the word cut through the air. "Not possible."

She felt the pressure building behind her eyes, the past unraveling around her, an old wound reopening. She saw them on the schedule all lined up after her, the names like ghosts, haunting the crisp paper. Her certainty wavered as the whole situation unfolded in her mind. Sarah, Mitch, and most of all—

Harry.

His name sent her emotions spiraling. He was the reason. The fight. The chaos. The way everything fell apart in the end. Now, he was here, and the shock of it ran through her like lightning. She'd been so wrapped up in her nerves, so focused on taking this next step alone, that she hadn't even considered that they might be at the same festival. She'd thought there would be space, distance, time before she'd have to face them again.

The organizer was still talking, but Y/N couldn't hear her anymore. She was already being pulled back to that last fight, when everything they'd built had crumbled. A hotel room, voices raised until past midnight, until they couldn't shout anymore and were left staring at each other in silence and exhaustion.

Sarah and Mitch smashing through the minibar. Harry outside smoking.

She remembered the click of the door as she left.

She hadn't laid eyes on him since the band fell apart, since they both fell apart. That night, everything crumbled in a fight that left words suspended in the air like haunting echoes. The organizer continued, "It's a logistical miracle, honestly. The others already agreed. We just need you."

The dressing room's walls closed in. Y/N perched on the worn velvet couch, arms crossed. Mitch's tousled hair bobbed as he grinned. Sarah's laughter rang out. Adam, the once-temporary guitarist now a fixture, leaned against the wall. Their voices intertwined, swapping stories of wild nights and tour mishaps. The air reeked of sweat and anticipation.

Y/N's stomach churned. Her bandmates' easy rapport grated on her nerves. She glanced at Harry, who stood in the corner, silent and brooding. His presence set her teeth on edge.

"Remember that time in Denver?" Mitch said, eyes gleaming. "When Sarah accidentally set off the fire alarm?"

Sarah snorted. "God, don't remind me. We had to evacuate the entire hotel at 3 AM."

"In our pajamas," Adam added, smirking.

Y/N's fingernails dug into her palms. The memories flooded back - not just the good times, but the bitter arguments, the sleepless nights, the crushing pressure. She stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

"I need some air," she muttered, pushing past Harry to reach the door.

The hallway stretched before her, a cacophony of sound and movement. Roadies hauled equipment. A guitar tech tuned an instrument nearby, the notes discordant and jarring. Y/N leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply.

The door creaked open behind her. Harry stepped out, his imposing frame filling the doorway. Y/N's heart raced. She turned, meeting his gaze.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low and gravelly.

Y/N's throat tightened. "Fine," she spat. "Just peachy."

Harry's jaw clenched. He stepped closer, towering over her. "Look, I know this isn't ideal-"

"Ideal?" Y/N scoffed. "That's an understatement."

"We need to make this work," Harry said, running a hand through his messy curls. "For the fans, if nothing else."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend you care about the fans. This is about your ego, same as always."

Harry's nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to retort, but a stagehand interrupted.

"Five minutes to showtime," she called, hurrying past.

Y/N and Harry locked eyes, the tension between them electric. Without a word, they turned and walked back into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind them.

But today, everything was different.

Because Harry was here.

His presence electrified the air, making Y/N's heart race and the small room feel claustrophobic. They hadn't spoken a word to each other. Across the room, she felt him tuning his guitar, tension visible in his rigid posture. The space between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. They both pretended this was an ordinary gig, but beneath the surface, they knew there was a sea of unfinished business.

"Alright," Mitch clapped his hands together. "Setlist. What are we doing?”

They tossed around some ideas, including the obvious hits that still got radio play. For a while, it felt safe. Easy.

Then Adam mentioned the song.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. In her peripheral vision, she saw Harry shift, heard his soft exhale.

Unspoken yet understood, it hung in the air like a shared secret. The song wasn't just a melody; it was their anthem, born from the chaos of their lives.

Harry finally broke the tense silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "We don't have to do that one," he said, the words heavy with an unspoken tension.

Y/N's head jerked up in surprise. It was the first time he had spoken directly to her, and his tone sent a jolt through her chest.

Sarah interjected, her gaze darting between them. "It's what the crowd wants," she asserted, her voice unwavering.

Harry remained mute, the weight of his silence hanging thick in the air.

Y/N steeled herself, lifting her chin. "Fine," she declared, her voice edged with resolve. "Let's just get it over with."

The atmosphere was heavy as they began. Their initial try was a disaster. Mitch sighed. "Alright," he remarked, "that was terrible." Y/N buried her face in her hands.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "No shit."

The festival grounds were teeming with people—thousands of fans crammed against the sturdy barricades, their voices a deafening chorus of screams and songs, each one surrendering to the magic of the moment. Y/N stood under the intense stage lights, gripping the microphone tightly. She used to revel in this sensation, the electric energy coursing through the air, the exhilarating rush, the way the music drowned out everything else around her. But tonight, it was different. Because he was here.

Harry was just a few feet away, his guitar slung over his shoulder. He looked comfortable, like stepping back into this world was easy. But Y/N knew better. She could feel the tension between them, simmering beneath every note.

The first few songs went fine. They hit their cues. Their harmonies were technically perfect. They moved around the stage as they used to—carefully choreographed chaos. But there was distance. They didn't look at each other or acknowledge the weight of the past pressing against the present. The crowd loved it, but Y/N knew better—they weren't really performing together.

Y/N's pulse halted as a wave of recognition and excitement swept through the crowd, amplifying the noise. She instinctively turned her head towards Harry on the other side of the stage who was already watching her—their eyes met for the first time that night.

The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken words. A mutual understanding was there, along with a disquieting dread. Yet, beneath it all, an unshakeable yearning existed, a pull that was both comforting and terrifying. The cheers became a distant hum as she tightened her grip on the mic. The opening notes hung in the air, sharp and clear. There was no turning back now.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a steady breath. This is just a performance. Just another song.

But that wasn't true.

It had never been just a song.

The first verse was hers.

She closed her eyes, letting the words settle on her tongue before they escaped her lips.

“I told myself I’d be fine without you…” As she sang, the words felt like a shield, keeping him at bay.

Her voice cut through the noise with deliberate sharpness, each syllable carrying composure and defiance. There was a rawness she couldn’t hide, even though she tried to mask it with control. Yet within that steadiness lurked something else, something unrestrained and impossible to ignore. She wasn’t sure if he could hear the truth under her voice, but she could. And it terrified her.

Harry’s fingers flexed over the guitar strings, his knuckles paling from exertion. He seemed to ground himself in the music as he came in on the next line, his voice low and measured, contrasting her tremulous tone.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care.” He sounded convincing enough. But she knew him too well. She knew how he sang when he was trying to believe his own lies.

She opened her eyes and for the first time all night, really looked at him—looked at him as if she could see past their constructed barriers. The moment held them captive, fragile yet fierce. Her heart pounded in her chest and throat like a tidal wave. The way his lips shaped the words as if he still felt them. His tense shoulders, as if holding something back. His eyes, dark and unreadable, burning into hers.

The air between them thickened, charged with raw emotion. Each lyric was a dagger from the past, every note a fresh wound ripped open anew. By the time they hit the chorus, restraint had vanished, leaving raw passion in its wake.

"You swore you’d never leave me— But I watched you walk away."

Propelled by an invisible force, Y/N surged forward, not even aware of her movement until she was right there, invading his space.

Harry stood his ground. His voice dropped to a deeper, more resonant timbre as he sang the next line, his gaze unrelenting.

"You said you’d never forget me— But I knew you would someday."

The words hit. Like a challenge, like an accusation, like something too real to be ignored. His intense stare made her breath hitch. Her conflicted expression caused his fingers to tighten around the guitar. The tension cracked, spilling into the next verse.

It wasn’t just a song anymore. It had transformed into a battle, a clash of wills wrapped in harmonies, cloaked in melodies of nostalgia. It seemed like something they could simply walk away from once the music stopped. But deep down, they both knew the truth. This confrontation wasn't over. It had never truly ended.

The song ended, but the intensity of the moment hung in the air. Y/N stood too close, breath ragged and quick, adrenaline surging like wildfire. The crowd's screams were a deafening roar that barely pierced her consciousness.

Because Harry was right there. His gaze met hers, eyes dark and unreadable, filled with an intensity she couldn't understand. His fingers clung to his guitar as if it were his only anchor in a world spinning out of control.

The silence between them stretched into tension, hanging for a fraction of a second too long before the next song erupted, a tidal wave of sound that forced them apart and broke the spell.

The rest of the set was a blur.

By the time they played the final song and took their bows, Y/N could barely remember a second of it.

All she knew was that she needed to get off this stage.

She turned the second the lights dimmed, ignoring Harry's hesitation before he followed.

The moment they were backstage—hidden from the crowd, away from the cameras—she whipped around.

“What the hell was that?”

Harry barely had time to stop before she was in front of him, eyes blazing.

He scoffed, yanking his guitar strap over his head. “You tell me.”

“Oh, don’t pull that shit.” She snapped. “You—”

“What, Y/N?” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “What do you want me to say?”

Her heart pounded.

She didn’t know if it was from the show or him.

“You were looking at me like—like—”

“Like what?” His voice was lower now, rougher. He took a step closer. “Like I meant it?”

Her breath hitched.

Because he did.

And she did, too.

And that was the problem.

She let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I did?”

“You sang that song like—”

“Like it was real?” His voice cut through the air, sharp and direct. “Because it was, Y/N. It still is.”

She felt it like a punch to the chest.

Anger, confusion, want.

“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered.

His expression flickered—just for a second—before he stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake it off.

“Right,” he muttered, voice hollow. “Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You pretend it never happened.”

Y/N’s hands clenched. “And what do you do, Harry? You throw it in my face? Make me relive it just so you don’t have to be the only one still stuck in the past?”

His eyes flashed. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you actually faced it instead of running every damn time.”

She froze.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

The tension was thick, suffocating, too much.

She could hear the others in the dressing room down the hall, feel reality creeping back in.

But in this moment, it was just them.

Same fight, different place.

Same pain, different years.

Silence fell between them.

There was nothing left to say.

And maybe that was the worst part.