No Ties

ardentmuse on Ao3
revised by: tmclupin
Summary:
When Harry is recruited to Kingsman, he is an engaged man. But
the organisation’s policy means he can have no ties. He’s willing
to sacrifice his happiness to keep you safe, but can you ever
really get over having it all?
Work Text:

Kingsman – Day 12
“What’s that you got there?” came a voice from the door of Harry’s new bedroom in the
Kingsman manor. Harry turned to see Merlin, the newly-hired tech specialist, peering in and
over his shoulder.

Realising he was caught, Harry took the frame that he was intending to slide under his
mattress and placed it prominently on the bedside table.

“Beautiful,” Merlin remarked as he took in the smiling face of a person about Harry’s age
their nose scrunched in laughter. “Yours?”

“Was,” Harry mustered as he moved back to unpacking his bags. Merlin turned at the
phrase, surprised at the finality of it, but when he saw how rigid Harry’s back was at the
inquiry, he didn’t push the matter.

Eight Months Pre-Kingsman

“Darling, will you marry me?”

Harry knelt in the grass of the airfield, having just returned from his third and final tour
with the military. His back was straight and his shoulders rigid as was customary in his
regalia, the crisp blue suit holding his body in form.

The newly added third Bath star upon his shoulder, the sign of his most recent title, seemed
almost as bright as the ring he held out to you. But your eyes seemed to take in neither. You
only had eyes for Harry. Your gorgeous, glowing countenance was smiling down upon him,
so desperate to hold him in your arms after months and months apart with only letters,
much of which were redacted, to keep you connected. You hadn’t even got to hug him yet
before he fell to his knees in front of his entire regiment. Tears were rolling down your
cheeks at the sight of him, but he couldn’t even be sure you had seen the ring at all.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered as your hands came down to brush across his
freshly shaven cheeks.
“And I you,” he smiled against your mouth as you took him in a kiss, completely ignoring his
question. But he didn’t mind. He needed you, wanted you, and after so long apart, your
touch was like a salve to all the open wounds of his heart, healing his mind from the terrors
of war and replacing them with impossibly beautiful images of you naked across his white
sheets, flush from lovemaking, or dancing with him on your back patio to soft jazz after
dinner, or the sight of your face tilted downward as you walked towards him down a
cobblestone path blanketed with flowers to exchange your vows.

As you collapsed into his shoulder, breathing in deeply his scent, his arms found the soft
flesh of your waist and tugged you close, two humans wanting nothing more than to never
have to part again.

“Say you’ll marry me,” he whispered in your ear, “Please.”

He felt you nod against his jaw more than he heard the mews from your lips. You pulled
your hand away from his neck enough to give him the space to adorn it with the precious
metal. And as you admired the ring over his shoulder, he admired the skin of your neck, the
curve of your legs, and the soft feel of your waist under his hands, the greatest gift in his life
his now for good.

Kingsman – Day 01 (Year 1981)

“I’ll only be gone a week, love,” Harry said as he kissed the top of you head before returning
his attention back to the small travel bag he was packing. “And then I will be right back in
your arms before you can even miss me.”

You laughed, “I miss you now.”

Harry sighed and turned to you fully as you reclined among the pillows of your shared bed.
You were twiddling your thumbs, a weird new habit that formed since he placed that ring
on your finger several months ago. The diamond shined in the soft bedroom lights, each
turn of your hand catching a new beam. Your gaze danced in your lap and he could tell you
were trying not to whine any more than you already had.

“I know,” he whispered, allowing his fingers the joy of running along your jawline. His touch
had you lifting your eyes to meet his, still so captivating from behind your lashes. He had to
kiss you.

As his lips moved down your jaw, he found himself crawling onto the bed with you, his body
hovering over yours in a silent question.

“But I’m right here, right now,” he said with a cheeky smile against your neck. “No need to
miss me already.”

His licks and nips across your skin had you smiling in earnest.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him hard against your body. You could
already feel him responding to your closeness, the pleasant press of his hardening length
against your core just an enjoyable sensation.

“You could always give me something to remember you by,” you cooed into his ear.
Harry chuckled, “How’s a card sound? Or maybe a nice tray of cookies?”

You lifted your hips and ground against him, shutting down his witty banter in a satisfying
moan.

“So predictable” he laughed as you slowly sucked on his ear, rocking into him with vigor
now, “my perfect little vixen.”

And he gave you quite a bit to remember him by.

Kingsman – Day 05
Several days of tactical tests and mental games had Harry worn down. He was succeeding at
whatever they threw his way, but he was finding himself missing you more than he had
during any previous training or deployment. Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was the
raised stakes. Maybe it was the lies. But whatever it was, he could taste you upon his tongue
each night as he tried to sleep. He could feel your warm body pressed against him. And if his
dreams were any indication, he spent several hours of the night whispering to himself how
much he adored you.

But today’s task may have been the very worst yet. He watched on a screen in the tech room
as you danced around your kitchen, cleaning and singing and enjoyed the day. He even
watched as you ran a finger lightly over a framed photo that hung just beside the sink of the
two of your from last year’s military banquet. You gave two firm taps to Harry’s face before
pulling your finger away, kissing the tip, and doing it again.

For minutes he watched as he sat as the alone recruit in the room, a few scattered agents
watching along as well. No one said a single word.

That was until as you went back to your dishes, faint red crosshairs appears on the screen,
centred perfectly on your precious skull.

Harry let out a primal yell, unsure to whom he was really yelling, and rose from his chair,
clutching Mr. Pickles, as he decided a few hours ago to call his dog, to his chest.

“If we can get this close, just imagine what your enemies could do, Harry,” Agent Lancelot
said with the firmness of a man who knew what he was saying from personal experience.

Harry held tight to the tiny puppy in his arms, unsure of what the actual test was here. Was
he supposed to protect you? Was he supposed to call their bluff? Could he trust these
strangers with your life?

“You’re bluffing,” Harry said, stern through his teeth as he watched another agent, Gawain
he believed his name was, move the mouse, and the target, along with you. The lines gently
bobbed along to the music you had playing.

Sensing Harry’s heightened attentions, the agent turned the volume up ever so slightly and
the sounds of the third track off the record you listened to so often together when you
cleaned came pumping into the suffocatingly cavernous room. And even fainter was the
sound of your voice, humming along; happy and completely oblivious to the harm he was
bringing to your life simply by being the capable soldier he already was.
“I assure you we never bluff here,” Lancelot said with a smile that only served to make
Harry’s blood boil. “But we do have a strong code of honour here. I assume you’ve read the
Gentleman’s Guide? Kingsmen only take life to save life.”

Lancelot took long steps towards the desk at which Gawain sat. The tactical agent was still
staring intently at you as he kept his target as he had been instructed. But something in his
gaze set off flares in Harry’s head and he saw red, a deep possessiveness overtaking him at
the fact that any man could look at you as a target, for bullet or otherwise.

“But if you read the Gentleman’s Guide, then I assume you also became acquainted with
another one of our rules, an important one. One that is necessary for the safety and success
of our missions, and by proxy the safety of the crown, the country, and the planet in general,
including your precious fiancé(e) right here.”

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as Lancelot nodded at Gawain.

“No ties.”

A shot rang.

You screamed, piercing through the speakers with shattering waves.

Harry bolted towards the monitor as the agents watched him. You had moved several feet
away from the sink but appeared uninjured. But Harry saw what you had yet to see: a
perfect prick right in the middle of the beautifully framed photo of the two of you, a bullet
piercing what little space existed between your heads. Glass was shattered everywhere and
the frame hung limply from its hook.

You slowly moved towards the photo, picked it up between your hands. You examined the
damage while avoiding the shards of glass so fractured and sharp.

“What the fuck,” he thought he heard you whisper before you whipped your head around
quickly to examine the room for the source the explosion.

Before Harry could see you calm, assure you that there was no harm to come to you in the
home you loved, the monitor shut itself down.

“That right there is a liability, Harry. Sure, you can leave all of this, go back and live your
happy little life. But you are a man of a certain set of skills. It won’t be long until someone
finds them and wants to use them. How long until someone finds your lover who doesn’t
have the same code as we?”

A pregnant pause filled the air, only the soft, whimpered breathing of Mr. Pickles at the clear
distress of his owner broke through. Harry locked eyes with the man who just dared
threaten your life. But did he really threaten your life any more than Harry’s mere existence
did?

“Gawain,” Lancelot finally called out. He opened the door to the tech room and left Harry
alone in the space. Once the door shut tight, Harry fell to his knees and cried.
Kingsman – Day 10
“I’m taking this job,” Harry said with a deep breath. His words pulled your eyes from the
book you had been reading as you lounged so peacefully among the throw blankets on your
sofa. “And you aren’t coming with me.”

You scrunched your face in confusion at Harry’s words, more serious than the kind of
conversation you were expecting at this time of night, but then softened after a moment of
thought.

“Like another deployment? Harry, whatever the time or the distance, we can make it work. I
support you. What is another year when we’ll get to spend our whole lives together?”

You smiled up so sweetly at him, so sure that your love could endure any distance, any time,
any weird radio silence his operations required. You suffered through so much already,
supported him through years of putting his life on the line, going into the most dangerous
places in the world and setting up systems to support British forces. And here you were,
willing to do it all again, even when you’d come so close to a normal, domestic life. And that
smile, that confident smile plastered on your face, broke his heart in a way he knew would
never be repaired.

And yet somehow that smile also tightened his resolve. You were too good for this life, too
good for him. And you deserved to live in a blissful world that was just as bright and
pleasant and welcoming as you were. He couldn’t burden you with the darkness he knew,
the darkness that would surround him wherever he went, Kingsman or not.

“You are misunderstanding me, love,” he said, cursing himself at how easily the pet name
fell from his tongue, completely betraying his heart.

You looked at him with a serious expression. Your mouth fell open as the wheels turned.
You gapped like a fish a time or two, watching the rigid tension of Harry’s jaw as he bit the
inside of his cheek, trying his hardest to appear firm.

“… so that’s it?” you whispered. Your lip curled upward and quivered, causing tears to fall
from Harry’s eyes as yours did as well.

“Yeah,” he managed before losing it completely, “it is.”

Harry fell at your feet, his hands coming down upon the blankets to draw circles into your
tender knees as you cried in earnest.

“Was it something I did?”

You looked up at him with wells in your eyes, your hand kneading at the fabric in your lap.
That image, the one of you broken and lost and just inches from him, a few inches of space
so easily closed for a kiss but so vast now that those kisses were off the table, that image
would be plastered in his mind forever. He knew it would haunt his dreams seeing the only
thing he ever loved destroyed by his choices. But he told himself his own pain meant
nothing if he couldn’t protect you. You would recover from this. What was he compared to
you? In a few years, you would move on. But to move on from someone like you, he knew he
never would. And that was his burden to bear, the burden of assuring your happiness and
safety, even if he wasn’t the one to benefit.

“Never. You could never do anything—“ Harry said as he rubbed at your ears and your
draw. “You’re perfect. But this is something I have to do for me.” Harry swallowed so he
wouldn’t fill the space with the words he wanted to say: ‘for us. For you... Everything I do is
for you.’

After a few minutes of crying and Harry trying his hardest to calm you with soft rubs of his
hands, you took a steadying breath. You reached down to your hand and began to pull off
the ring that had sat there, unmoved, for so many months.

Harry felt his heart stop. He had understood what leaving you meant intellectually but the
sight of you without your ring, no longer wearing the symbol of where you heart lied, was
simply too much. He felt like he couldn’t breath, the tightness in his chest too much for him.
He had a brief flash of the flooding of the recruit room, the near drowning that has taken
ahold of him just as he reached the toilet and the lightheadedness that was much closer to
blacking out than he would like to admit. But this was worse. This pain couldn’t be
alleviated with a few deep breaths and a couple minutes time.

This damage was permanent.

Quickly, his hand came down to hold the ring against your fingers and your gaze flicked up
in hopeful question. But Harry simply shook his head no.

“It was a gift without condition,” he said to you, hoping you would understand just how
much he needed you to keep it. “It is yours.”

You hiccuped, “I can’t keep it. I can’t. I can’t remember that I was going to marry you.”

At your imploring gaze, Harry yielded, just like he always did for you. A final tug removed
the diamond from your finger.

“It’ll hurt too much,” you pleaded as you dropped the ring into his palm. He didn’t have the
heart to tell you it hurt him too much to take it away from you.

As he slipped the ring into his pocket, the weight of it feeling like it could sink him in a sea of
despair, he heard you whisper, “I love you.” He ran his hands through your hair as he
watched your eyes, still filled with tears pooling and pouring over down your lovely,
kissable cheeks.

“I know,” he said and kissed your forehead, slow and sweet like it was the last time.

And when he pulled away, fully expecting to remove himself from you and your life for
good, you met his gaze, pleading and honest as you leaned forward. And he could not deny
himself the pleasure of feeling your lips, and your love, once more.
The kiss was bruising and all-encompassing. Your mouths melted together in a song they
knew so well, but what were once bright chords became a mournful melody, a goodbye
ballad.

And when he pinned you to the couch, sucked on your collar bone, and entered you, he
moved as slow as his body would allow, memorising the feel of your muscles gripping him
so perfectly, the warmth of your hands upon his back and your breath on his neck, and the
sounds that purred from your lips at his lovemaking.

He carried you to bed that night and held you close to his chest until your tears lulled you to
sleep.

And when you woke in the morning, Harry, and his things, were gone.

Kingsman – Day 42
Harry had just come back from his very first mission as he walked down the street of Savile
Row, where the Kingsman tailor shop was located. It still felt quite strange to be wearing
such a complicated piece of technology masquerading as formal wear, but he found he liked
it. It was a uniform, the same as the kind he grew accustomed to as a soldier, but without
the air force or stoicism. He held his back tall as he continued down the road.

But something simple caught his trained eyes, just a flash of the familiar at the end of the
road, the tap of shoes and a black top that sparked his brain, that set off sensors of love in
his mind, signalling to his aching heart that it wasn’t done mourning the loss of the only
thing that seemed to make life worth living.

When you lifted your head, Harry knew for sure it was you. Your eyes were puffy and your
hair less kept than normal, but you still shined brighter than anything else on the road. Your
best friend stood in front of you, holding your hand as she pulled you across the street. And
it really was a tug as your limbs seemed to not want to move. But you entered the
restaurant on the corner without much protest.

Harry felt his chest tighten at the sight. He wanted to run to you, to beg you to forgive him,
to come back to him and love him again, but the gentleman’s code ran through his head, and
having no ties, no relationships, was a large part of what made the organisation successful.
A collective of spies with nothing to lose is much more useful than those who hesitate. He
had to do this to make the world a safe place for you. And so he watched with sadness as the
slumped shoulders and tear-stained cheeks he caused disappeared into the restaurant just
beyond his grasp.

And with his head held high and your engagement ring still weighing down his breast
pocket, he continued on his way.

Kingsman – Day 381 (Year 1982)

Harry collapsed in a ball on the jet, his hands still covered in the blood of Agent Kay who
had so valiantly sacrificed himself to secure the team’s safety. The bomb at the World Cup
stadium was disarmed and disposed of, another normal day to any excited fan, and another
happy headline to add to the wall of the home Harry had just bought in the part of the city
you had always dreamed of calling home.
Maybe he had hoped he could at least have the pleasure of seeing your head in the produce
aisle of the grocery store or imagining he had just missed you by a few minutes at the
underground station. But really it was just that Harry needed to play pretend. In the year
since he had joined Kingsman, he had seen more evil than all his years at war. And to come
home to a quiet neighbour, a charming flat, a home cooked meal and families walking down
the sidewalk, cleared his mind better than any other distraction.

Right now he needed that distraction more than anything.

Hours later, and completely numb, Harry found himself in his kitchen, pretending like
everything was normal. But nothing was normal about this life he had chosen.

He had normal, with you.

Harry tried to cook himself dining, to play music to distract himself. He even put on a movie,
a last resort gesture for him if there ever was one. But nothing cleared his head of the sight
of Kay slumped over and pool of blood under his body. Or the image of thousands of fans
walking just over that spot an hour later like nothing had occurred.

Harry threw on his robe and took slow, long strides up his stairs. He collapsed in his bed
and closed his eyes, but the images still remained. The bed felt wrong somehow: the
blankets too scratchy, the mattress too firm, the pillows still holding their shape from such
light use, and more than anything the warmth of your body and the thrill of your lips
soothing him from his nightmares were starkly absent.

He wanted to go home.

His eyes sprung open. The clock beside his bed flashed midnight. Before he knew it, his
slippers were on and he was sliding down the hall into his office.

As he sat at his computer, beside him resided that same picture of your face that he brought
with him to the Kingsman manor. You were smiling so bright and it was motivation enough
for him.

But not today.

Harry booted up the machine, went through the login processes Merlin had set up for him,
and soon he had access to every CCTV camera throughout the city. Harry’s fingers typed in
the coordinates to navigate to the cameras that pointed towards the front of your new
apartment. You had moved in a few weeks after Harry left, not that it surprised him. You
had picked the place with your joint needs in mind and more room than was necessary for
one person. Plus, the memories… so many memories.

He found your window, two stories up and right above the door. Your lights were off. You
were safe. You were sleeping. The world was turning as normal for you. Harry smiled.

But then two figures walked into the frame. Harry recognised your form immediately,
though the figure beside you was new. He was tall and lean like Harry but his attitude was
confidence and charisma in a way Harry always felt he lacked.
Harry’s smile quickly disappeared as he watched you walk up the stoop and look down at
the well-dressed man. This hands were in his pockets but as you spoke, he lifted one to play
lightly with your wrist, a move so intimate that it formed a lump in Harry’s throat. And after
a few more seconds, the man pulled you forward and into a kiss that seemed as passionate
as any of the ones you had ever shared with Harry.

It seemed as though it had been many minutes, but Harry knew it had only been seconds
before the man pulled away, his fingers dancing with yours as he made his exit. Harry
watched you wave at the man’s retreating form as he felt the knife in his heart push deeper
and deeper. You smiled blissfully to yourself as you fumbled with your keys.

Once you shut the door, Harry immediately powered down the computer. He grabbed the
photo of you from his desk and tossed it hard against the wall, making it the frame break
into two and sent the glass flying. Harry was fuming; consumed with a rage he hadn’t felt in
years. He was so angry, with himself more than anything, for hoping that you might stay in
mourning for a little longer.

He had wanted you to move on, deep in his bones he had prayed for it more than anything,
because if you did, it would make his choice more justified. But even deeper, he had hoped
you would pine over it forever, so on nights like tonight, when things became too stressful,
he could run to you and find solace in your arms once more, let your laughter and comfort
heal him, your kind words reassuring him, and your body erasing the pain.

But your life would not wait for him. There was no going back.

With some stabilising breaths and a hard punch into the most stable part of the wall, Harry
began the work of cleaning up the mess that was the one remaining piece of you in his
home. He swept up the broken shards of glass and had put them in the bin along with the
photo of you which all the mess had once enshrined. He needed to leave you behind, just as
you had left him.

But upon seeing you thrown away, your face discarded among all the dust and glass, he just
couldn’t do it. He pulled out your photo and tried his best to wipe away what scratches now
littered its surface. He tucked your photo away in his filing cabinet among his mission
briefings, safe and secure.

You may have not needed Harry anymore but the time may come when he needed you.

Kingsman – Day 710 (Year 1983)

Harry failed to prevent a car bombing in Bosnia. Your photo came out of its hiding spot one
more time.

Kingsman – Day 1001 (Year 1985)

A plane was hijacked in Brazil. Harry opened the cabinet.

Kingsman – Day 2484 (Year 1989)

A sleeper agent was assassinated. A peak in the drawer.

Kingsman – Day 5586 (December 19, 1997)

The death of Lee Unwin. The reminder of your face.
Kingsman – Day 12060 (September 10, Year 2015)
The death of Harry Hart. Nothing more.

Kingsman – Day 12704 (June 2017)

“I know it is against the Kingsman rules, having a relationship—“ Eggsy said as he paced
around Harry’s home office, still completely frazzled about how to handle the current state
of affairs. Harry had just returned to him but Kingsman as they knew it was not the same.
The protocol was so unclear and the only man Eggsy could rely on for guidance seemed to
be a shell of himself these days. But at Eggsy’s words, Harry had cut him off, a quick
movement of his head that let Eggsy know he had said something that broke the fog.

“When I was shot, you know what I saw?” Harry’s eyes were already gleaming with tears at
the reminder of his near-death experience.

Eggsy merely shook his head, urging his friend to continue.

“I saw Y/N,” his voice was raw with emotion as he tilted his head upward to the only piece
of newspaper on Harry’s walls that wasn’t a front page. Instead, it was tiny cut out from the
Wedding section of the Telegraph, a beautiful face smiling brightly as a rather dashing man,
not too dissimilar to Harry, stood behind, the date on the page well over a decade previous.
“The love of my life, a person I haven’t held in my arms in over thirty years, but one I still
love to this day.”

Eggsy looked away from the newspaper to Harry’s face. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks
and he was swallowing over and over, waiting for the words to find space in his throat.

“Probably doesn’t even remember me anymore. Married, has a family, runs a business. I
stopped looking into things a decade ago. But still, they are the closest thing I’ve ever had to
something worth dying for. And I’d still die for them. I nearly did.”

Harry lifted his eyes to look at Eggsy in earnest, “In that moment, Eggsy, all I felt was
loneliness… and regret.” Harry choked on his words and Eggsy felt the emptiness in his own
soul acutely.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry cut him off, wiping at his own eyes with a new resolve, “I lost my chance.
But you haven’t. Just know that having something to lose is what makes life worth living.”

Harry stood and walked towards his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a
tiny velvet black box, unmistakable to Eggsy as to its contents.

He handed the box over to Eggsy without meeting his eyes. Eggsy opened it to reveal a
beautiful pave diamond ring with scrollwork detailing along the elegant gold band.

“Why—“ Eggsy started but the way Harry couldn’t meet his eyes explained everything.

“Let’s go get your girl.”

With a nod, Eggsy sprung out the door and down the stairs of Harry’s home. Before Harry
could follow, he took the steps he knew too well to the old filing cabinet in the corner. He
hadn’t bothered with paper files for missions in years, but the filing cabinet served another
purpose in his mind. He pulled at the bottom drawer, to the single manila envelope that
contained the frayed photo of your face, some 25 years younger than he knew you probably
looked now, but just as happy and enthusiastic as he believed you always would be.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, as he shed the last of his tears. He carefully placed you back in your
folder and back in the home he had built for your memory – the external storage of his heart
– and left his study in pursuit of Eggsy.

Kingsman – Day 12892 (December 2017)

Harry smiled from his seat at the main table overlooking the dance floor of Eggsy’s wedding.
He had entertained himself for quite a bit chatting with Tilde’s parents and his new friends
at Statesman.

A lot has changed ever since Kingsman and Statesman had decided to rebuild together. As
Harry became Arthur, Eggsy had took up on his previous code name, Galahad. And with the
help of the agencies’ connections, they were thriving and stronger than ever before.

But for now, from where he sat, Harry was taking in all the details of the place’s settings, the
floors, the music, and the happy couples spinning in circles on the hard wood. He couldn’t
help but picture the bright and festive events you were planning when he started down his
path with Kingsman.

You had narrowed down the venues to a handful of places and had already made quite a few
decisions about aesthetic. Harry had cared so little, as long as he got to call you his spouse at
the end of it all, that you had tasked him with planning your honeymoon. He had never told
you about the tickets he had already booked before you gave him back his ring or the extra
vacation days he had managed to negotiate with your boss behind your back.

It didn’t matter. It was all a wash anyway.

But at his mind wandered, his thoughts wistful about the life he could have led and the
happiness he may have found beside you, he failed to notice Eggsy take the seat beside him.

“You think too much, Harry,” Eggsy said, passing a stiff drink his way. Harry didn’t bother
asking what it was but shot it back in a single gulp regardless.

When he set the glass back down, Eggsy had passed him a manila folder across the table,
with papers filled to the brim of it.

“Consider this a best man gift from me,” Eggsy said, his smile growing just a little cheeky as
he sipped from his own drink.

“I’m supposed to get you a gift, I’m fairly certain.” Harry said, his tone filled with
uncertainty.

“You being alive is a gift enough.”

Harry went to open the folder but Eggsy’s hand stopped him, pulling Harry’s eyes upward to
meet his.

“If it isn’t too late for me, then it’s not too late for you too,” Eggsy said, and with a pat to
Harry’s wrist added, “It’s about time for the Gentleman’s Guide to change, don’t ya think,
Arthur?”

And Eggsy stood up and walked away.

Curious, Harry opened the folder and on top sat a photo of you, the pose almost the same as
the one secure in his home but the wrinkles at the corners of your eyes and the laugh lines
along the corners of your lips gave away the passing of time.

But you were still breathtaking. God, you were breathtaking.

Harry pushed the tears in his eyes down just a little to find your marriage certificate,
nothing he hadn’t already known, but behind it he found something new. Six years ago, a
divorce filing and some court paperwork documenting just what a cheating bastard your
husband was. Harry knew he shouldn’t be happy that life had treated you so poorly, but a
part of him felt justified. He thought that man was too cocky for his own good, too sure of
how handsome he was and of the power he had over you.

But it seemed you turned out alright. A fat settlement came your way and you bought a
house just a tube stop away from his own home. Your work was thriving, your most recent
pictures seemed to depict many fun night outs with a handful of friends, and some charity
work too, exactly the kind of person he remembered you being. He had been doing his best
to keep the world a good place for you, and you had been doing the same, even if it wasn’t
for him.

But it was the last few documents that really got to him: a security footage from just outside
your house; the camera seeing into your kitchen. And beside your sink, in the place it always
had been, hung a picture of Harry holding you tight in his full regalia. The same shot mark
marred the middle of the photo, but the intention was still clear. And in a series of photos,
Harry could make out your form in the kitchen, your finger moving to your lips, and you
touching his face the way you had been doing when he was just a recruit. And for the third
time in his life, his chest was so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Maybe some days you still needed him, too.

Harry didn’t think. He just moved. He left the wedding and the folder, his friends and his life,
and an hour later he found himself in front of the address that had been listed as your home.
The lights were on and in the kitchen he could see the faint outline of your frame that he
just knew held his own face.

He walked the steps, tears already threatened to leave his eyes and wet his cheeks. His heart
was beating faster than it had in years but he didn’t take it as a sign to stop but rather a sign
to keep going.

And so he knocked.
When you opened the door, your face was just as soft and vibrant as he remembered. Not a
single mark of age made you less beautiful, but just enhanced all the lovely parts of your
bone structure his fingers spend years memorising. You were still in your work clothes
except for your shoes were soft slippers covering your toes in a strange combination of
serious and comfort that made Harry smile. This was you all right, in front of him and still
the same as the person he fell in love with so many years ago.

“Ha-harry?” you gasped, as your eyes moved up and down his body, settling on his eyes. He
realised then how silly he must look too in his wedding attire at this odd hour of night, but
then again the man you remembered was often in uniform.

Harry tried his best to smile more but he simply couldn’t. His lips quivered and his mouth
grew dry. All he could do was nod in affirmation.

He watched as your shoulders fell and your hands moved forward hesitantly to touch his
face.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, gently brushing at his skin. The feel of you was still
magnetic, smooth and soft and warm, pulling him into your orbit.

“And I you,” he said, laughing at the realising that this conversation had happened once
before. You laughed along with him, though it was more of a hiccup between your tears. His
hand reached for your cheek on instinct, wiping away the tears that collected there.

After a moment of just staring, moving closer and closer, unsure of what was right or real,
you pulled away.

“Do you—do you want to come in?” you said with hesitation, quickly gesturing to the open
door behind you and the faint sound of television going in the background.

Harry felt the butterflies collecting in his stomach at the sight of your beautiful face staring
at him once more in the flesh, the manifestation of endless nights alone in his bed.

“I would.”

And with that you grabbed his hand, unsure until he wrapped his fingers once more around
your own, and walked into your home.

As the door shut behind him, Harry felt the large chunks of his broken heart that had been
severed since he took in that crestfallen look on your face the night he left slowly begin to
sew themselves back together and come back together they would in time.

What was thirty-six years, when you get to spend our whole lives together?