I stopped in my tracks, letting Harry catch up with me. I don't know why I did, I don't know why I wanted to give him another chance. Maybe I was still so wrapped up in the fantasy of having Harry in my life- even if I didn't want to admit it.

"Matilda, please can we stop fighting?" His voice was desperate and sad, and my heart seemed to melt with every beautiful syllable that left his mouth.

When I didn't answer, mainly because I was so absorbed in admiring the beauty of his face, which was so close to mine, he leant in and placed his soft lips on mine. After the shock of what he was doing, I couldn't help myself as I placed my hands on his face.

In that moment, I was transported back to a time where we were so carefree and happy that we didn't even care that we were in someone else's house. Our first kiss, shared drunkenly on the floor of a house which wasn't ours (but we wished it was).

But as he pulled away, I couldn't help thinking that the grand house we had broken into was probably nothing compared to Harry's houses. Life had changed so much since then.

"It was the only way to make you not mad at me," he smiled, a real, genuine smile. His dimples still popped out his cheeks and he still had a boyish charm which I found so endearing.

The night was dark and cold but Harry was so close to me that I felt the heat from him, warming me from the harsh elements. We were stood under a streetlight which illuminated Harry like an angel, making it hard for me to remain angry at him.

"You said you needed money? I have a spare bedroom at my house if you need somewhere to stay," if I was still mad at him, I would have declined the offer with disgust, probably claiming that I didn't want his charity. But I wasn't mad at him.

"Yeah, that would be really great!" I exclaimed and he grinned at me, obviously happy that I wasn't arguing with him any more.

He led me to where his car was parked and I couldn't help but envy it's sleek sides and leather interior. I had never learnt how to drive, and had never really seen the point.

As we drove through the oddly empty roads of London, Harry turned on the radio and some sweet melodies began to fill the car.

"This is Bon Iver," he said to me, trying to make some small talk.

I didn't want to tell him that I had no clue who that was, and that the only music I had listened to in the past seven years had been his band's. I only really listened to it to hear Harry's deep voice, which had calmed me and relaxed me. I thought back to how naive I had been then, how I believed that Harry and I's reunion would be faultless- like it had come out of a movie.

Pulling up outside a large house (large for London standards), Harry got out the car and opened my door, which I thought was unnecessary. I didn't want him to feel like he had to be extra kind to me.

"Make yourself at home," he said as we walked through the door and he headed straight to the living room. He poured out two small glasses of whiskey and I politely declined- I hadn't touched the stuff since that one drunken night all those years ago.

"It's crazy the stuff we did," Harry said aloud to fill the awkward silence between us and I nodded, laughing slightly.

I was happy to see that he still remembered what happened, that he hadn't completely erased me from his mind.

"Yeah we were a pair of pretty rebellious kids," I wanted to make it sound like I hadn't spent the last few years obsessing over those memories we shared, and I certainly didn't want him to know that those weeks with him were the highlight of my life.

"Not so much rebellious as scared I think," Harry came and sat next to me and I could smell the cologne he wore, "It was a good life experience though. And definitely made for some good song material."

"You wrote songs about me... Sorry you wrote songs about Cornwall?" I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid- for letting myself slip so easily.

"Not necessarily about Cornwall," I could tell he was ignoring my slip up for my benefit, "But just about how I was back them. Or the time we spent gave me ideas for songs which I wrote for other people."

I tried to not looked like I was crushed by his words; all those hours spent trying to decode messages in his songs were spent uselessly.

Sometimes I would think that I had found something in the lyrics, something that was meant for me. 'Ready to Run' was the one I was most sure was for me, but Harry's words put this theory to rest. He obviously didn't think about me that much.

"It was," he said aloud and I was confused about what he meant. Had I been saying my thoughts out loud? Or had he just guessed that I was thinking about that song?

Whatever had happened, I felt colour rise to my cheeks and I grabbed for my whiskey, needing some more courage.

So Matilda is in Harry's house? Will anything happen?

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