Dedicated to styleslegend for staying strong. You're an incredible inspiration x

HEATHER AND I SAID OUR goodbyes in a rushed and messy state. We were both a little hungover and disorientated, not to mention Heather had slept in an hour later than she had planned to. She'd packed in a flurry of clothes and make-up and was wishing me the best as she scrambled out the door with barely enough time for a last hug goodbye.

I'd enjoyed her staying over, I had, but there was no denying that it had left an unnecessary and excruciatingly sore headache - for multiple reasons. Firstly, her behaviour while shopping had been like a mimic of a spoiled teeanger. Then there was her clubbing idea, the silly git. And finally, her great scheme to practically force Harry and I together.

Which had nearly happened! Damn it.

I'd thought about it all night before I'd finally fallen asleep. The idea of Harry and I nearly kissing had my stomach doing flips and I pondered what his lips would have felt like against mine. Rough? Soft? Wet? Or would I have to moisten them for him? Would I have been brave enough to wrap my arms around him and pull him down, closer to me? Perhaps he would have pulled my body against his? Oh, the possibilities were endless and the anger I felt within I replayed the drunk man knocking me over was almost overpowering.

I wanted to hit something.

It had been months since Harry had found Sally with another man, which was enough time to heal and slowly get over her. Besides, she wasn't worthy of being with him anyway. In my eyes, no one was good enough for him, not even myself. But of course, I still wanted him because I knew that - unlike Sally - I would worship the ground he walked on and love him to the best of my ability.

My Sunday afternoon had been full of nothing but deep thoughts, messy paintings and multiple cups of coffee. I felt drained, both physically and mentally, no doubt from the night before. I was so exhausted that I'd also managed to cover myself in paint.

I wanted to call Harry. The idea had been running through my mind all day but I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone and check in on him. What a bitch, the voice in the back of my head had scoffed. It was true - I was a bitch for not making sure he was OK. What if he'd been severely hurt after we'd been separated? What if the drunk guy had found him and decided to attack him once again?

I glanced at my phone one last time before deciding to do the right thing - I called him.

It rang twice before he picked up, sounding groggy. "Jane!"

"Harry, hey," I practically gasped out. "How are you? Are you OK?"

"Let me in," he unexpectedly said.

I frowned. "Huh?"

"I'm outside."

"Y-you are?" I squeaked. "How long have you been here?"

"I just arrived. Let me in, I need to talk to you."

My heart was racing as I hung up and moved to let him in. As soon as I pressed the buzzer to open the complex door, I felt like throwing up. Was it because I looked dreadful and the man of my dreams was mere seconds away from seeing my disaster of a face? Perhaps because all the guilt that had diminished the night before was surfacing just as quickly as my need for another alcoholic beverage?

He didn't even knock, he let himself in and stood before me with very noticeable changes to his beautiful features. His lip was split, a faint black and blue bruise forming on his cheek. His nose was no longer bleeding and didn't appear to be broken, thank God.

"Harry," I muttered. "Um, you look ... brilliant."

Harry chuckled before he leaned closer to inspect my face, then he gently grasped my upper arms. "Are you OK?"

I nodded. It didn't matter about me though - what mattered was him and if he was OK. That was all I cared about.

With a nod, I assured him I was perfectly alright before asking, "Are you?"

"Yes, very much now that I know you're fine," he said, releasing a deep sigh.

My heart swelled. He just came over to make sure I was alright? I wanted to hug him like I'd never hugged him before - to say thank you and also that I loved him, because I meant both from the bottom of my heart. He was just too perfect. Who was I kidding? No one in the world was good enough for him, not even me despite how much I wanted to be with him.

"Um ... tea?" I questioned and Harry just laughed as he nodded. And so, I made us tea. In any other situation - one that was not quite so awkward and would no doubt result in tears - coffee would have been the answer. Perhaps tea was putting it lightly? I did have a bottle of vodka somewhere in the top cupboard...

We sat, taking slow and cautious sips in a silence so eerie it made goosebumps raise on my arms. Why couldn't either of us talk? Harry had appeared at my home, so surely he'd have something to say? After all, when he'd appeared in my living room with a slightly wild look in his eyes, it had seemed like he had quite a lot to say, but God knows what. I, on the other hand, didn't have too much I wanted to share - besides the obvious declaration of love and the fact I wanted to bang him into the middle of next week - and as the quiet seemed to drone on like a bad song, did I finally think of something to say.

Obviously addressing the night previously, I asked, "Did you get hit again by that man?"

Harry looked at me over the rim of his mug, green eyes steady. He shook his head. "Different guy, funnily enough. Someone called the police about a scrap just outside the club - not the fight between that drunk man and myself - and I stupidly stumbled right into the middle of it."

"Ah," I muttered. "At least that it wasn't the same man. He was rude."

"So rude," Harry seconded.

"Unbelievably rude," I continued, releasing faint giggles as Harry smiled at me, his grin already making the hungover mess that was myself, feel slightly better.

"Jane?" Harry asked.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

If it's anything to do with marriage, then don't worry my love, the answer will be a definite yes. "Sure."

"What exactly happened last night?" he pondered. When noticing the frown on my face he added, "After I took a few punches I felt kind of woozy and passed out from exhaustion as soon as I got home. I only have a brief recollection of last night's events-" Oh, fuck no, I thought, "-but to be sure I'm one-hundred percent right, I'll need your help."

I gulped. Did he remember the near-kiss? Did he remember our grinding bodies that had left me so hot and bothered throughout the night that I had considered touching myself just to get my mind off it? Did he recall our mingled breathing as we whispered to each other, the only thing being the two of us in the room? Hopefully, not all of it.

"Um, what part are you having trouble remembering?" I asked, my voice quiet.

"It's not that I can't remember, but I want to make sure I wasn't like, dreaming or something. Did I ... um, did we kiss?"

A pause.

An awkward throat-clearing.

And an awkward me.

"Nearly," I admitted. I was already keeping too many secrets from him - like the fact I'd fought with Sally way back when things had first started to blossom between us and about the fact that I was happy about us being friends (of course, I wasn't) - and adding another to the list would only make me feel worse about myself.

"Nearly? We were interrupted, oh yeah... Stupid man," Harry said. "I'm sorry about last night."

"Sorry?" I echoed. "Sorry for what?"

"That we were interrupted," he said, looking straight into my eyes. I felt another lump forming in my throat and an overly familiar feeling of desire down there. Oh, I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me and do so much more with me - to me, even.

"I... Um, Harry-" I started, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck. I jumped slightly when Harry's hand suddenly reached out to stop me, his soft hand encasing my wrist.

"You've got messy hands," he stated. "You were painting before I came round."

I nodded. "Yeah. When am I not?"

"I often wonder the same thing," he chuckled as he leaned slightly to the left and glanced over my shoulder. "Say, can I take a look at what you were working on this time?"

Thank your lucky stars that it wasn't another portrait of him, Jane. Otherwise things would be even more awkward right now, said the voice at the back of my head.

"Sure," I said. "It's just a mess at the moment though, I'll warn you."

"I'm alright with that," Harry said. "Messes can be excused."

Oh, yes they can.

With a racing heart, messy hands and sweaty under-arms, I led Harry through to the bedroom-made-art gallery, his footsteps echoing mine as I opened the door for us to enter. Just like the first time I'd allowed him access to my most sacred room, he seemed genuinely taken with the whole selection of art. As I turned to look at him, I once again caught a glimpse of wonder in his eyes.

"Can I look at them again?" he asked me. His fingertips were already brushing the tops of my canvas works and I could only nod before he was flicking through them the way one would flick through records in a music shop. I watched him with admiration - when did I not? - and wished that he would touch me instead of my work. The feel of his hands on me was something I'd longed to feel for so long, but in an intimate way more so than say, a simple friendly handshake or a pat on the back. I wanted so much more than that.

"There's nothing much I've done since you saw them last," I told him as I sat down on the couch I'd situated in the centre of the room.

Harry looked at me over his shoulder and shrugged. "No matter. I can still appreciate the beauty. I just adore these, Jane."

Adore me, you little shit.

"Thanks," I said, smiling up at him.

Several minutes passed as I allowed Harry to look around. Once again he came across my nude works and he chuckled quietly. "Sorry," he instantly said. "I just remembered the story of you painting your friend."

I laughed along too. "Yeah, that was a ... uh, very interesting day."

Another silence.

"Did you say you could get people to come round and model nude for you?" Harry suddenly and I nodded. "Why do you pay these people from those art classes when you could just ask a friend or a mutual?"

I shrugged and honestly told him, "Not many of my friends would be all too willing for me to want to draw them naked. Imagine just going up to one of your mates and asking, 'Hey, mate, wanna do me a favour? Yeah - just strip and pose for me, that's great,' you know?"

Harry chuckled once again and nodded. "When you say it like that I can see what you mean."

"Yeah," I laughed along. Harry's laughing dyed down first and he turned to face me with that serious expression of his. He looked like one of those mean and moody male protagonists from a chick flick but then again, he could look like an absolute idiot with dishevelled hair, a beard and be wearing nothing by a bin liner and I'd still find him to be the most beautiful creation ever to walk the earth.

He asked me, genuinely, "Do you feel in the mood to do more nude works?"

I shrugged. "Honestly? I haven't done one in so long but I'm not too bothered, I guess..."

"You sure?" Harry asked and I glanced up at him with a brow raised. Was he implying something? I knew what I wanted him to mean but that was ridiculous.

"Why do you seem so interested?" I asked him, trying not to squeak out the question. That was the last thing I wanted.

For a moment, Harry said nothing and his eyes darted from the floor to my face multiple times before he said, "Well, I thought to save you time and money you could ask someone you already know who would be willing to model for you. And seeing as the day is still pretty much beginning, and I'm here ... why don't you paint me?"

"I have already," I told him. "Or don't you recall?"

He laughed once again. Then he said it. "I meant nude."

Oh, my holy crapping Lord, accept right now, or you will regret the shit out it, Jane. Say yes! Say you want him to model nude for you, that you want him to strip down and flash that magnificent specimen that is his toned physique for you, that you want him to drape over the couch with everything on display!

"Um ... I-I'm not so sure if that's a great ... great idea," I stammered, my cheeks reddening. Of course I wanted to behold his wonderfulness but I couldn't bring myself to say it. How awkward was that? However, deep down it was obvious - I wanted nothing more than to behold his Greek God-like body. "Um-"

"You can say no, Jane," Harry said and I just looked at him with my mouth hanging wide open, partially in shock.

I quickly shook my head, not even chancing the cease of the topic as I stammered, "Well, I have been thinking about doing more ... nude works."

It wasn't a lie - it just became a little bit more of a priority on my to-paint list.

Harry nodded once and said, "So yes?"

I nodded quickly, avoiding his eyes as I tapped away aimlessly at my phone screen. Deep down I was trying to make up my mind whether or not I was trapped within a dream because after all, everything that you wanted to happen would occur in a dream. But when I felt Harry's hand gently shaking my shoulder I knew it was real. And boy, it was the best kind of reality.

"Do you want to begin now?" Harry asked me, his eyes completely focused on me. He looked determined.

"Er... Don't you have anything to do today?" I asked. It was Sunday, surely he wanted to put his feet up and relax with a cup of tea?

"Nope," he said before he held out his hands for me. I shakily slid my own into his and allowed him to tug me up towards him. Gently he guided me from the couch and over to my seat where the easel was placed. I sat down and allowed my curious eyes to follow Harry as he made his way back over to the couch and bent down on one knee to untie his shoes. "So, is it alright if we begin now?"

"Uh - I mean, sure if you - if you want to, that is," I said through my teeth, just to be one hundred percent positive not to bite my tongue in excitement. Was what was happening before me truly happening before me?

As Harry cast his shoes aside and then reached to unbutton his shirt, I knew I was in heaven.

Oh, God - please have mercy on my soul.

It was difficult not to drool as Harry slowly peeled his shirt away from his body. Oh, my. I allowed my eyes to remain on his lanky yet toned body for a second too long before I realised I'd need new material if I were to start working - sadly not the kind of working I had in mind - on him. It was very difficult to focus though, especially while he was undressing right before me.

I quickly exchanged my messy canvas for a new one and extracted several pencils, an eraser and sharpener from the drawer. I was ready to begin ... at least I would have been if I'd been able to breathe properly. He was already sliding his belt off.

"Do you want to keep your trousers on?" I asked. I had to clear my throat twice to get rid of the lump. "I-I don't want things to be awkward between us because of this."

He just chuckled, seemingly not at all bothered about stripping down for me. "Not at all. I'm just helping you out, Jane. Nothing to be awkward about, right? Unless I'm making you feel awkward?"

I shook my head a little too quickly.

Genuinely, I was surprised by how uncomfortable I was about the whole situation. Any other time, I wanted nothing more than to hump the shít out of him but there we were, Harry quite the thing and I, trying to hold back my inner sexual beast while sweating like a pig.

Pull yourself together, Green. Jesus, you mope about for months because you can't see him naked and now that you're about to see him naked, you freak. Where is the sense in that?

Fuck.

"H-Harry," I muttered. "Only if this is alright with you, then I'll go for it." I'd like to go for many other things while we're at it.

"Jane, honestly. Everything is fine. I'm not self-conscious about my body so it's fine for me. But let me know if this makes you uncomfortable ... and I'll stop," he said as he - rather aggressively - popped the first button on his jeans.

Oh, he looked marvellous standing there in nothing but his trousers. A pure work of art, he was. Even if nothing happened between us, at least I would have the mental image of him in my mind for all eternity.

"Nope." My voice sounded as if I'd inhaled helium.

I pretended to busy myself with sharpening the pencils as Harry fully undressed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his trousers and briefs hit the floor. Once he stepped out of them and cast them to the side, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from squealing a little.

Harry, the man I adored with all my heart, was before me in the nude.

It was almost like living in one of my dreams.

"Harry, would you like a cup of tea first?" I asked. I had to get out of that room. I had to go excuse myself so I could cry happy tears.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said.

Great.

When I finally decided I could no longer stall, I glanced up at him, trying so desperately to keep my eyes on his face. "Do you want to pose or just sit there or...?"

"I could pretend I'm in Titanic?" Harry suggested as he sat down on the couch. "Like, I could lie down and be all pretty and such?" he chucked.

Oh, you're pretty already, Harry.

"Just do whatever you're comfortable with."

"Hm," he mused, tapping his chin with his finger. "I've never modelled for anyone before so I'm not sure how to really position myself."

"Why not sit on the back of the sofa with your hands clasped between your legs?" I instantly suggested. It was a fairly easy position to sketch and it would also cover his genitals from my sight. The last thing I wanted was to become so absorbed in his image only to find that I'd painted a close up of his privates at the end. How awkward.

Eventually, after suggesting and Harry trying different ways of sitting, laying, crouching and so on, he sat on the couch with his hands clasped between his legs like I'd said. It proved to be the best for both of us - him because it was comfortable and me because it prevented me from becoming distracted by a particular ... thing.

And so it began. It was literally a shaky start - my hands seemed to not be in the mood to draw that day - and eventually a rough outline of my beloved was set on the canvas before me. Harry remained where he was, not complaining about sore limbs or the cold or needing to wee - he was the perfect model. However, a silence did fall between us and while I worked away, Harry became more of a fidget.

"This silence is driving me nuts," Harry commented about ten minutes later.

"Sorry," I muttered as I fixed up any mistakes before squeezing out some paint onto the palette. "I get very into my work."

"I can see that," Harry laughed. "You've got the concentration face on. It's cute."

He called you cute.

"My concentration face?" I asked curiously.

"Mm-hm," he hummed. "You frown from time to time and you look very vacant, as if you've skipped over to another world. It's alright though - everyone has their own concentration face."

"Ah, OK," I said as I carefully mixed the colours. I still couldn't bring myself to look at him - unless it was for the painting - and I felt awkward as hell. I wanted to look at him so badly. "So ... why were you so desperate to have me paint you?"

"Ah," Harry muttered. "You caught on to the desperation, huh? Well, what can I say - I'll need something dashing to hang over my fireplace."

I laughed along with him, glad I was momentarily distracted from the desperation to ogle at his nude body. He did look glorious though, clothed or not, and his eyes remained the same - steady and green. They were fixed on me. For the first time, I finally felt brave enough to sit and observe him just for the sake of it and damn he looked mighty fine.

Christ, that thing's a weapon, the voice gasped in the back of my head and I just cleared my throat and quickly averted my gaze from his lower half.

AN HOUR PASSED, AND THE painting of Harry was almost finished with a base coat. Incredibly, he had managed to stay completely still and relaxed while I worked on applying paint to canvas, his breathing and the sound of the brush hitting against the material being the only sounds for the majority of the exercise.

"How am I looking?" Harry asked.

Glorious, I thought. "Good," I said.

"Good," he returned. "That's good."

"Yep, all's good." I took a deep breath and leaned back in my seat to examine the painting. "Yeah, it's looking pretty alright for an on-the-spot project."

"That's alright then," Harry laughed. "As long as I don't end up having three legs, a smaller penís and one eye, then it's fine."

I just looked at him, one word in particular catching my attention. Oh, Harry. You are a fine size already, I wanted to say but for obvious reasons, I couldn't. The only person who would have gotten away with saying something like that would be a very close friend or a partner.

And that's when I remembered.

I still hadn't told Harry about what had occurred between Sally and I just after the break-up. I couldn't help but feel like it was the perfect time to tell him - for some bizarre reason that would either end up in a row or a hug. I was secretly hoping for a hug. Perhaps he wouldn't think too much of it? I mean, after all, at the end of the day all I had been doing was sticking up for him and warning the bitch not to hurt him again.

On the other hand, he may not have liked the idea of me involving myself too much in his personal life.

"So, um ... have you heard anything about Sally?" I bravely asked.

There was a silence.

I saw Harry shift uncomfortably out of the corner of my eye and I instantly regretted asking. I knew I had to bring her up in order to tell him though - I couldn't keep it to myself for much longer or I'd explode.

"Um, no." Harry cleared his throat. "I don't care about her any more."

"That's good," I muttered. "She was a bitch."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. His head lowered ever so slightly and I paused, paintbrush raised in mid-air. Well done, you stupid git. I looked down at my lap and sighed.

"I'm sorry for asking," I told him. "I only brought it up because I've been meaning to tell you something."

Harry seemed curious, and he frowned at me.

I nodded and bravely told him, "I spoke with her the day you told me about her cheating."

"Oh?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. He leaned forward ever so slightly and asked, "What happened?"

"Well, not much," I honestly answered. "I was nice to her at first but then everything you said came back to mind and how her actions had turned you into a homeless-looking person in the span of a couple days and I just felt so damn angry, you know? I wanted to make her feel guilty and so, I kind of verbally killed her."

"Killed her?" Harry asked, grinning. "Looks like you didn't kill her enough," he chuckled and so did I.

I nodded. "Yeah, like ... I basically called her a bítch for doing that to you and I warned her never to hurt you again or I'd hurt her and then-"

"Wait, you threatened her? For the sake of me?" Harry asked, astonished.

Harry, I would walk on glass for you.

"Well, yeah," I said. "You're my ... friend, Harry. I hate seeing my mates in such states - I just had to tell her off. I know I probably shouldn't have because it's something that happened between you and her and it's almost like I'm intruding in your life but I just had to. I'm sorry. I was stupid. I just wanted to make her feel as bad as she made you feel-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harry said.

I paused, mid-sentence, waiting for his cry of anger. He would probably tell me that he regretted ever putting his trust in me. He'd storm out the house, shouting insults at me for being a nosy bitch who couldn't remain interested unless she had her nose in other people's business. I didn't blame him though - he was right. I was a nasty, selfish shít.

"I'm sorry," I immediately blurted.

Harry, much to my relief and confusion, just chuckled. "I can't believe you did that for me. Thank you."

I was baffled. "Thank you? I thought you'd be mad."

"Mad? Hell no. Jane, you did me a favour. I had expected me to be doing that to her - which I did when she collected all her things the next few days and left - but thank you. I did wonder why she seemed so quiet."

"She was?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Thanks again."

I beamed, relieved that he wasn't mad. I'd been so worried that I'd lost him as a friend.

"You're sure that you're not mad at me?" I questioned.

"Not at all," Harry promised. "Honestly? I love the fact that you stood up for me, Jane."

I grinned wider as I began to paint again. He loved my actions, huh? I couldn't have been happier. Well, that wasn't exactly true - if only it was me he loved and not just my actions. He'd complimented my art, my actions, my physical appearance but not so much the real me. I sighed.

If only you loved me.

Just as I'd perfected the pink of his lips, did Harry's head unexpectedly snap up in my direction.

"What?" he asked.

I was stunned. What indeed, I wondered as I looked at him curiously. He seemed a little shocked.

"Hm?" I muttered, frowning at him.

"What did you just say?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"I never said anything," I told him, returning his stare.

Or did I? I wondered. Wait ... oh, fuck.

My lips parted in shock and my messy, paint-covered hands instantly raised to cover my agape mouth.

I'd said it aloud.

Well damn.

I hope you liked this extra long chapter, it's the longest in the book so far! Let me know what you think will happen next in the comments!

I love you all, thank you for everything x

Cazza