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Sometimes Harry comes home to Zayn.

To Zayn with tattoos scattered over his body; with ink stains under his fingernails and the permanent, faint smell of smoke. To Zayn with the black-framed glasses, and the hair always perfectly done. To Zayn with the smile that lights up his whole face; to Zayn that loves Harry completely and perfectly and forever.

Sometimes Harry comes home to Veronica.

To Veronica with tattoos scattered all over her body; with ink stains under her fingernails - painted a deep, dark blue or red - and the permanent, faint smell of smoke. To Veronica with the smudgy dark eyeliner and her hair soft and black around her face. To Veronica with the smile that lights up her whole face, to Veronica that loves Harry completely and perfectly and forever.

Harry knows that there must have been a first encounter with Veronica, some time after he’d been with Zayn for a while - some time, he thinks, around the time he started thinking that this could be it. This could be his forever.

They had talked about it, surely, but when Harry searches through his memories, what he comes up with isn’t a heart-to-heart conversation, but of Veronica riding Harry on their sofa; slow, sweet torture as he whispers his heart into her ear.

Now, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, Harry lets himself into their flat and sighs with relief when he can finally kick off his shoes. He smells like vanilla and citrus from the cupcakes he’s been baking all day, and he’s tired.

He catches a glimpse of black hair on the couch and smiles, feeling the tension in his shoulders unravelling.

Sometimes, Harry doesn’t know straight away who he’s come home to. Sometimes Veronica will be wearing Zayn’s clothes and Harry has to search for more subtle tells. Today is one of those days.

He approaches quietly; notes the nails that are painted a deep blue that looks almost black; the hair that’s pulled down rather than slicked up, and finally, as he he sits down and presses a kiss to one delicate cheekbone; the scent that is worn - something lighter than what Zayn wears; something that makes Harry think of groves of orange trees and sunshine.

“Hey babe,” he says softly as Veronica turns her head for a proper kiss. She’s got smudges of eyeliner in the corners of her eyes, and she’s wearing a glittery lipgloss that tastes like green apples.

Harry ducks in for another kiss, savouring her soft lips, slightly sticky with gloss. He licks his lips after and grins.

“I like that one. Tastes like apples.”

Veronica ducks her head and laughs, just once, before she leans over to put her sketchbook on the coffee table.

“Hey,” she says back, her voice low, but full of fondness and amusement. “Good day?”

Harry shrugs and sprawls back on the couch, stretching out his arms and legs and letting out a small “oof” as Veronica settles herself in his lap. She wraps her arms around him and leans in, kissing Harry’s neck lightly.

“You smell like lemons,” she says, wriggling to get comfortable.

Harry rests his hands on Veronica’s hips as she shifts until she’s straddling him. “Been making bloody cupcakes all day,” Harry says, sliding his hands under her t-shirt and smoothing his thumbs over the sharp jut of her hips.

“Mnnn. Sounds terrible.”

Veronica leans in and kisses Harry then; soft and sweet, her lips nothing but an apple-flavoured press against his.

Harry slides his hands around to her back and presses gently, encouraging her closer.

They trade lazy, slow kisses that get deeper and deeper until Veronica is pressed flush against him and Harry is so hard it feels like all the air in the room and all the blood in his body has concentrated in one spot.

He can feel Veronica’s heart racing and he pushes his hand up under her shirt to feel the thump-thump-thump of it against his fingertips.

“Off, c’mon Vee, off ..” he mutters, tugging the shirt up until it tangles. Somehow it comes off and gets discarded on the floor and Harry has warm skin under his fingers and he never wants to stop touching.

Veronica wriggles off his lap and stumbles slightly as she unbuttons her jeans, carefully pushing them down. Harry glances over, wondering why she’s taking so long. When he sees what she’s got on under her jeans - black sheer stay-up stockings and nothing else - he has to press the palm of one hand against his cock as it gives a painful twitch.

“Shit. Vee. Look at - leave ‘em on yeah?”

“S’the idea, cowboy. Hang on.”

She’s breathless and she looks - Harry wishes he could take a picture right now - her head is bent as she works her jeans off carefully; her spiky-long eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her mouth is red and there are still stray bits of glitter from her gloss that catch the light. She looks unreal, almost, Harry thinks as he watches.

Then she bites her lip as she stumbles slightly, kicking the jeans off her foot and on to the floor and it’s such a small, human moment that Harry falls in love all over again, helpless.

Veronica stands up straight, cocks out one hip and tilts an eyebrow. Harry grins and reaches out a hand, that she takes with an elegant dip to her wrist as she picks her way back to him and climbs into his lap again.

“Here?” Harry asks idly as he unbuttons his shirt, letting Veronica push it back. She nods as she brushes the back of her fingers over the swell of his cock, still trapped in his jeans.

“Mmmm. Here - “ Veronica twists slightly, reaching back to the coffee table and dropping a bottle of lube that Harry hadn’t noticed before on to the couch beside him.

He nods and drops his head back against the back of the couch, biting his lip hard as Veronica finally undoes his flies and pushes them open. She pushes his boxers down and out of the way and Harry can’t hold back the groan of relief as his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach.

“Fuck, Vee ….”

Veronica smiles at him then, darting a devastating look at him from under her eyelashes and Harry is speechless. He kisses her then, long and deep, and unable to do anything else as she presses against him, her skin sliding against him and making him feel like he’s burning up from the inside out.

He gropes for the lube, desperate suddenly to be inside her, but Veronica closes her fingers around his wrist.

“Here,” she says softly, her voice sounding a little wrecked. “Let me.”

Any words Harry might have had then disappear when Veronica slicks up her own fingers and slips them inside herself, a small smile on her face, like she knows all of Harry’s secrets as well as her own.

Harry strokes himself as he watches, licking his lips and trying, trying so hard to keep all of the words inside that threaten to spill over.

He lets out a low, long groan when Veronica shifts, lowering herself down on to him so very very slowly that Harry thinks for a moment he’s going to come before she’s seated all the way.

“Fuck. Vee. I can’t, I - “

“Shh babe, I know, yeah? I always know.”

Harry sighs at that and groans again as she shifts her hips, letting himself get lost in her - in her orange grove-sunshine scent and how tight she feels around him and her dark blue-tipped nails gripping his shoulders.

He loses his words again, as Veronica kisses him hard and Harry tangles his fingers in her hair, hoping that she knows what he’s trying to say.

She comes first, biting down hard on Harry’s bottom lip, one hand wrapped around herself as she spills between them, moaning into Harry’s mouth.

He gives a couple of hard, shaky thrusts and then he’s coming too; coming hard as everything shorts out for a moment, like an old film flickering behind his eyes.

They sit for a while, kissing softly as they come down; breathing each other in.

Sometimes Harry comes home to Zayn.

Sometimes Harry comes home to Veronica.

Either way, this is Harry’s forever.