“Hi, babygirl,” he says through his bunged up sinuses. His nose is red from where he’s blown it so often, and his hair looks like it hasn’t seen the inside of a shampoo bottle in a few days.
“My king, your crown has fallen. Let me fix it for you.”
Damn. Shit. This whole no sex, no leading on, no flirting gig is going to be a lot harder than I first thought.
“Harry . . . can we have a little chat before we put a movie on?” I say, kicking my boots off in his hallway and tucking them under the sideboard.
“Sure. What’s up?” He toddles off into his kitchen and flicks the kettle on.
Okay, I’m just going to rip the plaster off and get it over and done with, and if Harry wants to kick me out, if he wants nothing more to do with me, that’s something I’ll have to cope with later.
“We can’t fuck around any more.” I let out a breath.
“Huh?”
“We can’t do sex stuff any longer . . . I . . . I know we’ve spoken about this before, that we can’t be anything more than friends, but I need there to not be anything else,” I say. Harry frowns at me, his mouth hanging open since he can’t breathe through his nostrils. “No blowies, no sneaky wank shows, no fingering each other in the shower.” I swallow. “No kissing.” God, this sucks. “No snuggles either. That’s not what friends do. Regular friends don’t snuggle.”
“You don’t like it?” He looks so hurt. Shit.
“Um . . .” Do I lie? Do I tell him I hate it just to make it stop?
No, I love it actually. I love holding you. I love seeing you break in front of me. I love knowing that I caused it all. I’m addicted to the power I hold over you, and this is going to be harder for me than it is for you, but you deserve a relationship with someone who isn’t as broken as me.
Apparently I’ve waited too long, and Harry’s drawn his own conclusion. “Oh my god, Lando! Fuck. Why didn’t you say something? I feel sick. I’ve been . . . I feel so . . . rapey.”
“Shit! No, I don’t mean that. I have enjoyed it. I’m sorry. Not once have you forced me to do anything I wasn’t a thousand per cent wanting to do. It’s just . . . I need it to stop.”
Harry tugs on his earlobe. Doesn’t speak for approximately twenty years. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Whatever you want. We still get to hang out, though, yeah?”
I’m so relieved, I immediately burst into tears.
Harry wraps his big fleecy arms around me. He stinks of sweat, and eucalyptus nasal decongestant, and the general pong of not showering for a few days. I don’t care. I just want to be bundled up in his arms.
But not. Since I already told him that has to stop.
Still, he’s the one to break the embrace. “So, what movie are we watching?”
“You choose. You’re the sickest.”
He punches the air with both hands. “It feels likeChriiiiiistmaaass!”
I laugh. “What soup do you want? I’ve got cream of tomato, chicken, minestrone.”
Harry leans forward and swipes his thumb over my cheek, collecting the moisture. “Don’t cry, Lando. Please don’t feel guilty. You’re allowed to set boundaries. And you’re allowed to change them if you’re not comfortable.”
And now I’m crying even more.
24
Friday 14th August 2026
Lando
The sky is a cloudless ocean blue today. Harry sits cross-legged beside me, his trainers on the grass behind him. He’d picked me up from my house this morning and driven us to Wrigsham Cemetery. He’d packed snacks, a flask of Earl Grey tea, and books for us both to read. A special edition hardback copy ofEmmafor me, and a sports personality’s biography for him.
