Page 133 of The Sound Between Us

“I’ve had that. It’s not real.” He squeezes my hand. “This is real. You’re real. Everything else is just noise.”

My throat goes tight. “You realise I’m going to be insufferable when I’m famous, right? Demanding green M&Ms and refusing to travel anywhere without my own pillow?”

“I’ll be your roadie. Carry your guitar, tune your strings, make sure your dressing room has the right biscuits.”

“My kept man.”

“Happily.”

I can picture it suddenly—not the grand gestures or the public declarations, but the quiet moments. Morning coffee and shared newspapers. Writing songs together at a piano that belongs to us instead of a record label. Fighting about whose turn it is to take out the bins.

“I love you.” The words slip out easier than breathing.

“There it is.” His smile is soft, wondering. “Finally.”

“Finally?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say it without a stadium full of witnesses.”

The rain chooses that moment to shift, driving harder against the windows. Harrison looks up at the glass ceiling, his eyes brightening.

“Come on.” He stands abruptly, pulling me with him.

“Where are we going?”

“Trust me.”

He leads me up a narrow staircase to the building’s actual rooftop, pushing open a heavy door that immediately lets in the sound and fury of the storm. Tokyo spreads below us, vast and gleaming and alive, whilst rain soaks through our clothes within seconds.

“You’re completely mental!” I shout over the storm, but I’m laughing as I say it.

“Completely!” He pulls me against him, both of us already drenched, water running down our faces. “But look at this!”

And I do look. At the city lights blurred by rain and tears of laughter. At Harrison, hair plastered to his skull, expensive shirt turned transparent, grinning. At the impossible beauty of being completely, utterly alive in the middle of a storm.

When he kisses me, I taste rain and possibility. His hands find the hem of my soaked dress, and I don’t protest when he pulls it over my head and tosses it aside. My bra follows, then his shirt, our clothes scattered across wet concrete.

The rain is cold against my skin, but his hands are warm as they map every inch of me. When he lifts me against the rooftop wall, I wrap my legs around his waist and feel him hard and ready against me.

“Here?” I gasp, though I’m already pulling him closer.

“Here.” His voice comes out rough, gravelly, and it speaks to a primal part of my being. “I need you. Right now.”

When he enters me, slow and deep, I bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. We move together, fast and hungry, my back pressed against cold concrete whilst he drives into me with increasing intensity. Every thrust sends rainwater cascading between us, and I can taste it on his lips when he kisses me—salt and city and pure need.

His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he takes me harder, faster, and I can feel myself climbing toward something that feels explosive. The city lights blur through the rain, and when I come apart in his arms, it’s with his name torn from my throat.

He follows me over with a groan that gets lost in the storm, and we collapse together against the wall, both of us breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other’s chests.

When we’re finished, we lie tangled on the wet concrete, rain still falling around us.

“Henry’s wrong.” I say it into the storm, into the night, into the space between us.

“Completely wrong.” Harrison agrees, pulling me closer.

“This isn’t going anywhere.”

“Nowhere but forward.”

The rain keeps falling, and below us, Tokyo keeps glittering, and for this moment we’re invincible.