Every Night, I See You

So he's going to talk to Julian about stepping away from the program, she realizes. Makes sense. Julian is a fashion design professor.

"You're seeing him," she murmurs, almost to herself, not quite sure how to respond. There's a pause, then she puts on a polite smile. "I see… All right then. See you later!"

She gives him a small wave and turns to head out.

"Have a good day, Grace," Harry calls after her with a smile, waving back.

Outside, the winter air hits her cheeks with its familiar sting. The campus is still blanketed in snow, crisp and soft beneath her boots. As she walks, she steps deliberately into a patch of untouched snow, relishing the satisfying puff underfoot. Something about it—about feeling the snow give way—grounds her in the moment.

As Grace walks toward the edge of campus, her boots crunching softly over the snow-covered path, her thoughts linger on Harry.

I hope Harry finds a good path, she thinks, glancing up at the pale winter sky. And I hope Professor Julian can be a help to him...

Her heart lifts a little as she breathes in the stillness around her. With that thought, she whispers a quiet prayer.

Lord, guide Harry. Lead him to the path that's right for him. And give Julian the wisdom to speak into his life with kindness and clarity.

The wind brushes past her, gentle and cold, and she tucks her hands into her coat pockets as she continues walking—steadily, silently—through the snow-laced campus, carrying both hope and peace in her heart.

Knock knock.

Julian doesn't need to guess who it is. There's a certain rhythm to that knock—hesitant but polite. 

With a calm voice, he says, "Come in, please."

The door creaks open and in steps Harry, dressed in a short black puffer jacket layered over a hoodie, black jeans completing the look. He wears an awkward smile, eyes scanning the room as he steps in.

"Thanks for making time, Julian," Harry says, walking in with a slight nod.

"Of course, no big deal," Julian replies, standing from his desk and motioning to the small sofa across the office. "Come sit over here. You want some coffee?"

"Tea, if you've got any," Harry says, grinning as he sinks into the sofa.

"Sure—black milk tea, then," Julian replies, moving toward the corner of the room where a sleek tea-and-coffee machine hums quietly. As the tea brews, he leans casually against the nearby table, watching Harry with a thoughtful expression.

"So, how's everything?" he asks, his voice easy. "The end of the term's almost here."

"Yeah… everything's all right," Harry says, rubbing his palms together for warmth. "Time's moving too fast though. Hard to believe it's already winter—feels like the semester just started."

Julian nods, his smile warm.

"Right? Time flies when we're not looking."

The tea machine beeps softly. Julian picks up the finished cup and walks over, handing it to Harry. 

"Here you go. Also—my colleague brought back some pastries from Italy. You want one?"

Harry takes the cup with both hands, grateful for the warmth. 

"No, I'm good. But thanks," he says with a polite nod.

Julian walks back to his desk, the soft thud of his shoes muffled by the carpet. He sets his coffee down, then eases into the chair with a quiet sigh. The steam from the cup curls upward, briefly fogging the air in front of him. He takes a slow sip—hot and bold, the warmth melting away the edge of cold seeping in from the slightly cracked window beside him. Outside, the winter campus stretches wide and white, blanketed in stillness.

He looks over at Harry, sitting on the sofa, cradling his tea. Julian doesn't speak right away. He waits, giving Harry space—sometimes silence is the most generous invitation.

Finally, Harry shifts slightly, turning toward him. 

"I have something to discuss," he begins, his tone tentative but honest. "And I thought… maybe you'd be the right person to talk to about it."

Julian nods once, encouraging. 

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

Harry draws in a breath. 

"I think I want to go into the fashion industry. As a designer."

Julian is caught off guard—but years of teaching have trained him well. He keeps his face neutral, composed. When students come to him with something personal or uncertain, he knows how important it is not to meet their vulnerability with alarm.

"I see," he says calmly, though inwardly still processing. "That's not what I expected to hear. But… It sounds like good news. So what brought you to that decision? I thought your graduate work was in a completely different direction."

Harry shrugs with a sheepish smile, his fingers tightening slightly around his tea cup. "Yeah. That's kind of the thing. I realized… I only came into this program to avoid fashion design."

Julian's brows lift slightly, his interest clearly piqued—but still, he doesn't interrupt.

Harry lets out a soft, uneasy laugh. 

"I know. It sounds a little ridiculous. I mean, people in this program—like Grace, for example—" he pauses with a small smile at her name.

At the mention of Grace, Julian's gaze flickers. A subtle shift in his posture, almost imperceptible, betrays a faint reaction—but he masks it quickly.

Harry continues, "They're studying this field because they're genuinely passionate about it. They love research, theory, and the academic path. But me? I think I chose this as a way to run from something I actually cared about."

Julian squints slightly, curiosity deepening in his expression now. He leans forward a bit, clasping his hands loosely. 

"So does that mean you've had experience with fashion design before? Or that it was something you considered seriously in the past?"

Harry chuckles softly, giving a slight shrug as he rests the cup of tea on his knee. 

"Yeah. I actually majored in fashion design for my undergrad," he admits, eyes flicking briefly toward the floor. "But I didn't want to go into the field, not then. So I double-majored in something completely different, and… well, that's how I ended up here."

Julian nods slowly, something clicking into place in his mind. Right… he's the son of Harrison. Harrison Beaumont—the founder of Harrison Fashion Group, one of the most prominent names in the global fashion industry.

Of course he majored in fashion design. 

The lineage, the early exposure, the pressure—it all starts to make sense. And yet, Julian has never brought it up with Harry. Not once.

Out of respect.

He's always been cautious not to corner Harry with his family background—especially in a space meant to foster identity outside of legacy. But now, with Harry finally opening up, it feels like the right moment to gently bring the buried truth into the conversation.

Julian leans forward just slightly, his tone still light. 

"So… what made you want to come back to fashion design now?"

Harry glances up at him and smirks. 

"You, I guess?"

Julian tilts his head, blinking. 

"Me?"

Harry laughs, amused at Julian's confusion. 

"Okay, not you, but your course. Your lectures. They kind of… reignited something. It made me remember why I fell in love with fashion design in the first place."

He pauses, his expression growing more thoughtful now. 

"When I first got into fashion, it wasn't about building a brand or competing for press. It was about people. About helping them express who they are through what they wear. Clothes aren't just utility—they're personal. And I wanted to be part of that experience. To create that."

Julian listens closely, sensing the quiet sincerity behind the words.

Harry exhales, the smile fading into something more reflective. 

"But after a while, it all started to feel… heavy. The commercial side, the hyper-competitive pressure. And of course, the expectations." He trails off for a beat, then looks back at Julian. "I kind of ran from it all. Though maybe I could find myself in a different field, something less... crowded. But your class reminded me of what I loved. The creativity, the emotion. The human side of fashion. And, well… here I am."

Julian nods slowly, his expression softening. 

"I appreciate you telling me that," he says, then adds, gently, "And… may I ask what kind of pressure you were under?"

Harry stiffens slightly at the question. 

"I only ask because… I know you're the son of Harrison, the founder of Harrison Fashion Group. Did that part make things difficult for you?"

Harry chuckles and gives a small nod, his tone light, though the weight behind his words is anything but. He tries—perhaps out of habit—to make it all sound easier than it really is.

"Right," he says, letting out a breath. "To be honest, my values and my father's… they've never really aligned. And I've always lived with this pressure—this silent, choking expectation—to rise to the top of his group. But the truth is, I never felt confident about it. Not even once." He pauses, eyes dropping briefly before lifting again with quiet resolve. "So, I figured the only way out was to just remove myself from the whole thing. I thought if I walked away from fashion design entirely, maybe I could breathe again. But I guess… it's already a part of me. It's what I truly want to do, after all."