"You're driving?" I asked, glancing at the set of keys that he grasped between his fingers. He raised his eyebrows as the elevator doors drew open, and he stepped aside to let me enter, first.
"It's my car," he countered, with a light shrug and I raised my own eyebrows, now.
"You keep a car here?"
"Two, actually," he returned with a teasing glance, as if he knew exactly how he sounded. "But this one's my favourite," he held up the keys again, before continuing, "I like to spend my summers here, sometimes. It's easier if I can drive myself around." I wasn't sure if I'd been more surprised that he had his own cars waiting here for him when he actually spent so little time here, or if, instead, it was the fact that somebody as extraordinary as Harry did something as tedious - as normal - as driving. I knew he was just a person; it wasn't his fame or his status - he just seemed to transcend all things ordinary, or typical. Everyday tasks almost seemed too mundane for somebody like him.
As I'd expected, the remainder of LA was still very much asleep; the streets more or less entirely deserted. I wasn't sure what time it was, now, but it was still undoubtedly early, especially for a Sunday. I glanced at the quiet street around me, and began to wonder if Harry had deliberately picked a time like this. I bit my lip, suddenly transported back to the night I'd signed the contract to be here; how Harry had concealed me away from everybody else in what I'd only been able to pinpoint as embarrassment or shame. He'd said he'd been pretending - any disinterest I'd thought he'd had was simply fabricated; but in a moment like this, my mind told me that the embarrassment and the disinterest were entirely real.
But when he turned to look at me, with the most genuine of eyes I'd ever seen, it felt impossible to believe this was anything but sincere. With each lingering of his eyes on me, each time he'd purse his lips as if stifling a smile over at me, and each raking of his fingers through his hair - it felt like I was floating, and I never wanted to come back down.
My eyebrows raised as the group of security guards that seemed to swarm Harry when we entered any public place clambered into a black range rover, and Harry made no effort to follow them. Instead, he glanced back at me, as if to check I was still behind him, and moved over to a smaller, older-looking car, yellow in colour. For a moment I was confused, before realising this car was completely and utterly him; it somehow fit that he'd pick a car barely able to seat two people, but still stuck out like a sore thumb. I glanced back over at his security, and assumed they'd be following in a separate car behind us, as they did whenever we travelled in a large group; however, I'd always assumed that was due to lack of space. With it being only Harry and I, we could've easily travelled in another car with the three of them, but he'd picked a space only for the pair of us.
"It's supposed to mean that I don't notice they're there," he said to me, suddenly, as if he'd read my mind, before tugging the passenger side door open. It was then I noticed the silver 'Ferrari' logo etched onto the surface of the paint, and I suddenly felt like any wrong move would damage or destroy the undoubtedly expensive vehicle I was about to step into. He nodded his head toward the car, gesturing for me to get in as he held the door open. He continued, pressing his lips together, briefly, "But I always do."
I felt a gentle pang in my chest as I slipped past him, and I reached over to take the bag that he'd brought from him, and I set it gently in the footwell by my seat. He watched me as I did so, as if to check I was securely inside of the car before he shut the door, his expression still slightly solemn. If you'd told me a month ago that my heart would thump with sympathy for a world-famous millionaire, I'd have laughed. I would've laughed in pure bitterness at the fact somebody with the kind of life I envied, solely because they were somebody who lived a life doing what they wanted, could feel an ounce of dissatisfaction. Because I wouldn't have known how much deeper it went - I still didn't. But when I saw Harry; when I caught his tiny flickers of disappointment or uncertainty, or even what seemed like some sort of wistfulness, I felt like there was something more.
Something about his situation; even amongst the novelty, the fame, and the success - something bugged him. I felt like what I already knew barely even scratched the surface - I knew that he'd left more or less everything familiar behind him at sixteen; thrust into the spotlight, away from his family, and he'd hinted to me that he'd have liked the opportunity to grow up differently, but that he saw his own privilege, nonetheless. Even if he regretted the beginning, I could see how much he loved it now - I wasn't sure I'd ever seen anything more genuine; the way his face would light up when approached by a fan in public, or the way the wide grin never appeared to waver upon his face when on stage, even if battling through relentless exhaustion. As trivial as it would sound, I'd never known that somebody could love their life, but wish elements were different, still - that they could live a life most only dreamed of; with affluence, wealth, and a flourishing career for which they had endless passion, but still want more; or even, still dwell on something that seemed to torment them.
I'd always hated my life; everything in it, and everything about it. Even with Grace and Johnny, I feared the depths that my mind could spiral to if I'd stayed where I was much longer. Truly, before I'd come here; before I'd known of Harry, and of this job, and of this, everything had felt so hopeless. Everything just felt so vapid where I was; I'd lie in bed most nights, aching for there to be something more to cling onto. I'd have looked at a life like Harry's, and yearned for it to be that easy; to be so happy. And part of me still did. But it felt like there was so much more to him, and just as I had been the very first day I'd lay eyes on him, I was stirred by how deeply I wanted to know him, and, despite my rigid denials, how deeply I wanted him to know me.
After he'd settled into his own seat, I caught my eyes dragging over the flex of his arm as he turned the key in the ignition, and reached for the gear stick, before he paused. He leant over, suddenly, his arm grazing over my knees in a way that sent goosebumps across my skin. My stomach jolted so much that I hadn't even realised he was reaching for his bag; I'd never known anybody, or anything to ever have such an effect on me; such a warm, almost delicate effect. Harry had a way about him I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to put into words, but it was almost unbelievable how intensely I was drawn to him.
The back of his arm was against my leg as he dug into his bag, which remained at my feet, and he retrieved the two pairs of yellow sunglasses that he'd so diligently packed. I scoffed as his eyes flickered up to mine from his crouched position, and he lay one of the pairs in my lap, before leaning back properly into his seat to put on his own pair.
"Rule number one. It's my tour," he reminded me, with a raised brow.
"Isn't this technically my tour?" I countered, but still obliging and pulling the pair of sunglasses over my eyes. Harry's hand curled back over the gear stick, and he began to move the car. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, and somehow even that movement of his body caused a shift in my stomach. I continued, "Y'know... 'cause it's for me?"
"You can have your technicalities, then," Harry returned, his lips twitching into a grin as his hand drew over the steering wheel in a way that was also somehow attractive, "but this is for me, too."
Harry didn't look at me, now, for the sake of keeping his eyes on the road, but I certainly didn't mind eyeing his side profile. Not only did the lack of eye contact with him alleviate some of the pressure I always seemed to feel with the intensity of it, but it meant I got to analyse the details of him that I so often caught myself doing - though this time, I could do it without so much fear of being caught.
I wasn't sure what was happening here; what this was, or what this meant. I'd still not even told him how I felt about him, nor was I even sure where I'd even start - but I could look at him; I could stare for a little too long without, at least, beating myself up about it. That was something.
His hand reached out suddenly, just as I was about to count the third freckle upon the line of his jaw, clasping over my sunglasses to block my view.
"Hey!" I brought both of my hands up over the one of his that covered my eyes.
"I can feel you staring at me and it's making it hard to focus on the road," Harry stated, his tone light and teasing as his one hand fought back against my own, earning a laugh from me. I could hear the laughter in his own voice as he easily overpowered me, and I eventually relinquished, throwing my hands dramatically to my sides.
"Fine, you win," I huffed, and his hand finally lifted from my sunglasses. He was glancing over at me repeatedly, as if torn between myself and the road, as another short chuckle left his lips, and his hand dropped to pinch lightly at my chin in a teasing motion. "You're horrible," I remarked, ignoring the heat on my skin as his hand shifted away from it, back onto the steering wheel.
"Mm," he hummed nonchalantly, smoothly spinning the wheel to turn the car, "would somebody so horrible take you to the best breakfast spot in LA?" he asked me. I looked up, now, as he brought the car to a halt, eyeing the place he'd brought us to. My eyes immediately landed on the door to enter the building, framed by hanging plants and dangling lights, a bright blue in colour.
"Beachwood Cafe," I read the sign above the door, turning to glance at Harry to find him already looking at me.
"You'll love it," he said as he switched off the engine and reached for his door handle. I followed him out of the car as his security routinely pulled into the spot beside us. Harry sent them a wave of his hand, as if urging them to stay out here, but they were already exiting their own vehicle.
"You won't even know we're here, H," one of them said, an almost sympathetic smile on his face.
Harry took his bag from me, where I'd grabbed it when exiting the car, and he chewed on his lip, not really meeting their eye. "I know, I appreciate it. Thanks, mate," he said, politely, contrary to what he'd told me back at the hotel.
The cafe was beautiful, though stripped of all the elegance and grandeur of the places that somebody of Harry's status might have been expected to occupy - this was so him, with a bright pattern on the floor, and endless photographs adorning the walls, and shelves spilling with potted plants; I could see why he liked it so much. We'd walked past some tables on the outside, filled only with a couple of elderly couples, but the remainder of the place was deserted, despite its location in the middle of the city; something else I put down to the time of the morning.
Harry sent small, friendly waves to the two couples that we passed, as if he'd seen them before, and he sent me a glance over his shoulder as if to check I was still following him. When satisfied that I was, he continued onwards, inside.
"Is this okay?" he turned to me, suddenly, stopping in front of a table in the corner, the furthest side away from the door.
I nodded, snapped out of the trance I'd been in watching him navigate his way around. "Yeah, of course." I noticed his security getting a table of their own on the opposite end of the cafe.
There weren't any staff in sight at the moment, and so I'd been following Harry's lead, entirely. I still hadn't managed to silence the buzzing of my mind in his company - I wasn't even sure that there were words to articulate this feeling; it was like my mind was racing with anxiety at the fact everything I'd been afraid of with Harry was culminating here, and now, properly - because not only had we given in at the award show last night, but now we were continuing to do so. This was the very thing I'd been so desperate to avoid; and though that little voice in the back of my head was nowhere near gone; though that nervous thumping in my chest had yet to subside - I didn't want to avoid it anymore. Somehow, simultaneously, he made it all feel so easy. Though I'd let it get to me, at times, it felt oddly comforting to know that he, too, had seemed slightly unsure, even if he knew how to triumph with confidence far better than I did. I'd caught him over previous weeks with moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but it was like it all seemed to fall away when we just let things happen. I wanted to just let things happen.
Being here with him didn't mean he had to know everything; it didn't mean I had to narrate my entire story up until this point; divulge my deepest and darkest secrets, and nor did he. It was odd, really - in previous relationships, such a dichotomy had never crossed my mind; it had never been, how do I tell this person something - instead, it had never even been on the table. But I'd known it since I'd first seen him - that this had to be different. Harry just had something about him that made you feel like you could tell him anything, and it would all be okay.
I couldn't preoccupy myself with that - not now. I just needed to let things happen. I just wanted to see how things could be; I'd come this far, after all. After relentless, poorly-managed avoidance, we'd ended up here, nonetheless. And that meant something - I wasn't sure what, but it was undoubtedly something.
As we sat down, I quietly requested my camera from Harry, which he didn't object to for even a second. He handed it to me, and I took it, despite not being sure what, if anything, I planned to photograph - but. I knew I wanted it with me.
"Can I get you guys some coffee?" A voice sounded suddenly from above us, and it was a young woman, who appeared to work here. Harry looked at me, as if waiting to see what I wanted. She placed two menus down on our table as she also appeared to wait on me.
"That would be great, thank you," I nodded, returning the small smile she sent me as she turned and headed back away from us. Harry passed me one of the menus she'd dropped off at the table, and flicked open his own.
"I'm sure whatever you're always thinking about is highly poetic," he said to me, referencing how I'd become so lost in thought, and causing me to glance up from my menu. His lips formed the prettiest of smiles, but he didn't lift his eyes to look at me.
"So much so, that you wouldn't even understand it," I returned, watching a tiny chuckle leave his lips. I loved how easy it felt when my mind didn't get in the way.
"What're you having?" he asked.
"You love it here, don't you? You pick."
He grinned, as if satisfied I'd requested such a thing from him. He leant over to tilt my menu flat onto the table with two of his fingers, so that he could point at items and show me them at the same time.
"Is there anything you don't like?" he asked me cautiously, eyes flickering between me and the menu. I shook my head. "Perfect. How hungry are you - on a scale of one to ten?"
"Eleven," I replied, honestly.
"Perfect," he repeated, snapping his menu shut just as the waitress returned with our coffees, and tiny jugs of milk. I watched him as he ordered for us both, a bright grin on his face that drew all of my attention to his expression, to the point where I tuned out any of the actual words he was saying.
"I thought you had a house here," I said, suddenly recalling how Harry had told me that despite predominantly living in London, he owned property here, too. I clarified, "in LA. Why didn't you stay there last night, instead of in a hotel?"
He brought his cup to his lips, taking a brief sip of his drink, "It's not really worth it when I had an event in the middle of the city. If I'm going home, I want to be there properly."
"When do you think you'll next be able to do that, though?" I asked him, "it feels like you're constantly moving."
"I like it that way," he shrugged, before biting back an obvious smile. "Is this therapy?" he asked, laughing when I rolled my eyes. "What? You've got the voice for it."
"There's a voice for it?"
"Yeah. You know, like, that really smooth, easy-to-listen-to voice. I dunno - like, whatever they say feels right," he set his mug down, "you've never been in therapy?"
I pressed my lips together, shaking my head, "No." I knew it was something that I could likely benefit from, but that would mean doing just about everything that I was far too scared to do. I changed the topic back to his housing situation, seeking not to grow overly immersed in the fragility of my own headspace. "So how far away from here do you live?"
"Maybe an extra thirty minutes or so away from the hotel," he explained, "it's a really quiet area, actually. When we do the shows here, I might try and get back there for a few days."
"Is it some really top-secret, secluded area?" I asked, leaning forward to rest his chin in my hand, "are you sharing a zip code with Stevie Nicks?" I joked, watching his eyes glint back at me.
"No, but Elton John is next door."
My jaw dropped, "You're lying."
He laughed at me, leaning back in his chair to let his eyes fall over my face. "Yeah, I am. But it would've made me seem way cooler, wouldn't it?" A smirk played on his lips that caused my stomach to flutter.
I rolled my eyes, "How boring. You're telling me that fame isn't just living in big mansions with bigger parties, and romanticising doing a ton of drugs?"
"Oh, yeah, it is. Loads of coke, all the time," he said in a sarcastic tone that made me laugh. He grinned back at me, for a second, as my hands drew mindlessly over my camera. It wasn't until his arm raised to enable him to pinch his bottom lip between his forefinger and thumb as he appeared to break into momentary thought that I couldn't help but bring my camera upwards to capture it. He looked unbelievably beautiful, with his eyes drawn lazily over me in a way that made my cheeks heat. He didn't move for a second, as if more focused on my own face than the camera I held, before he gently extended his hand to me, as if requesting the camera. I handed it to him without a moment. of hesitation, my heart thumping in realisation as I did so; I'd never let anybody hold my cameras - and this was me letting him hold one of them, for the second time today. Somehow, I didn't even have to grapple with the idea that he might mishandle it, or wreck it, or take advantage of holding something important of mine - I knew he'd care for it, and so I let him hold it without any fear of the outcome.
I brought my lip between my teeth as he held it delicately in his hands, more nervous about the fact I'd so easily handed it to him than the fact he actually had it. He then squeezed one of his eyes shut, raising it upwards and causing me to flinch.
"Absolutely not," I said quickly, reaching across to try and grab it back from him. He leant back, out of my reach and my heart raced. I never ever opted to be in front of a camera - always behind it, no matter the circumstance. Attention as blatant as this made me feel overly exposed.
"Why?" he pouted, dragging out the word in a short whine, leaning back an inch or two further, "look at you, Iz."
"No thank you," I returned, causing him to lower the camera. He furrowed his eyebrows at me, before reluctantly placing my camera back in my grip. Finally, the momentary panic was over, and I tried to stifle the sigh of relief my body was aching to exhale.
After a few moments of silence had passed, he extended his hand again - this time, to find my own upon the table. Harry was one of the few, if any, people who appeared to catch how often I grew lost my own mind. He watched me, warmth and patience in his gaze, and I wondered if this effect would ever wear off; where the simplest of touches from him seemed to set my entire body on fire, but it didn't seem like it would wane anytime soon.
He spoke, suddenly, "I don't know if it helps you when I say what I think, or if it does the opposite." It appeared that he was about to initiate the conversation that we'd inevitably need to have, but I feared would shatter this bubble we'd appeared to find ourselves in since last night.
I drew one of my fingers over the raised metal of one of his rings, and he shifted his hand sideways to enable me to toy with it there, properly. I let my chin remain resting in my other hand, peering back at him, "I like hearing what you think," I told him, honestly.
A smile pulled on his lips at my words, as one of his fingers drew over mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. His eyes flickered briefly between me and our connected hands, before they settled on my own eyes.
"The last thing I want to do is scare you off," he said "I think in a weird sort of way, that's another reason why I've been a bit withholding.." he trailed off, watching my face carefully. "And I don't want to scare you by making you think I'm moving too quickly, or trying to overcomplicate anything," he paused again, and my mouth felt dry in anticipation of his next words, before he continued, "I just think... whatever this is, with you and me, it wouldn't be fair on you if I didn't tell you what you were getting into." Jesus christ.
"I don't really date people," he said, each word so gentle as it left his lips, "I don't even remember the last time that I did - properly. I don't know if you've ever seen pictures of me in the media with different people, but.." he trailed off, blowing out a breath, "none of that's ever been real. I don't think I've ever been pictured with somebody I'm actually seeing.. probably not since Stella, all those years ago, and even that didn't mean much."
I frowned at his previous statement, choosing to ignore his mention of Stella. "They put you in fake relationships?"
"It's as stupid as it sounds, yes," he nodded, "but it generates buzz. They don't really do it for me anymore.. I've had a lot of new music and been consistently touring, so they haven't really had to, but I've definitely had my fair share. The point I'm trying to make is that I'm not very good at this. I want to be, but I've sort of taught myself how to do the opposite. I haven't let myself be interested in anybody for as long as I can remember, and as a result, any potential interest always fizzled out.." he paused, his eyes landing upon our hands again, and I felt prompted to squeeze his hand gently in mine. "But that hasn't really been an option with you," he told me, pressing his lips together and tilting his chin upwards in a way that made me feel like all I wanted to do was lean forward and kiss him, there. It was crazy to me that somebody could've been unable to tear themselves away from me, like I had them - especially with it being somebody like Harry.
"And I want things to be different," he said, now, his other hand shifting to close over where ours were interlocked. "With you; because of you. I don't know what we'd call it, or what it would mean - but I don't even think it matters, right now.." he trailed off, as if realising he wanted to hear my own feelings before saying any more. My head was spinning at his words - with me, because of me. It was near enough unfathomable that he could really feel that.
The short distance from one end of the table where he sat, to the other where I did, meant that he could easily lift his arm to reach and tuck my hair behind my ear, his thumb running once smoothly over my cheek before he retracted it. He was just everything.
"I don't think I could be any better than you," I confessed, a small laugh leaving my lips, though I didn't really find it funny. "I don't exactly know what I'm doing either.." I trailed off, swallowing. My skin felt hot - I felt anxious at the mere honesty of the words leaving my mouth, even though they weren't exactly shocking in nature. "Part of me feels like my relationships haven't been very real in the past, either," I said quietly, trying to ignore the way my heart was thumping at the exposure I felt such words would bring. Not only the romantic ones, either. I stayed silent for a second, toying with his ring so relentlessly that was probably uncomfortable for him. Calvin's face flickered through my mind; as did my mother's... my father's. When I dared to meet his eye again, he was waiting, though not expectant - rather, he was patient, his expression anything but annoyed or agitated at my inability to speak. "I don't think I'm quite as good at articulating this as you are," I said, a shaky attempt at another laugh leaving my lips.
"You're fine at articulating," he returned with gentle reassurance, nudging lightly at my hand in a way that made my face warm. It was then I realised how different it felt to feel my skin heat in panic or anxiety, versus how it felt when my skin heated because of Harry - one was so blissful; like a reminder that I, he, this, was real, and one was so much more unsettling. His fingers drew over my own, "even if I have to drag it out of you," he continued, with a subtly humorous smile of his own.
I didn't speak for another second, before my mouth moved far quicker than my mind could urge it to shut up. "I'm scared," I said, in the quietest of murmurs - so quiet I would've assumed he hadn't even caught it. But the softening of his expression told me that he definitely did.
"Of me?" he asked so gently that I could've cried. He'd stated only a few moments ago that the last thing he'd wanted to do was scare me - and he hadn't. I shook my head - it was more what he symbolised for me.
"This is all so new to me," I confessed, and he nodded, his hands closing over mine again. I didn't trust myself to say much more - nor did I even know what else I would say.
"I know... it's new to me, too. And if it's what you want," he paused, searching my eyes, "then we can figure it out together. We don't have to worry about labels, or what it means.. we can just see what happens."
I wanted to do that so badly. I wanted to just be with him, without worrying - and he was offering me exactly that. I knew it would be anything but easy, but he made it sound like it could be. And I wanted it to be.
"What about the others?" I asked him, unsure of how much he knew about Elin, Pauli, and Sarah's speculations.
He chewed on his lip briefly, before shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure they'd be indifferent. I'll do whatever you want to do, Iz - we can say exactly as it is; that we're two people who like each other and want to see where it leads, or we can keep it quiet until we figure things out ourselves, a little more... it's up to you, completely," he stopped, as if reluctant to say his next sentence, "I think keeping things quiet until we figure everything out will keep you out of the media, too. I don't... I don't want this to be plastered everywhere. For both of our sakes - they can be... brutal. It's honestly better that way."
I liked the idea of this staying between us. I liked the idea of being two people who like each other and want to see where it leads. I liked the idea that this could be for us - just for us, without anybody else being able to taint or ruin it; not that I thought any of the band would dream of doing such, but I still feared things going south.
Public reaction felt like another weird obstacle that I hadn't even considered- even if we'd managed to address our own feelings, somewhat, Harry had to think about the feelings of millions more. I could imagine that stepping into even the corner of his spotlight - no matter the meaning behind it - could bring more scrutiny than I was capable of receiving. I couldn't handle that. I could barely even handle my own scrutiny. As his photographer, I'd realised that nobody really cared what I was doing, and I had a justifiable excuse to be around him - anything more, felt like a death sentence for what very little remained of my self-esteem.
I wondered if he always had to give a disclaimer when meeting someone - that if he started seeing somebody casually, he'd have to immediately up the ante for the sake of preparing them for what could come their way. Though he said he hadn't sincerely felt for somebody in a long time, I wondered if that had been a contributing factor to why he'd avoided it. I'd have been lying to say that it didn't scare me - but he was offering me an alternative that meant I could still see him the way I wanted to; if this remained just ours, nobody else could ruin it.
I'd kept that sentiment for as long as I could remember - if I held things close to my chest, out of the sight or knowledge of anybody else, they couldn't ruin it; if I didn't let anybody in again, they couldn't ruin me. But I'd never shared that with somebody else - I'd never shared something private between us both; not like this.
I was broken from my contemplation when a large plate was set down between Harry and I, bringing my attention back to our surroundings. A smaller plate was placed in front of each of us, for us to clearly serve ourselves, and I was suddenly reminded of how hungry I was. Harry and I's hands separated, causing my skin to feel oddly cold at the loss of contact. I leaned back in my chair for a second.
"Is this where I sign my life away to you?" I asked him, causing him to laugh, lifting the solemnity of our conversation. He reached forward to stab his fork into the array of breakfast food that sat between us; a sharing plate of pancakes, some eggs, hashbrowns, and more. I watched him as he cut into a pancake, and I reached over to place one of the eggs on my own plate, beginning to cut it.
"You already did that when you took this job," he returned with equal wit, reaching for a bottle of maple syrup that was situated at the side of the table. "I think the most important thing is just that we're honest going forward - no matter what this is," he paused, bringing his fork to his lips to take a bite of his food, silence falling between us for a few brief seconds as he chewed, "no more hidden feelings; not to each other. I feel like we've made a habit of not telling each other how we really feel... we don't have to tell the others anything, but I don't think we should keep things from each other."
I blew out a quiet breath. I knew that was coming. But I also knew he had a point. It wasn't like I was a liar, or had any plans to maliciously deceive him, but I wasn't quite sure how me, and being honest and open would coincide. Harry made it seem so easy; though he'd been withholding at the start, admittedly, it was like once he'd decided what he wanted, he wouldn't let his emotions or hesitations get in the way - he was going to say what he wanted to say. That felt like a skill I hadn't come even close to mastering.
And as difficult as it would be, I wanted that too. I'd never wanted it before, but I did now. I wanted to be enough for him, even if I wasn't sure how to be. Though my mind was inclined to race a million miles a second in anxiety; it somehow didn't matter when weighed up against the positive - him. If I could keep spending time with him; being with him - if I could somehow manage to get this right, then the rest of it wouldn't matter. It wasn't like I knew what went into healthy relationships; the intricacies - how much you should really share, or disclose, because I'd lived my life doing the opposite. But with him, it felt like I could learn.
His words from the night before rang in my head, because I didn't know what he was doing to me either; I didn't know what I felt, or what this was - but I didn't want it to stop.
"Deal," I told him, watching his eyebrows raise a little as if pleased at my response. I watched as his eyes fell to my plate, where I'd been cutting up the egg I'd taken. I couldn't ignore how light everything felt all of a sudden, like things could be easy, and okay, simply because we wanted them to be. I liked him, so, so much - and he liked me. Maybe that could be enough.
He suddenly narrowed his eyes at my dismantling of the food on my plate, "Are you one of those people who only eats egg whites?"
"The opposite, actually. I hate them. I only eat the yolk," I told him, watching him bite back an almost mocking grin. "What?"
"Oh, nothing," he raised his hands upwards in a playful surrender, but continued to mock me with his eyes, with a teasing look that could've made me shudder. He blinked suddenly, as if remembering something else. "Actually, if we're laying everything out and being honest, I should probably tell you that Mitch knows that we hooked up.." he paused, leaning back in his chair to eye my face, a smirk beginning to pull on his lips. "Both times," he clarified.
I stared at him blankly for a moment, ignoring the twist in my chest at the reminder of what had gone on between us, as I realised that sort of made sense - I'd caught funny looks from Mitch more than once, and though it was hard to tell if his silence and demeanour were simply just the way he was; he always seemed to look at me like he knew something I didn't.
"Surely that means that the others know?" I frowned, and Harry shook his head, finishing his mouthful.
"Mitch wouldn't tell anyone - he hasn't even said anything to Sarah. I didn't tell Pauli or Elin, either, so if anybody knows anything then they've just picked it up on their own."
"Elin said they can all tell because of how you've been acting," I grinned across at him, that previous conversation in my hotel room with Elin and Pauli feeling far lighter now that the tension between Harry and I had been officially cut through.
"So, they do know?" Harry returned, raising his eyebrows.
"Not because I told them," I shrugged, my grin unwavering, "just because you're not a very good actor."
"I'll work on it," he nudged my leg with his own, under the table, his grin beginning to mirror mine. "You can teach me - you were pretty good at pretending you weren't into me."
"Who said I was pretending?" I furrowed my eyebrows, relishing in the way he broke out into laughter, causing him to nudge my leg again.
"I knew you were," he returned, as I grabbed a pancake and placed it on my plate.
"How?"
"Aside from the sex thing?" he quipped, narrowing his eyes in a playful manner, which I mimicked.
"Mhm, aside from that," I spoke with the same teasing tone that he did, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as he reached for his coffee cup. He paused for a moment, catching my eye as he sipped his drink.
"I knew for sure after Elin's birthday," he said, causing my heart to flutter. "Outside your hotel room." It was almost ironic that he'd say that, considering it was that night that I thought, for sure, I'd done it; I'd ruined any chance of anything more with him, because I'd pushed him away for the last time. "I knew then that I needed you to come here - to get away from everything else for a couple of days, where I could find out, for certain."
It was weird to imagine that somebody could've paid me so much mind - that I could preoccupy somebody's thoughts as much as they preoccupied mine. I did my best to bite back the ridiculous grin threatening to spread across my face at his declaration - the fact he'd put so much thought into me, whilst I'd been relentlessly tormenting myself over him, was simply absurd.
"Did you find out?" I teased, "For certain?"
"I think I did, yeah," he teased back, a boyish grin on his lips.
"So.." I trailed off for a brief moment, pondering, before I continued, "we're laying everything out? Being honest?" I asked, watching Harry eye me suspiciously as he took another bite of his food. I noticed how his tongue poked out when he did that, somehow also prompting a smile to grow on my lips.
"Maybe I'll regret that idea."
"What's Cinema about?" I asked, watching his eyes briefly narrow in my direction. I folded my arms, leaning back in my chair as if to tease him. Deep down, I think I'd known from the second I heard the first line - but I hadn't dared to confirm it, until now.
"You," he said, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair to mirror my position. I was shocked at how readily he'd admitted it, and my lips parted in surprise. He grinned at me, then, "Medicine is, too, but I guess that one's a bit more self-explanatory," he stopped, eyes scanning my face as if seeking a reaction to relish in. "See how easy that was?" he asked me in a teasing tone, miming the wiping of sweat from his brow.
I stared at him, unable to shift the smile from my lips at his admission. I hadn't been so crazy for all of my feelings, after all.
"Your turn," Harry said, a cheeky expression beginning to overtake his features as he now folded his arms in the same manner I had. "What are you always staring off into space, endlessly thinking about?" he asked, as if he'd already managed to figure out the answer.
"You," I responded bravely, my heart thumping. as I did so, only amplified by the way he dropped his jaw in a playful manner at my reply, but I caught how his cheeks seemed to redden the tiniest bit at my words. That was little satisfying to watch, admittedly. I couldn't even believe the word had left my mouth; that the truth had left my mouth without hesitation in his presence.
"See, Iz," he grinned, satisfied, leaning over to stab at the egg white I'd discarded on my plate with his fork. "I think this is gonna work out pretty great."