I was somehow the last one to make it downstairs - I knew I was running behind when the elevator doors opened to reveal Harry standing there, alone, eyes fixed on his phone. He looked up as I stepped out, a bright smile suddenly overtaking his features. He was wearing one of his loosely buttoned-up shirts - of course, barely buttoned - with a pair of flared trousers that hugged his legs so perfectly. It was moments like these that reminded me just how lucky I was that somebody like him, was interested in me.
"Oh, there you are," he stepped forward to meet me, "hi."
"Hi," I returned, as the distance closed between us, and the deserted hallway allowed him to reach forward and take my chin between his forefinger and thumb so that he could kiss me, briefly. I was reeling, and it was hard to distinguish whether it was rooted in what had just happened upstairs, or if it were simply the effect Harry always seemed to have on me. "Where are the others?"
"Just in the lobby, waiting for the car. I was gonna come and see where you were," he said, then, and I caught his expression flicker, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He still held my chin between his fingers. "What's wrong?" he asked. What? Was I that easy to read? Did I somehow walk down here with my stress plastered across my expression, begging him to question it? How did he pick up that something was wrong within a matter of seconds?
"What? Nothing, why?" I returned, miming confusion and choosing not to say anything about what had happened. I wasn't sure how I'd even go about that; telling somebody your problems like that. If Grace hadn't grown up beside me, practically involved in all of my problems, I doubt I'd have been able to tell her much, either - I didn't know how to do that. I didn't want to do that.
"I don't know," he replied, his hand moving to trace over my jaw in a way that made me shiver. His eyes searched mine for a moment. "Are you sure?" No.
"Yes," I forced a gentle laugh, my hand raising to wrap around his wrist, by my face. "I'm fine." He stared at me for another second, and I leaned in to kiss him again, hoping that would be enough to move us away from the topic that I absolutely didn't want to address right now.
We made our way out into the lobby, where the others were waiting. Harry's hand briefly pressed to the small of my back as we walked to join them, before he withdrew it; he was only doing as I'd asked, but my body felt weirdly cold without his touch against it. Elin's eyes were the first to meet mine, an almost expectant grin on her lips as Harry and I surfaced together, and I only shook my head, biting back a grin of my own. As soon as I locked eyes with the others, I knew Elin had told them - though I wasn't sure exactly what, because she didn't actually know anything other than the fact Harry and I had been together in my room - but the way their eyes all repeatedly carried between Harry and I, told me that they were pretty much onto us. And that funny feeling - not dread - filled my chest again; that sort of thrill, or bliss, as I thought about Harry and I. Maybe I could forget all of it, just for a couple of hours. Maybe it would be different this time.
I couldn't help but yearn to feel Harry's arm wind around my waist as we walked to the car, but the flash of cameras the moment we walked out of the door reminded me why, even if the band were to know everything, it couldn't happen.
Even in the back of the car, I yearned to feel his hand extend across my leg, or to reach for my own - it was weird how quickly I'd become accustomed to being with him, despite the fact I'd been without him for far longer. I looked over at him from my seat across from him, and he met my eye, sending me a quick wink that caused my chest to flutter.
If everybody knew about Harry and I, nobody had alluded to it, though I was sure if any sort of social cue was there to pick up on, I would've missed it - my mind was entirely elsewhere. I was, then, endlessly glad that I'd left my phone in my hotel room, to stop my thumb from hovering over that number waiting in my text messages. But it was like my mind was trying to compensate for the lack of access to my phone, by making it near enough impossible to focus on anything else. I'd joined in the group conversation on the way to dinner, but I hadn't felt like I could contribute much - I couldn't really focus on a thing they were saying.
Each time I'd drift away to consider the problems I had waiting for me when I got back to the hotel, I'd catch Harry's eye, and he'd bring me back, with a gentle furrow of his brows, or a slight tilt of his head, as if seeking confirmation that I was okay. And I was; I would be, or it felt like I could be - maybe.
Our car was parked directly outside the restaurant, with Harry's security - of course - parking directly behind us. They got out of the car to surround us as we made our way inside the restaurant, somehow successfully preventing any more camera flashes, but they didn't pass the entryway to the restaurant - only the group of us emerged, and Harry's security returned to their car. I noticed a waiter moving to lock the door, and I realised that the restaurant was almost entirely cleared out - there were a few tables; couples, or the odd trio, and then there was us - and I remembered, of course, they couldn't let Harry Styles walk into a packed restaurant; let alone without being accompanied by his security team.
I noticed Sarah had the brightest smile on her face as she discussed something with Pauli, as we sat down at our table, and both of her arms wound around one of Mitch's, his hand resting casually in her lap. I'd noticed, recently, how much I enjoyed seeing other people enjoy themselves. It sounded trivial, but it was true; I'd always sort of envied those who were enjoying themselves as they navigated life, simply because I wasn't - but I was realising that I loved watching good people enjoy their lives. Every time I'd see Elin double over laughing at something ridiculous Pauli had said, or I'd see the most prominent of smiles that Mitch was capable of, solely because Sarah was beside him - or if the group of them dissolved into fits of laughter even in the middle of one of the shows, I loved seeing it. Even when I'd encounter Harry's fans, at shows, taking photos of the groups of them often without them even noticing - to see the looks on their faces, like being there in that moment was the peak of their very existence, there was nothing quite like it. I couldn't help but wonder if being here, with these people, with this job, was the peak of mine. If it could stay this good.
"What're you drinking?" A familiar, low murmur sounded against my ear, and I silently turned to meet his eye. Harry had ended up seated beside me, at the very end of the table - I hadn't been paying enough attention to distinguish whether that had been deliberate, by him - or Elin, most likely - or if he'd ended up there by chance, but I was glad to feel his presence beside me. Part of me was tempted to throw this whole 'publicly taking things slow', and 'keeping it subtle' thing out of the window and lean completely into him, but I didn't quite have it in me. But I figured, in an environment like this, my resolve wouldn't last long. I knew, more likely than not, that everybody knew - but I equally didn't want to make any assumptions, or jump the gun.
"I don't know," I replied, bringing my lip momentarily between my teeth in contemplation. "What about you?"
He shook his head, "I'm not. I shouldn't, really - with the show tomorrow." It made sense - Harry had been pretty relaxed with his drinking, on top of his lack of sleep, so far, but it had seemed to catch up with him a little in the past day or two. I understood him wanting to refrain from making it any more difficult for himself.
"Izzy, you'll have wine, won't you?" Elin said, then, cutting across the rest of the table's conversation. She sat diagonally across from me, beside Sarah, and opposite Pauli, with me being sandwiched between him and Harry. I looked up at the sound of her voice, drawn away from Harry for a moment.
"Yeah, why not?" I shrugged, leaning back in my chair to notice how Harry's arm had extended across the top of my seat. Smooth.
"Okay so that's - one, two, three, four.. I know Mr Vocal Cord Preservation over there won't be having any," she said, playfully gesturing to Harry, only for him to raise his hand and direct the raise of his middle finger at her. I laughed at how she'd already predicted Harry's refusal to drink, tonight. "Mitch?" she called across, and Mitch waved his hand dismissively.
"I'll join vocal cords over here," he joked, reaching over to grab Harry's hand momentarily over the table. Elin rolled her eyes at the pair of them, before a waiter surfaced, and Elin ordered a bottle of wine that I'd never even heard the name of.
"You won't like that," Harry's voice sounded quietly beside me again, and I turned my head, frowning at him in confusion, before realising that he was referencing the wine. A boyish grin was already spread across his features, his eyes flickering to my lips for a second, before he continued. "It's sweeter than you like."
I narrowed my eyes playfully in his direction. "We don't all drink neat tequila like you do," I returned, watching him press his lips together in a playful motion as he leaned back in his chair. My eyes fell over the bare skin of his chest peeking through the upper section of his shirt, an achingly smug smirk on his lips.
"Okay," he shrugged, my eyes following his movements. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Iz."
And, of course, he was right. He leant back in his chair, still, as the glass was set in front of me, his eyes goading as he knew he was absolutely right, without a doubt. The conversation was continuing easily among the rest of the table, without contribution from either Harry or me, and I took one sip, attempting to mask the grimace on my expression, but I knew he'd caught it, anyway.
"Oh, baby," he cooed, pouting dramatically at me, completely and blatantly mocking me with a victorious grin as I set my glass back down with a roll of my eyes.
"Don't say a word," I told him, raising my hand up to his face as if to push him away from me, as he continued to tease me, the hand he'd rested on my chair now subtly tracing over my hair.
The majority of dinner was spent laughing - genuinely laughing - alongside the others - it was fun, despite all of my reservations about being able to set everything aside for the night - I'd managed, for the most part. That sort of thing seemed to come a lot easier with Harry next to me.
But it didn't stop me from drifting away, at points. When a single moment passed where I wasn't preoccupied with the conversation of my friends - the slightest moment, then I was taken back to my anxiety. I was distracting myself, and that could only be temporary; I knew that, of course I did, but it was working - somewhat. It was tiring, to raise my guard back up after finally finding a way to drop it an inch or two, but my mind wouldn't rest.
She was my mother. I only had one chance at having one of those, just as I had with my father. I'd spent what felt like a lifetime apologising to him, for being the way I was; for being everything he detested. I wondered what it would be like to be apologised to, instead, from the only person left who could give that to me, properly. Out of the pair of them, she was the only one left - my mother was the only one who could make an attempt at righting things. He was gone - and though she was still alive, for years she'd been gone to me, too. She was practically as dead as he was, because she had to be - if I let myself think about all I'd never gotten from her, it would break me. But that was equally temporary - because I knew she had more power than I'd ever want to admit, and that could include the ability to piece me back together - maybe, just maybe - at last.
"Iz," Harry's voice sounded from next to me. I wasn't sure how long I'd zoned out for, but my face turned hot immediately. A distraction, please. This isn't working, this isn't working. "Are you sure you're okay?"
I swallowed. I wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. I cleared my throat, then. "Sorry, yeah. I think I'm more tired than I realised," I said, turning to face him with a genuinely exhausted sigh. It just wasn't so much physical exhaustion. His eyes scanned over my face, faint concern on his expression.
"Do you want us to leave?"
I shook my head firmly, "No, no. I'm okay, I promise," I told him, attempting to make my tone sound convincing as his fingertips traced over my shoulder, where his arm hung over the chair. I wanted to kiss him, then - but I knew literally everybody at this table was aware of what was going on between Harry and I, and at this moment, nobody was paying attention to us - the longer I sat here, aching for him to rest his hand on me and provide me with that touch I'd become so quickly accustomed to, the less I felt that desire to keep things quiet between the pair of us.
"You're ridiculous," he murmured, then, that beautiful smile on his lips as he took my chin in his hand, enabling him to lean in and press his lips to my own. Of course, he could tell exactly what I was thinking; of course. My stomach fluttered just at the fact he'd picked up on exactly what I was wanting, and my unnecessary hesitation, and then at the realisation he'd just kissed me in front of everybody. He'd kissed me for a mere second, not a moment more, but naturally, it hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Oh my god, at last," Elin threw her head into her hands dramatically. "I was wondering when we'd address the elephant in the room."
"Honestly," Pauli shook his head, piping up from beside me and mocking exasperation, "I'm just offended you told Elin and not me, Izzy."
I furrowed my eyebrows, drawing back into my seat properly. "What? I didn't tell Elin anything."
Elin laughed, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, she didn't. I just wanted to win the bet," she said to Pauli, causing me to bury my face in my hands. I heard Harry laughing from beside me, his hand tracing gently between my shoulders as I was leant forward. I'd yet to even know the details of this bet of theirs, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to.
"Hold on," Sarah said, suddenly, her eyes comically wide, "are we the only ones who didn't know about this?" She gestured between her and Mitch.
"Actually," Harry pursed his lips, as if stifling laughter, "Mitch has known everything, the whole time."
Sarah's eyes somehow widened even further, her jaw dropping. "Mitchell Rowland, are you serious?!"
"In my defence," he said, leaning back in his seat to raise his hands in mock surrender, before shooting a glare at Harry, "I haven't been updated in several days." I turned to Harry, whose eyes were fixed on his friend in front of him. So he really hadn't said anything, even to Mitch, after we'd agreed on discretion at breakfast.
"Sarah, Pauli and I have been telling you about this for weeks," Elin said, waving her hand as she took a bite of the food remaining on her plate.
"I didn't realise you were serious!"
"Deadly serious," Pauli returned, his tone jokingly firm. "Elin, at least we can rest now."
"I haven't slept in weeks," Elin deadpanned, causing us all to laugh. She then grabbed the bottle of wine from where it was positioned at the end of the table, and reached over to top up our four glasses - as she reached mine, which had barely been touched from the start, I felt Harry pinch teasingly at my hip in acknowledging the fact I was going to have to drink some more of that horrible wine.
"Oh my god, are we doing the toast?" Sarah perked up, suddenly, lifting her glass. I frowned. The toast?
"Of course we are," Pauli returned, causing Sarah to squeal with excitement.
"I wasn't even here for the last one. I've been waiting my whole life for this moment," Elin cut in, lifting her own glass. I looked around confused, to see Mitch exhaling and shaking his head, like some kind of parent supervising his annoying children.
"What are you guys talking about?" I asked, glancing at each of them before my eyes landed on Harry, who had that gorgeous, lazy grin on his face as he rolled his own eyes, his exhale mirroring Mitch's.
"They do a toast, every time two people get together on tour," he said, his tone playfully reluctant. "My first stage manager got married to someone else from the crew a few years ago... and then we had Sarah and Mitch..." he trailed off, gesturing to the pair in front of us, before his eyes shifted to mine, as the others continued to chatter excitedly.
"And now there's you and me," I finished his sentence, gazing up at him.
"Yeah, there is," he returned, his lips twitching into a smile. "It's all very intense; very proper," he said, playfully narrowing his eyes as if to stress the importance of our situation.
"Right," Elin cut in, hovering over her seat to enable her to extend her arm and hold her glass across the table. "Oh my god, I can't even do it. I'm too excited. Pauli, you do it."
"Okay, okay," his tone sounded equally excited, and my body was practically buzzing. I couldn't believe how happy I felt in this moment - even with everything going on. I was surrounded by a group of people who were excited to see us together; a group of friends who felt sincere excitement for each other. I couldn't quite believe that I found myself here, at all. We all held up our glasses, as Pauli took a deep, dramatic breath, before finally speaking: "To Love on Tour."
"Oh my god," I almost groaned at the pun, but I couldn't ignore the fond twist in my stomach as all of our glasses clinked together. Everybody then downed their drinks, and I immediately grimaced, handing my glass to Harry beside me. He took it from me as if he'd expected me to do just that, and tilted his chin back, downing my drink on my behalf as Elin, Sarah, and Pauli started to applaud very loudly. Mitch was leant back in his chair, laughing at the group of us, most likely partially at how quick Harry had been to break his 'no drinking' rule in order to chug my drink for me.
Love. It had been mentioned rather flippantly - of course it had - nobody had dropped the term in an attempt to ground the conversation, or to intensify it. Nobody meant all the connotations that came with it - it was just a word. But it was making my heart thump, and my stomach turn, nonetheless. It was just a colloquial term, meant to get a point across, here - but the word had always been so heavy for me. I couldn't love somebody - not really. Somebody couldn't love me - not at all.
I was sure the only person I'd ever even exchanged the words with in my life, was Grace - and I adored her with absolutely every fibre of me being - but did I know what love even was? Did I even know how to feel that?
My mother didn't cross my mind on the car ride back to the hotel - but I'd begun to wonder if me being so certain that she wasn't occupying my thoughts, meant that she was, indeed, definitely occupying my thoughts. The way that this was bothering me was different - because I wasn't back home, miserable, encountering more misery - I was here, with Harry, with friends, loving every moment. I'd had a great night, and it still wasn't enough.
I desperately hoped it wouldn't always be this way. It seemed every time things went my way, they'd find a way to become more tumultuous; to worsen. I wanted to feel as happy as I had tonight, without the added complication in the back of my mind - without that torturous contemplation. I wondered if letting her back in to apologise; if healing, was going to be the only way to do that.
"Hey," I leaned over to Harry, who sat beside me in the back of the cab, and he tilted his head in my direction, bringing his hand to my leg as he waited for me to continue. I wrapped my arms around one of his. "Are you tired?" I whispered. He shook his head. "Can I come back to your room, for a bit?"
His fingertips squeezed gently at my leg, then. "It's crazy you think that I'd ever say no," he murmured a quiet response, his nose nudging gently against my cheek, before I drew back, sending him a small smile. Not only did I really not want to confront the problems waiting for me when I made it back to my room, where I knew my phone would be laying on my bed, but I also really wasn't ready to be apart from him, just yet. More than anything, I'd have rather spent more time with him - and after weeks of denying that to myself, I wanted to try being upfront about it now.
I wasn't sure why I was surprised to find that his room was identical to mine. Part of me had thought he'd have been put up in some kind of royal suite, but then I quickly realised he'd have never allowed that if we weren't all to receive the same.
As he clicked the door shut behind us, something felt so beautifully real about it; about us, tonight. We'd felt like a couple, that evening - it felt like everything between us had slotted into place. I had him, and he had me, and that was arguably all I'd wanted from the moment I'd first lay eyes on him in London. This was my life, now - it didn't have to be like it was, before. It could be so, so much better.
"That was fun," he remarked, pulling his shoes from his feet by the door, before he walked ahead, further into the room. He slipped his jacket off his shoulders, placing it neatly over the back of a chair as I moved away from the doorway, myself. He turned to me, then, as I approached him, and his arms shifted to wrap around me in a way that made my whole body warm. I wound my arms around his neck as he drew me to him, the tension immediately leaving my body as we embraced, and my face buried into his chest. I'd never have known that something as simple as a hug from somebody could make you feel like every problem had just evaporated from your shoulders, but it somehow made sense that Harry had the ability to do that. His lips pressed against my hair, momentarily, before I somehow willed myself to draw away from his embrace, and sit down on his bed. He watched me as I shuffled my position on it, raising an eyebrow.
"I think they've given you a better bed than mine," I declared, laying back against his mattress and letting my head hit one of the pillows, letting out a deep exhale.
"Yeah?" his voice came from above me, before it levelled as he lowered his position to meet mine, his body hovering over my own. "You'll have to stay in this one, then."
I let out a short laugh, as he turned to lay on his back, too, beside me. I let my head turn to watch him, a deep exhale leaving his own lips, his chest rising and falling to match, as his eyes fluttered closed for a second. I watched him, like I was sure I could spend the rest of my life doing, if I had the chance - silently studying his side profile, having been unaware of just how obsessed you could become with the features of somebody else; that loose strand of her that had fallen to rest onto his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw, the freckles adorning his tanned skin - they were enchanting.
I found myself turning my body to rest my hands upon one of his shoulders, leaning in to press my lips lightly to the line of his jaw, without even really meaning to, but the smile tugging on his lips in the moment that followed made me glad that I had.
"Can I say something?" he said, then, opening his eyes.
I watched him, still. "If you'd like to."
"That night, at Ally's office. You know... when you took this job; when we first saw each other again," he said, catching me by surprise. I furrowed my eyebrows at his unexpected recollection.
"I remember," I returned, gently, silently recalling everything from that night. His face when he'd seen me; the bewilderment in his eyes as he'd ushered me away, and accused me of pulling some kind of ploy on him for even taking the job offer, pleading with me not to take it. I was surprised that he'd chosen to bring this up.
"I've never apologised to you for it," he said, tilting his head slightly to meet my eyes. My chin rested on the tops of my hands, on the outer part of his chest, nearing his shoulder, our faces perhaps an inch apart at most. "I've wanted to, but I haven't. I'm sorry I did that to you. That night, and for the weeks that followed," he said, and I could feel my heart practically thumping out of my chest as I searched his eyes. Sincerity. He'd been wrong, and he was admitting guilt; he was admitting fault, without me having to beg him to. He was apologising of his own volition; not mine, or anybody else's. And that was something I'd been seeking from relationships far more than I'd wanted to admit.
I didn't even know what to say. He watched me, as if hesitating to continue; but he did, ultimately. He pushed through.
"I shouldn't have treated you like that, and I hate that I did," he said, as my hand drew upwards to rest upon the side of his face. He pressed his lips together, then, his eyes almost glassy as he searched for the words to continue, "I was scared." I traced a gentle line with my thumb over his cheek, my eyebrows furrowing at his sentence.
"Scared of what?" I said, my voice quiet, my heart racing.
He blew out a breath, then, as if what he was about to say was taking a lot of strength from him. But he was doing it - he was saying what he almost didn't want to, because he had the strength to; that kind of strength that I wished I had.
His eyes met mine, weakening me with their intensity just like they always did. "My biggest fear," he said, then, pausing for a moment of silence, "is losing everything. Everything that I've worked for - with all the sacrifices I've made... my career is everything to me, Iz - I love getting to do this, so, so much, that I never want to be without it. I'll do anything to keep it. I know you think I'm crazy, but if that means losing sleep, and going from one album to the next; one tour to the next, then I'll do it. I'll always do whatever it takes to keep this - I've stopped having a personal life, I've stopped doing anything but this," he said, pressing his lips together once more. "But after I saw you, in that office - it was the first time in a long time I've felt like I didn't have control."
I didn't even have words to reply to him, simply in awe at the words leaving his lips. Control. That was what it had been about for me, for so, torturingly long - wanting to believe that I had everything in my hands; that it all happened on my terms, and my terms only. And when it didn't, I'd lose my mind. And that was what I'd felt with him, too - like I couldn't control my feelings, or myself - everything was out of my hands, and it terrified me. Letting somebody see you - really see you - was petrifying. It was vulnerability; it was openness. And I wasn't sure I had it.
"I don't know how to explain it, but - the night we met," he said, "I don't know. It felt like that wasn't going to be it; like it couldn't just be that one night. But I needed it to be, for the sake of keeping control," he bit his lip. "I didn't get your number, or anything, because I wanted to forget about you. I wanted to pretend like it had never happened, because I already knew it was out of my hands. It's why I acted so stupidly after you got here; why I was so hot and cold. I already knew it was so much more than sex, and I-" he paused, and all I could do was listen, mesmerised. "I've never felt that."
He continued, "The thing is, I've been doing this since I was really young," he spoke softly, as if fearing anything louder would disrupt the tranquil bubble forming around us. "I've been hounded by the media since I was sixteen. People have used me.. they've lied, they've played games, they've gotten close to me only to go on and sell a story.." he paused, again, biting his lip into his mouth. My hand remained rested upon the side of his face, my thumb continuing to draw barely traceable circles across the smooth skin of his cheek. "I get so scared of letting people in, sometimes. I get so scared that it'll all be a lie, or it'll all be pretend. And I think sometimes I lose sight of what's real," his voice dropped to a mere whisper, his eyes searching mine desperately as he made his confession. "And with you, it's all so real, Iz," he whispered, now, his hand raising to land upon my own, on his face. "So I pushed you away, and when I realised I couldn't do that, I tried to have you around without being with you. But I already think I can't be without you, now."
He was so perfect that it hurt. I understood what he meant more than I'd ever be able to verbalise. I was beyond infatuated; I didn't even have the words for it. He'd been so open, that I couldn't help but admire and fear it, equally, at the same time. For him to divulge his thoughts to me; for it to have been eating away at him that he'd hurt my feelings so many weeks ago, despite the fact we'd left that behind us, made my heart swell. He cared - it felt like he did, really. He was so good, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to comprehend it.
It broke my heart to think he'd been hurt so badly, that he was scared to form new relationships; to lose control - that he was scared of losing everything. And then I realised, I felt it too. I felt just that. But, somehow, to see someone that I felt for, so greatly, in that sort of pain - it felt crippling.
Harry had mentioned at the potential transience of his career before; he'd stressed the importance of keeping connections, continuing to make and push out music, continuous interviews and press, continuous appearances. But now he was explicit in stating the way he really felt about it; the fear, that one day it could all just go away. I couldn't imagine how much it ate away at him - the impact it had on him; it made sense, now, that he'd been so weary of me.
"You're not crazy," I told him, my palm flattening against his chest. "But you don't give yourself enough credit. You work so hard, and you're so, so talented, Harry. And I've seen you - every night I get to watch you, having the time of your life performing, and it shows. I can feel it from where I'm standing, and so can every person in that building," I continued, "I know I don't know as much about how this all works, as you do, but I see those people, and how they love you, and everything you do. It isn't just going to go away. Not for you. You're so much more than that." He watched me, his eyes burning into my own as his hand remained rested on top of my own, his ring-clad finger gently tracing over one of mine.
"And this isn't pretend," I told him, a smile fighting its way onto my lips as I watched him nod, slowly. I laughed, quietly, "I think we both knew from the start that it wasn't, as much as we tried to act like it was." A tiny smile pulled on his own lips, as I spoke. I exhaled, my eyes drawing over his face, in front of me. "The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you," I admitted, my voice barely intelligible in volume. He shook his head, then, drawing my face to his own.
"You won't. You couldn't." Truthfully, I couldn't help. but fear that ruining things was unavoidable, when it came to me. I found a way to ruin everything, as I'd always been told. But every time I looked at him, I knew how badly I didn't want to do that, this time.
My inclination would've been to run - I didn't want to hurt him, or for him to hurt me, and so the best thing would be to stay away from him. But I couldn't. It wasn't like that, with him - I needed to be with him. Like he'd said, it didn't feel like it could even be any other way, now. I'd become scarily accustomed to being with him - the alternative just couldn't be an option.
Silence fell between us. I looked at him, and remembered how in LA, he'd told me that all he wanted was honesty. No more hidden feelings, he'd said, and he'd been holding up his end of that far more than I had. I didn't know how to even approach it, but I knew he didn't deserve to be kept in the dark. But I couldn't, I couldn't. There was so much that I couldn't say, that I wasn't even sure where I'd begin. I didn't know how to tackle this - but the more I thought about it, the more I was aching to try, no matter how much my head was screaming at me not to.
"My mum reached out, today."
His head turned, his cheek pressing to the pillow. He looked at me, now, and I could tell he didn't know what I was talking about. Of course he didn't - why would he? Just by telling him this, I was being caught in my own lie I'd told him so early on, when he'd told me he was close with his family - and I'd said that I was, too. It had been a blatant lie.
I already didn't want to say any more - I wanted to backtrack, urgently, but I'd started, now; I'd said it. And he'd definitely heard me.
He didn't say anything. I knew he was just waiting, silently, for me to continue speaking; to explain what I meant. But, I could no longer find the words.
I closed my eyes for a second, blowing out a breath in an attempt to compose myself. "I got a new phone. She hasn't been able to contact me for a while - she was trying to figure out how to reach me." I could feel my heart beginning to race, and I wondered if he could sense it. "Grace called me, earlier, and told me she was trying to reach out."
He didn't say anything for a moment more, and I couldn't tell if I was aching for a response from him, or for him to pretend he hadn't even heard what I'd said, and to change the subject.
"How long has it been?"
I brought my lip between my teeth. Four years. Four years ago, I'd left and I hadn't looked back. I hadn't spoken to her since, and I had never planned to, again - I'd wanted to leave her, and everything that came with her behind me.
"Quite a while," was all I said, finally tilting my head to meet his eye. That enthralling green peered back down at me, as if trying to sus out exactly what I was telling him. When he didn't speak again, my heart began to race even quicker. Honesty. "Four years."
I watched his eyes widen for a brief second, before he corrected his expression. His eyes searched my face. "What happened?"
And that felt like where my new openness and honesty would end. I couldn't do this. I couldn't tell him everything - I just couldn't. I didn't have that in me, as much as I yearned to put on a brave face - it wasn't an option. I hated that he'd just confided in me, and I didn't have the strength to do the same; but I couldn't change that. This was how I'd always been, and I could try to chip away at it and make progress, but this was far too much.
"I just moved away, for Uni, " I told him, my stomach turning. "We weren't close, so when I started a new life, neither of us felt the need to reach out again."
"So why is she reaching out now?" he asked me, and I bit my lip.
"That part, I don't really have an answer to."
He continued to look at me, as if he didn't entirely buy the answer I'd given him. Harry was smart, and incredibly good at reading me, but I hoped he'd just accept what I'd told him - because if he didn't, I certainly wasn't capable of telling him any more. Not now - if ever.
I knew he knew there was more. I could feel it, in my gut, that he'd seen through the 'losing touch' excuse I'd given him, but he didn't press me. He didn't mention the lie I'd told him before, that I was sure he would've remembered - he didn't confront me, at all. His gaze was soft, as it held mine, his hand suddenly moving to stroke against the side of my face, tucking my hair behind my ear.
His voice was gentle, as if sensing the weight behind what I'd just told him, "You left, and you grew up. That's okay."
My lips parted a little at his answer, unable to hide the stir of emotions that sentence caused within me. My stomach was twisting into a horrible knot just at the topic of our conversation, but it somehow felt slightly eased, just at that. He didn't say anything else, as if he knew it was a dangerous territory - he was thoughtful, like that, not wanting to push too far, or take too much.
I nodded, then, attempting to tear myself from my thoughts and bring a smile to my lips, like I wasn't on the verge of spiralling. I sat up for a moment, reaching upwards to tie my hair back into a ponytail in an attempt to bring myself back down for a second - to ground myself in a simple movement, and collect myself, my composure.
"Come here," he murmured, condemning the momentary distance I'd created between us, and opening his arms to beckon me into them. I obliged, laying back down beside him, feeling his arms wrap around me in a way that made it feel like maybe - just maybe - things would work out.
Leaving and growing up, as he'd said, hadn't broken the hold they had on me. Tonight, somebody who valued me, had apologised for causing harm - Harry had chosen to apologise and admit fault, and it healed something in me, when he had. What if she could do that, too? What if my mother could be sorry - genuinely sorry - and what if she could fix it?