I knew that for the sake of Harry and I's relationship, there were a million and one things that I'd been keeping trapped inside of myself, that I needed to confront. But it didn't mean that I wouldn't avoid doing just that, at all costs.
I feared I was making a mess of things. It felt like from the moment I'd met Harry, I'd only ever been able to give him half of the story; I'd only ever wanted to. But now, I feared it would be to our detriment. I'd never wanted to know someone so deeply, and to be with them with so much intensity, but to somehow maintain the mentality I'd always had, of keeping things at the surface level, where I felt safe.
It was beginning to hit me all at once. This wasn't me; I wasn't this. What I was building with Harry was not something I could've ever dared to envision for myself - every element of my surroundings, being here, in another country, with a boyfriend, in a relationship that I found myself actually wanting to devote my all to; none of that was able to co-exist with the person I was. I knew that, deep down, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to be aware of that fact, and I didn't want to admit it.
But Harry made me feel like this could be me, and this life could actually be mine. Being with him had changed so much, but as much as I wanted to believe that it had - it hadn't truly changed everything. I still wasn't able to share parts of myself, or to fully place all of the trust in him that he was worthy, and deserving of. I couldn't be as transparent as he deliberately was with me. Harry had confided in me - he, too, found it hard to trust, but he persevered for the sake of him and I. I couldn't even give him that in return.
I feared him growing to resent me because of it, but I couldn't behave differently. I couldn't open up, and I couldn't share the experiences that had made me the way I was - and on top of that, the more and more that I fell for him, the more everything felt like it was just spiralling further and further out of my control.
I'd had to let a lot of things go inside of myself to let myself be happy with Harry. It was like I didn't have a choice - it hadn't been an option for us to go on the way we were, because it wasn't enough. I needed to be with him, and we'd never have functioned sustainably if we hadn't given in when we had. In letting myself be with him, I had to accept that my emotions were taking the lead, rather than the rationality I had always believed myself to possess. It was entirely irrational, to fall for him, but I'd never have been able to stop it.
Harry made it easy to forget that I wasn't capable of being in love. The concept was a write-off for me - it always had been; it sent harrowing chills rocketing along the length of my spine; it made me genuinely uncomfortable. But Harry made it far too easy to underestimate just how impossible it all was. To be with someone, absolutely, was vulnerability. And every time I felt like I'd taken a step in the right direction, I was drawn straight back.
I knew I couldn't do it. I'd known from the day I'd realised that what I felt for Harry went beyond pure sexual attraction, that it couldn't end well. I was convinced that a relationship like the one I was now in, was the worst possible thing I could allow to happen, because I'd ultimately send it up in flames. I couldn't be the person I needed to be. I couldn't love him like he deserved to be loved. But against all of that, I'd fallen for him like I'd never fallen for anybody else.
Each day it grew scarier. Every time I instinctively leaned into his arms, or felt his lips press to my hair; it got worse. I was growing more and more attached to something that shouldn't have been mine. I wasn't good enough, I wasn't worthy like he was. I knew he swore that I was, and when he did, I almost believed him - almost, but never in actuality. It terrified me that I now found myself in a position where I didn't even want to entertain the idea of losing him, but it felt inevitable. He'd leave, or I would. It would be a mess, and it would be entirely earth-shattering, and I needed to avoid it at all costs. I knew it was selfish, and I knew it wasn't fair, but I couldn't dream of walking away from him.
Harry was the best thing that had ever been mine. I needed it to stay that way.
I wasn't sure I'd ever make the internal confrontations that I needed to. They ran far, far too deep, extending even beyond this relationship. They were crippling, and I knew he could sense them. He couldn't have known what they were, but I knew that he knew me. I could sense in him, just like he could in me, the tiniest shift in demeanour. It wasn't stark, or remotely blatant - that wasn't who Harry was, not with me. In fact, he'd barely shifted at all prior to disappearing into the bathroom; but I knew him. He wasn't rash, or possessing an explosive temper, but I knew he was perceptive. He was attentive.
I shouldn't have ever told him that my mother had reached out. That was my first mistake. If I hadn't said such a thing, we could've stayed how we were, unbothered by outside interferences or past traumas. But I'd opened it up, and now I had to scramble to close it. I knew from the moment the words had left my mouth, that she'd called, that I'd screwed things up. He didn't want somebody broken - how could he? How could he ever want me with everything that came alongside me?
I'd tried to undermine it by dismissing the situation, but I knew, deep down, he hadn't bought my insistence that she'd never reached out, in the end. I knew he'd noticed when I'd said too much about my sister that one night in the hotel bar, and then again, the other day, when I'd been unable to stop myself from so obviously shutting down when he'd asked about my sister, and then my parents. I knew that he knew there was so much more to everything, and I could only continue to pray that somehow, he'd set it aside, and let it go.
I knew it didn't make sense. With everything in me, I believed that I wasn't worthy, nor was I capable. I saw this ending in burning flames, with my heart even more shattered than it was, to begin with - but I couldn't stop it. I ached, and yearned that he'd set it all aside, and that somehow, I could too, solely so that we could keep being the way we were. I didn't want to lose it, just as much as I feared its continuation. I didn't want to lose him, I didn't want to lose us.
He was all I could ever want. And though I believed that he couldn't ever want me as I truly was; broken, and unfixable - I realised, that if he were to be those very things, I'd still want him just the same.
I'd gone into overkill with psychologically torturing myself by the time Harry finally resurfaced from the bathroom. I noticed, immediately, that the tension in his shoulders appeared to have lessened, and his eyes weren't quite so glazed over - he didn't seem to be so lost, somewhere else.
I remembered that morning, what he'd told me; that he'd always look after me - I just had to let him. I drew my lip back into my mouth, fearing that I'd blown my chance to take up his offer, just as I would repeatedly go on to do.
He was dressed to go out on stage, now, clad in a tight-fitting t-shirt and a pair of flared trousers. It was tame, compared to his usual attire, but he still look incredible, as he always did. I remained with my legs crossed on the couch, beginning to debate if I could remain clad in his hoodie for the show. It felt like his arms were around me, even when they weren't. Even when, now, I feared he'd have decided he didn't want to put them around me.
My eyes were on him, just waiting. Was this where he finally exploded in anger? Was this where he told me I was just as worthless and pathetic as I already believed? Had his focused writing given him the epiphany that I, indeed, wasn't good enough for him? That I was treating him badly, and not being forthcoming? I knew that wasn't Harry, but I knew what others had historically thought of me. I feared he could ever think the same.
He sat down on the couch for a mere second, beside me, before he began to shuffle his position. He lay his head on my lap, wrapping his hand around my knee as he found a comfortable position, and I heard him blow out a breath. I felt a pang in my chest.
"What do you want to do tonight?"
I was facing his temple, gazing down at him as his head nuzzled against my thigh. I could've breathed a sigh of relief. Though he'd never have indicated that he was even capable of spewing hatred towards me, I was convinced everybody was. He continued to prove that he wasn't like anybody else.
"After the show?" I frowned. "Aren't you going to write with Pauli and Mitch?"
"I'm gonna cancel," he replied, "I'm burning myself out."
I raised my eyebrows, surprised to hear him admit that. I wanted to believe that that was all it was. He turned his head, then, and moved to lay on his back so that he could peer back up at me.
"I think I'd prefer a night with just us," he said, meeting my eye differently from how he had before. He was letting it go. Again.
My fingers moved to push the stray waves of his hair from his face, letting his eyes burn into my own. I leaned down to press my lips to his own, my chest immediately feeling less tight as I felt him kiss me back, once, and then again.
"Whatever you want to do," I returned, truly unbothered. It didn't matter if I was with him.
I couldn't bring myself to find the energy to get changed before the show; it never really mattered, but I still usually made an attempt at pulling myself together. I'd showered and applied makeup in the late morning, and I figured it could last me until I went to bed, now. Harry's hoodie, paired with jeans, felt like it would suffice. My headache was still lingering - definitely worsened by my incessant thinking - but I was feeling mostly better, physically, sparing some definite tiredness.
Harry's spirits definitely appeared to have lifted by the time we made our way out to the main backstage area. I couldn't have been thrown by some sort of mood swing, because he hadn't been acting particularly troubled before - it was more of a sense, than any actual coldness from him. But I didn't dare press him, in fear that he'd press me, in return.
We were barely walking in a straight line through the hallways; whether he was grabbing and pinching at my waist and causing me to dart away, or hanging off my shoulders in a way that caused our pace to slow.
"Careful, you're gonna make the room spin again," I almost whined, leaning my head back against his chest as we walked, now in sync, with his arms wound around me to hold my back to his front.
"God, is it still hurting?" he asked, softly, referencing my headache as he lightly pressed a kiss to the top of my head. My arms bent upwards to let my hands grip his forearms, where they met at my chest. "What happened to the girl who drank straight whiskey on the night we met?"
"I think she was just trying to keep up to impress you," I admitted, laughing.
"Yeah?" he teased, clearly amused by my statement, "'cos that's definitely what won me over, yeah? The drinking? Not anything else about you?"
"I don't know," I laughed, feeling his hand run over my hip. We stopped, as we reached the area directly coinciding with the stage, and I hopped up to sit on an equipment box. Harry immediately moved to stand between my legs, his hands tracing over my sides. "Do you ever think about if things would be different, if we hadn't met before tour started?"
"No, I don't," he said, bluntly, and when I rolled my eyes at his response, he sent me a boyish grin. "I don't know how they'd be different, Iz, I think we'd have still ended up together."
I bit back a smile, "I do, too, but - I don't know. Everything felt so much crazier with the fact we'd met before."
"Kind of makes it feel like fate, doesn't it?" he said, his fingertips tracing over my ribs in a way that made my stomach flutter. He looked at me, thoughtfully, for a moment, before he continued, "Elin would definitely call it a sign from the universe."
"We should pay more attention to her astrology," I told him, "the universe seems to have been on to something."
"Mhm," he hummed, his eyes scanning over my face as I gazed up at him. I wound my arms around his torso, encouraging him to lean further into me, and he obliged, pressing his body fully between my legs to embrace me, his arms looping around me. He exhaled, burying his face into my neck as I let my eyes close, relishing in the warmth of his body, mixed with the gentle scent of his cologne. I wasn't sure that I really liked hugs, before I knew his.
It felt like we were addressing things that were bothering us both, without directly addressing or saying anything at all. It was like a gentle surrender in deciding we wouldn't talk about it; any of it - we wouldn't discuss any of my behaviour, or any of his. We weren't to linger on how he'd struggled to find the words to say to me, like I had, equally, with him. I wouldn't have had the strength to confront him even if I'd wanted to.
My arms tightened around him, butterflies arising in my stomach as I felt him kiss my neck, once. I'd needed this more than I'd realised. It was bringing me back to the ground; it was a reminder that the world wasn't ending - that we weren't ending, solely because of temporary miscommunication. Right now, we were fine. We were fine.
I saw Sarah and Mitch surface from over his shoulder as I drew my fingertips over the nape of Harry's neck, feeling him exhale against my skin.
"Hi," I smiled brightly at the pair of them, as Harry still hung onto me. He craned his neck around, then, to see his friends, and released his grip on me. He opted to sit on the box beside me, instead, his arm moving to snake around my waist, my stomach still stirring in adoration from our previous interaction.
"Hey," Sarah grinned at the pair of us, her eyes flickering between me and Harry. She looked at me, then, "Does your head still hurt too?"
I laughed, "Yeah. This show is gonna be rough."
"Try being me," she groaned, "I think I get the most noise. Every time I hit the drums earlier, I thought I was gonna faint."
I turned to Harry, who was speaking to Mitch about something Sarah and I both hadn't been paying attention to.
"We can just do it next week," Mitch said, shrugging his shoulders. I glanced between the pair of them, realising that Harry was likely cancelling their plans for the evening. Mitch held his hand out, and Harry grabbed it in a prolonged handshake. "You need some proper sleep, H."
I was glad somebody else felt the same. Harry only nodded, pressing his lips together in a tired attempt at a smile. I let my hand rub over his back, still feeling slightly on edge from the spiral that had taken place in my head earlier on. I hoped we were okay.
Pauli and Elin eventually surfaced to join us, and before I knew it, it was time for the show to begin. I took some more photos of the group of them, before they were due to head on stage.
I went to head out to the front, turning back in search of my boyfriend, only to find his eyes already on me. I kissed him on his lips, and then on his cheek, as we slowly separated, his hand lingering on my own for as long as possible.
We'd be okay.
The show went on as normal; an electric crowd with an equally electric performance from the entire band on stage. I'd never grow tired of watching them, and I was going to miss it, when I had to be away from it. I hated to think about how quickly that time was approaching.
Harry performed both 'Cinema' and 'Medicine', as proposed earlier on, and I was sure I'd never heard the crowd so loud. Those songs, in addition to 'Complicated Freak', where I'd have thought they'd barely had a chance to learn the lyrics, seemed to be the loudest ones; even with such a short time since release - or in the case of the other two songs, without them being released - they screamed along to every single word as if it was second nature. Harry, too, appeared somewhat mesmerised by it; stopping for a moment to draw back from the mic, and halting his own singing to hear the crowd's, instead.
It was always endearing, to watch him be impressed, or shocked by the scale of support he received. He was the most grateful, dedicated person to his career, but it wasn't his fault that after so many years, such vast support was kind of the norm for him. But, here, he seemed blown away, staring out occasionally between lyrics to assess the noise; removing his earpiece to fully take it in. My headache was somehow wavering, and it meant I could take it all in, too, as Harry repeatedly met my eye in an attempt to share the awe he was experiencing.
"Fucking hell," he mouthed to me, at one point, in the middle of 'Cinema', shaking his head and opting to hold the microphone up in a gesture to the crowd. I only nodded at him, a wide grin on my lips. He wasn't going to win, volume-wise, and he knew it. And he loved it. Just as I loved watching him perform these songs that made me feel such a buzz; just as I loved watching him perform, generally. I understood why it was so important to him, because it seemed to come so naturally. He'd hold his mic up at just the right time; he'd prance about the stage, covering all corners of it individually, all in good time. He was amazing at this - it would've been a crime for him to spend his life doing anything else.
Harry and I were the first to leave the arena, after the show, and it meant that we ended up in a car on our own. Somehow, even with his security car trailing behind, he managed to convince our driver to stop in the middle of the city, on a Saturday night, to get some pizza. There was hesitation in the driver's face; he'd obviously been hired for a specific job, and given specific instructions - but, eventually, he obliged, and followed Harry's directions through the city.
"My first time in New York, I tried this place," he told me, as I watched excitement overtake his features. "You're gonna love it."
"High praise."
"We haven't even had pizza since we got here, Iz. It's criminal," he said to me, before leaning over the seat to give another direction to the driver. Finally, the car drew to a halt, and Harry quickly reached for his bag, pulling a large pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and pulling his hood up.
"Are you sure you won't be recognised?" I asked him, nervously peering out of the window. This particular spot wasn't hugely busy, but the overall street definitely was.
"We'll be quick," Harry shrugged, thanking the driver and assuring him we'd only be a minute or two. He then urged me out of the back of the car, and I saw his security car pull up behind, confused looks on their faces at the diversion. But Harry didn't seem to notice, nudging me forward into the pizza shop.
We got two boxes of pizza - one, he immediately handed to the driver who had waited so patiently outside of the shop for us, and he kept one on his lap. We managed to move in and out of the shop, with Harry undetected by any people around, and just as Harry had said; we were a minute or two, at most.
"I'm starving," he groaned, as the car neared the hotel, and as the smell of the pizza carried through the car, I realised that I was, too. I hadn't eaten properly all day from feeling so sick in the morning, and I was now very hungry for the food he had described.
We made it inside after what felt like forever, and we headed upstairs.
"Try it," Harry urged me, laying the pizza box down in between us and watching me intently. I obliged, reaching into the box to retrieve a slice of pizza, taking a bite. I wasn't sure if I was just massively hungry, or if it was actually as incredible as it tasted, but my eyes widened immediately.
"Oh my god-"
"I know," he grinned, an excited look on his face as he reached for his own slice. "I'm glad I didn't go and write."
"For the pizza?"
"For the pizza," he returned, quickly, a playful look in his eye. I couldn't help but move toward him, a further pang of relief, and warmth, filling my chest when he immediately reached out for me, hooking my knees to seat me on his lap. I let my lips meet his jaw, once, softly, before I drew back to look at him.
He looked like he was about to say something; his lips parting to form the words, only for him to press them together, once more. He didn't say anything - he only draped his arm over my legs to secure me in his lap, his thumb occasionally drawing a mindless line over my outer leg, as we ate.
I couldn't lose him. As terrifying as it felt, with either outcome, losing Harry just didn't feel like something I could overcome. That was, undoubtedly, the very sort of reliance that I'd always feared developing - but I couldn't rationalise it. All I knew, was that I couldn't keep lying to him, but that it was equally impossible to divulge all that I'd withheld. Somehow, I had to strike a balance; an in-between, that could keep us afloat. Because the only thing worse than honesty - the only thing - would be to lose him all together.