I took a few more photos as we waited for Harry's turn to go on stage. I'd gotten down from the equipment box to take them, before sensing his growing nervousness, and choosing to stop for a moment. His eyes were fixed through the narrow side entrance to the stage, where we could catch a glimpse of the opening band as they performed.
I stood between his legs, leaning back against the box and allowing his arms to wind around my shoulders, pulling me to him. He didn't say anything; we only watched, silently, the back of my head resting against his chest. I couldn't even imagine what was going through his head, as I felt his chest rise and fall in gentle, shaky breaths.
"I think I'm a bit excited, now," he said, then. I tilted my head.
"A bit?"
"I don't know. It's hard to tell."
I breathed out a laugh, "You'll know when you're out there."
It was only once the opening act was off the stage - after Harry had calmly and politely congratulated them for their set, his demeanour refusing to hint at his anxiety - that he began to grow more physically restless. He stood up, pacing back and forth a little, until the others surfaced from their dressing rooms, individually.
"Anyone else feel like they could throw up?" Elin asked, inviting a unified mixture of exhales, and laughter, from everybody else. I watched as Mitch moved over, reaching for Harry's arm to pull him into a hug. His hand landed on the back of his head, as they tightly embraced, and my heart warmed. Everybody here cared about him so much.
"Okay," Harry said, after a moment. He swallowed, blowing out a breath. "Let's do this," he declared, extending his arm into the space between everybody, for them to lay their hands on top of his. They did this before every show.
I took a number of photos as they did, as Harry peered around at all of them; at his friends, and bandmates. He tilted his head at me, gesturing for me to lay my hand down, but I silently shook my head. This was their moment, with one another - with, or without me, they'd be here. I wasn't crucial to this operation like they were. I caught the narrowing of his eyes in response, but he soon dropped it. I took my pictures, as they spoke words of motivation to one another, and I watched. I was desperate not to grow too caught up in it all; I couldn't.
The mere buzz of this crowd was louder than the deliberate roaring applause of all the previous ones - this show was going to be huge. I said my goodbyes, and 'good luck's to each of the others, watching as Ally and Stella surfaced to do the same. After it seemed everybody was done speaking to Harry, the band made their way on stage, leaving me, him, Stella, and Ally. I heard an unbelievable roar of applause as the crowd laid their eyes on the band, buzzing with anticipation as the pre-recorded introduction began to play, and I watched as Harry caught a deep breath. He exhaled, pacing, swinging his arms back and forth to stretch them, as he always did before a show. He was jogging on the spot, murmuring to himself, as he would before every show - but this time, he wasn't as collected as he typically was. I knew he was going to be amazing - it would only take the first five minutes on stage for him to realise that he would be, too.
I needed to go out there, but I didn't quite want to leave his side. Ally was telling him just how amazing he was going to be, but I wasn't sure he was really listening. His eyes were glazed over, as the music proceeded to build, and I reached for his arm. I sensed Ally taking a step back to join Stella, as if to allow Harry and I to have our moment.
"I'll see you out there," I told him, softly, meeting his anxious eyes. They flickered over my face, panic in his gaze as I informed him I'd be parting from him - only for a moment, but I knew the feeling. I let one of my hands raise to cup his face, and he immediately leaned into me, his cheek pressing to my palm as one of his hands grazed my waist.
"Kiss me," he murmured, then, his voice quiet - almost urgent - as he pleaded with me, gently. He was so nervous, I could practically feel it radiating from him.
I obliged without a moment of hesitation, letting my lips press briefly to his own, feeling him tilt his head to kiss me again, and again. Each kiss was short, and equally gentle, but I could sense every piece of emotion from him. I drew my thumb gently over his jaw.
"You were made for this," I reminded him, beginning to lean away only to feel his hand on my waist hold me in place. He tilted his chin, and I kissed him again, meeting his eyes. "I'll see you in a minute," I told him, and he only nodded. It wasn't often I had to do the majority of our talking - it wasn't often that Harry didn't know what to say, or remained overly quiet in my presence, but I understood it, now. I only wished he could've been as certain as I was.
His eyes didn't leave me as I walked away, blowing a number of kisses in his direction as I did. The moment I was faced with the scale of the crowd, I sucked in a breath - I understood, completely, why he felt so intimidated. But I also knew that I was right, and that he was going to be incredible.
You'd have never known how petrified he'd been, from the moment he made it on stage. He ran from each side to the other, a wide grin on his lips and his arms raised in the air, peering out at the crowd. And then he stopped - his arms by his side, as he turned his head, peering out at the entirety of the stadium crowd, awe in his expression. I watched as he shook his head in pure disbelief, his mouth agape in a wide grin as the roar of applause undoubtedly broke through his earpiece.
The moment he began to sing, it was deafening in there. I had my own earpiece, connected to everybody else's, but with the volume of the crowd, it couldn't do much - their singing, their screaming, their chanting, was like nothing I'd ever heard. It appeared Harry was experiencing the very same thing, peering back at the band and sharing elated, shocked grins with them all; peering over at me, his eyes saying a million things all at once.
By his second song, he'd dropped his shoulders, but he was still in a state of undeniable disbelief. He'd miss an occasional line, leaning back from the microphone to take it all in - his eyes glassy as he'd scan them over the entire crowd. There wasn't a single person standing still, all of them appearing to recognise his overwhelmed expression and opting to cheer even louder.
In the first break between songs, where he'd usually speak, he didn't even get the chance. The crowd, instead, cheered, and screamed at the top of their lungs, rendering him completely speechless - any attempt for him to raise the mic and speak over them was fruitless; every single person was on their feet, applauding him. His fans, too, seemed to recognise the magnitude of this event for him - and they didn't hesitate to show it.
I counted three minutes, before I was in far too much awe to count any further - three minutes, straight, where the entire crowd stood on their feet applauding him and preventing him from speaking. I watched him purse his lips, blowing out overwhelmed breaths and shaking his head, simply watching - that was all he could do; watch, as everybody showed their appreciation. I'd known it would be magical, but I'd never have been able to picture it quite like this. This room; this huge, unbelievable room, was full of nothing but love for him. I'd never heard or seen anything like it.
"This is, um-" he finally began a sentence, only to pause when he was cut off, completely, by the eruption of cheers again. He laughed, breathy, and emotional as he drew the microphone away from his lips. He shook his head again, pacing about the stage in search of what to say, or do. He stopped, pressing his lips together and letting his eyes land on me. My chest fluttered. He needn't have said anything - I could sense it. It took everything in me not to beg him to come over so that I could hold him, and kiss him in that moment, with how emotional he looked - so elated, so overwhelmed; nervous, and excited, all at once. His gaze lingered on mine, tilting his head slightly as if to reference the magnitude of the situation.
When he was finally able to continue, it was electric. Every so often, he'd stop, mid-song, or instrumental, to just peer around. With the size of the stage being so much larger than he was used to, it took him a short while to use it all - to actually move about, and cover it; but within a few songs, you'd have never known this wasn't just a regular size show for him. He was a natural at it, as anyone would've predicted - he was, truly, born for this.
As 'Adore You' drew to a close, with the crowd screaming every single lyric as if their lives depended on it - the lights on the stage turned a new, unfamiliar shade of purple. I narrowed my eyes, before I realised that this was the point of unfamiliarity I'd located in the setlist, earlier - this would be 'LNT'.
Harry met my eyes, a grin on his lips as he moved his arms in time with the introductory beat. He raised his eyebrows once, briefly, cocking his head and nodding it quickly at me, as if to gesture for my attention. The mere eye contact made me giddy, just as he brought his microphone to his lips.
"Things haven't been quite the same," he sang, letting his eyes close for a second. "There's a haze on the horizon, baby, it's only been a couple of days, and I miss you," he paused, tapping his foot against the stage, tilting his head from side to side. He opened his eyes, glancing back over at me as he continued, "When nothing really goes to plan - you stub your toe or break your camera," he paused, leaning back with a wide grin on his lips, "I'll do everything I can to help you through. If you're feeling down, I just wanna make you happier, baby," he drew away from the microphone, dancing around at the brief instrumental. "Wish I was around, I just wanna make you happier, baby."
I met his eye, bringing my lip between my teeth in an attempt to stifle my grin. I couldn't. This feeling was like nothing else. He was making my heart race, and I was hanging onto his every word - just like everybody else here was.
"We've been doing all this late night talking about anything you wanted, 'til the morning; now you're in my life, I can't get you off my mind," he sang, bringing the microphone back down and tilting his head back, relishing in the roar of applause. Even with a brand new song, everybody was hooked - as was I, just in another way. I was hooked on him, so unbelievably, and so deeply. My feelings for him seemed to only continue to grow, and I felt like I could burst. 'LNT' meant 'Late Night Talking' - and it was about us. It made my whole body ache. I wanted to be everything for him that he wanted to be for me - that he was, for me. I wanted to make him happier at any opportunity. The 'I can't get you off my mind - I won't even try', that he'd added, had made my heart melt in an instant.
Every time I thought this show had hit its peak, it only continued to outdo itself. The excitement and admiration from the crowd didn't waver, even as the hours passed - as the show neared its end, and Harry went to do his typical introductions of his band; they still barely let him get a word out. I watched, as he stopped trying to speak, now several songs deep into his performance but still undoubtedly in shock at the crowd's continuously loud reactions. They cheered, and applauded, drowning him out in an instant. I caught him wiping his eye, quickly, with his hand, shaking his head at the sustained applause in a way that made my heart warm. He looked so happy.
"I love you, thank you," I watched him as he spoke, not into the microphone, but still, as he peered out over the crowd. He blew kisses toward everybody, continuing to shake his head, emotional laughter breaking through as he peered at me, and the band, and then the crowd again.
I'd never felt so much in seeing somebody else be happy. I was happy too, there was that, but this was his moment. And I loved it, just like it was mine. I didn't feel jealous, or resentful at seeing him live out his dream - I felt as rewarded as I would be living out my own.
Just when I thought that was all there was; just when I thought it couldn't get any better, as Harry belted out one of his most emotional ballads into a captivated stadium - I felt a drop of water land on my bare skin. I tilted my head upwards, squinting at the darkness of the sky, only to feel another droplet land upon my face. I looked back to the stage, my eyes widening before I saw Harry's head, too, tilted upwards to gaze at the sky. Then, another array of cheers sounded throughout the stadium - it was raining.
I wasn't sure what the professional protocol was in a situation like this - it appeared that there wasn't one. Everybody on stage looked just as bewildered as I did, peering over at each other in a mixture of elation and disbelief. Everybody was having the time of their lives; Harry dropping to his knees, bringing his hands over his face, as he took it all in. I'd never forget this night; ever - I knew, for sure, none of the others would, either.
We were drenched, all of us, when the show finally ended. I ran backstage in search of some shelter, just as Harry ran through the curtain. A wide, elated grin was on his lips, his hair soaking as it stuck to his forehead, his clothes sheer with water. He reached for me immediately, a short laugh leaving his lips as our freezing skin pressed to one another's. I watched the others appear behind him as he brought his arms tighter around me, squeezing me as he buried his face into my neck.
"You were amazing," I told him, softly, letting my fingers push into his dripping curls. My veins were pumping with adrenaline, I could only imagine that his were even more heightened, as I kissed the side of his head. He breathed out, refusing to lift his head from me, then, as I felt something hot against the skin of my neck, just as another shaky breath left his lips.
Just as he'd tried to stifle it on stage; it wasn't working. He was crying.
I squeezed at him, pursing my lips as he continued to cling onto me, and I saw as Mitch moved over towards us. His hand landed on Harry's back, before he began to embrace him, his arms winding around me, simultaneously. And then Sarah, and Pauli, and Elin all moved to do the same - everybody was pulled into a tight, mutual embrace, everybody with teary eyes. I looked up, peering at each other person, individually, even when they didn't look at me. I felt so, so much for this group of people, with so little time left to experience them.
The group of us began to sway, then, and I heard small eruptions of laughter, before everybody was jumping around. The adrenaline was still there - undoubtedly - as everybody began to laugh, and cheer, jumping around whilst still embracing one another. There were tears in just about everybody's eyes, and I began to wonder what that was like - to let that emotion show. To relish in it, and to just feel it.
Harry was laughing, then, wiping at his eyes as he unwrapped himself from me and began to jump around with everybody else. Mitch grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug and murmuring something into his ear, as Harry's eyes, still glassy, softened, as they then locked onto mine.
I didn't know what to say to him. I was in awe of him, and how he'd taken everything in his stride. He didn't need my praise, but I wasn't sure that I was capable of administering it sufficiently, regardless.
"Did you like the song?" he asked me, a playful smile on his lips as his fingers laced through mine, our hands swinging back and forth as we walked back to his dressing room.
"I loved it," I told him, watching his eyes light up. I was so caught up in the emotion of the evening that I'd almost lost count of all the individual things I'd been so fascinated by - the beauty of his new song being one of those things. "My new favourite."
"You've said that about all of them," he grinned as we continued to walk, raising his hand briefly to tuck a damp piece of my hair behind my ear.
"Well, it's true," I defended myself with a shrug, watching him shake his head, amused. I meant it - every time that I got to watch him, now, perform songs that he'd so blatantly admit were about me, it made me dizzy with adoration. There was no feeling quite like it; it was like nothing I'd ever felt, or that I could really describe. It was everything, all at once.
I stopped in my tracks, his hand still laced with mine. He tilted his head at me as I leaned upwards, pressing my lips to his, murmuring a quiet 'thank you'.
"For what?" he returned, his mouth still against my own.
"Being you," I said, earnestly, feeling his nose nudge against mine as he reconnected our lips, my heart practically thumping out of my chest. It felt like I'd seen him tonight, somehow, even more than I ever had. I felt honoured to be able to share this experience with him. Our kiss broke, and I watched as his eyes fluttered open, flickering over my face in a contemplative movement. Whatever he was considering saying; he didn't say it.
After we'd finally showered and changed in his dressing room, finally bundling into some clothes that weren't drenched from the rain, Harry's phone began to ring on the table beside me. I'd been packing up the last of my things, as Harry did the same, preparing to leave the venue.
"Who is it?" he asked me, and I realised that he was inviting me to check his phone for him. The trust he had in me didn't fail to shock me. I hesitated before I glanced at the screen.
"It's Mitch," I told him. He lifted his hand out, gently beckoning the phone, and I passed it to him, watching him as he answered it and brought it to his ear. I wasn't sure how he could look so unbelievably attractive in doing something so simple, or how I still wasn't remotely close to being used to it.
He leaned back against the table, smiling as Mitch spoke. I watched the curve of his lips as he replied, taking in every detail. He hung up, breathing out a laugh.
"He wants to take me for a drink - well, he and Pauli do," he said, a grin on his lips.
"That'll be fun," I returned, finally packing the last of my things into my bag. I turned back to him, "tonight?"
"Mhm," he hummed his response, his eyes on me as I moved around the room.
"Why don't you want to go?" I asked, sensing some hesitation from him. He tilted his head.
"Well, you and I have plans," he said, and I tilted my own head to mimic his, in response.
"We do?" I frowned, confused.
"I take the very few evenings that we get to lay in bed, doing nothing, very, very seriously, Iz," he said, playfully firm as he looked at me, humour in his gaze. I laughed.
"Go with your friends," I grinned, as he closed the distance between us, where I leaned against one of the other tables in the room. I turned to reach for my bag from the table, feeling his body press against mine from behind me in a way that made me ache. I tilted my head back against his shoulder, feeling his lips ghost over my temple and his hands push under my sweatshirt, feeling especially drawn to him in that moment, combined with all the emotions of the evening. I'd have been lying to say I hadn't been aching to get back to our hotel room for many reasons; simply to spend the night there, doing nothing with him, or to be doing something else, in particular, but I also wanted him to go and have fun.
His hand flattened against my stomach, and I exhaled. If he were anybody else, I'd have been shaking with self-conscious anxiety at a touch like that, but when it was his hands on me, all I could do was relish in it. I loved how he touched me, everywhere - I loved how his eyes would glaze over whenever he did, even though I wasn't looking into them, now - it didn't even cross my mind to feel insecure.
I could feel him pressing against me as I still faced the table. I blew out a gentle breath between my lips, hit with how badly I wanted him in that moment. I drew my hips back, barely, against him, feeling him exhale against my hair, and that was all it took to drive me insane.
I'd dropped to my knees in front of him without so much as a second thought, watching his eyebrows raise in a mixture of surprise at the haste in which things had escalated, and in what seemed like approval, nonetheless. His hand fell to my hair, immediately raking his fingers through it as I pressed my hand against him, and watched how his eyelids flickered. This might've been one of my favourite sights in the world.
"Oh my god, look at you," he murmured, the rasp of his voice enough to stir a reaction in me. He drew his hand from my hair, over my cheek, to my chin, letting his thumb trace over my lips. He drew my bottom lip downward, barely, with his thumb, and I watched his own lips part in reaction to his gesture.
As he drew his hand back to my hair, I let my lips ghost over his lower abdomen, nudging his t-shirt upwards. I traced over the fern tattoos that were inked there, sensing how his breathing pattern would shift as he hitched in a breath, causing his muscles, there, to contract. Every detail of him was so effortlessly beautiful.
I slid the button of his jeans through, gently edging them downward and sensing him suck in another breath. It was hypnotic, to see him like this; it could never grow old.
"You're killing me," he said, then, causing me to glance up at him. The moment our eyes met, I watched him tilt his head back in heated frustration, bringing his lip between his teeth. I bit back a satisfied grin, leaning to press my lips just below his navel and hearing him administer a short inhale, again. Every inch of his skin felt so incredible under my touch; it was moments like these where he felt more real than he ever could, to see him so vulnerable and so intense with emotion for me, but somehow, simultaneously, every movement felt so surreal. He was too perfect; he was ethereal, it didn't make sense. He seemed to transcend everything I thought I could ever pinpoint about him; or about anyone. Any categorisation wouldn't do him justice.
A knock sounded on the door, causing me to quickly spring to my feet. Harry muttered something I couldn't make out, toying urgently with his button to try and pry his jeans closed, again. I could see an undeniable flush in his cheeks, as I was sure there would be in mine.
"Just stay here, I'll answer it," I told him in a whisper, almost stifling a laugh at how frustrated he looked. He blinked, quickly raking his fingers over my hair which I assumed would've been out of place from moments before, before he nodded. I moved over to the door, pulling it open, to see Sarah standing there, a bright smile on her lips.
"Hey," she said, warmly, "did Harry already leave?"
"No," I shook my head, "he's just getting ready."
"Well, since the boys are all going out, Elin and I didn't want to leave without you. Are you ready to go back to the hotel?"
I tried not to be obvious in my expression. "I need to get the last of my stuff, but I can meet you by the exit in a couple of minutes?"
"Okay, cool," she smiled, walking away from the door. I closed it as I watched her disappear, and I turned back to Harry, who appeared somehow even more frustrated than he had a few minutes prior.
I absolutely didn't have time to finish what I'd started, and he knew it. I moved back towards him, throwing my arms over his shoulders as he pulled me to him.
"I'm sorry," I whined, still finding slight humour in how bothered he was. He hummed, peering down at me.
"You will be," he warned, with a playful grit of his teeth, but there was humour in his tone. I bit back a laugh, leaning my body against his - I could feel his arousal, still, and it was only provoking mine, but I'd already agreed to leave; I couldn't get caught up. He drew his hand over my hip, "I didn't even get my turn with you." I bit my lip at his words.
"At least I get to go back to a private hotel room," I teased, then, watching his eyebrows furrow as I referenced how - despite the fact it would never compare to the feeling of his hands on me - I'd have the opportunity to unleash my own sexual frustrations. He let out a groan, huffing as he tilted his head back.
"Cheers for that, Iz," he shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm as I couldn't help but laugh, pecking his chin, and jaw, with my lips, "now I'll be thinking of that all night." It was crazy, having this effect on him, but I loved the feeling.
"Get out of here," he said, then, playful as I reached for my bag. "Please, before I fucking lose it."
I left him, reluctantly, and headed back to the hotel, elated. It felt implausible that every day I spent with him was somehow even more blissful than the last, but it was true - there wasn't a second in his company that I regretted.
He wasn't out particularly late. I wasn't exactly sure what time to expect him back, but by the time he'd arrived, I'd turned all of the lights off, barring one small lamp in the corner of the room to make it easier for him to navigate his way around. I heard the door click open and closed, very gently, as he attempted to avoid making any noise in case I was asleep. I was close to it, yes, but I wasn't, quite yet.
I saw his tall figure at the end of the bed, as he stepped further into the light. I lifted my head from the pillow to let him know I was awake.
"Hi, you," he said, in his familiar drawl, pressing one of his knees to the bed to crawl toward me. His lips met my shoulder, and I could smell the faint remnants of alcohol on him as he buried his face into my neck, pressing his body to my own.
"Did you have fun?" I asked.
"Mm, I think I drank too much," he confessed against my ear, "I can't stop thinking about tonight."
"You were incredible," I told him, pushing my fingers into the curls on the back of his head.
"Thank you," he murmured, drawing back to meet my eyes with his bleary ones, "I'm so happy, Iz. I want to feel like this forever," he paused, "with my career... with you..." he stopped, then, bringing his hand to the side of my face. He searched my eyes, then, in a way that almost made me nervous. My fingers drew continuously through his hair, as he appeared to contemplate his next sentence.
"I have you, don't I?"
I felt my stomach twist as he asked me the question - it was layered, I knew it was, with a far deeper meaning than the briefness of the sentence might've alluded to. He was looking at me with drunken, gentle eyes - almost pleading with me. Every moment with him felt so incredibly right, but there were always others, where it felt like I'd catch a glimpse of reality. He was asking me.
I wanted the answer to be 'yes'. I wanted every part of him; I wanted to be everything for him. I didn't want there to be cracks in our foundations, but they were inevitable - because I withheld; I lied, and I omitted. He knew everything about me that there was to know - that was what I liked to believe. But, in actuality, he could've only known half. I kept so, so much of myself locked away - he didn't know who I really was, or where I'd really come from; he didn't know the life I'd actually lived. He didn't know all that was wrong with me, or every mistake I'd made. He didn't know of all my never-ending failures, or the reasons why I lived my life the way I did. He'd just accepted me without knowing a thing, and somehow, it terrified me even more.
I wanted him and I, as a pair, more than I'd ever wanted anything. But I knew he was seeing through me. I knew he wasn't stupid, or a fool, and I knew he could see just how much I was holding back. But I couldn't relent; I didn't have it in me to tell him everything I'd kept locked away. I didn't want him to know me that way. Every day that passed with Harry and I being together, went against everything I'd ever held true; that I was incapable of something like this. I couldn't be everything I wanted to be for him, and I'd known that from the second I'd laid eyes on him - but he didn't seem to realise it, just yet. He didn't seem to understand how little I could really provide.
I tried to push it all aside, every day, for the sake of how happy he made me. I continuously tricked myself that this was the life I could lead, with him, though I knew, deep down, that it wasn't. I wasn't made for this, or for him. He would repeatedly let it go; the moments of tension when I was caught in a situation that could unveil some truth, or the way I'd tense up at any remotely sensitive topic. I knew he caught it, every time, but he let it go. I, somehow, believed that we could go on like that. But it was hurting him - it had to be - brushing it off when I'd hastily change topics, or when I'd shut down at the wrong kind of question. I wasn't being fair in my drawing back, and my inability to be as open as he was.
I wanted him to have me. I wanted to be his, fully, and unashamedly. I wanted him to know me, whilst simultaneously wanting him to know none of me. It was torturous.
Being with him turned everything on its head - all of my plans, and everything I'd laid out. Every moral I'd forced onto myself was defied by how much I felt for him. This was never the plan; this was never my intention. I wasn't supposed to fall for him - certainly, not on this level. This wasn't supposed to happen. There was a reason I'd fought it until I couldn't anymore, and why, now, I had to cling on to the very little resolve that remained. I broke every rule that I'd set to be with him, and it felt like my days living this life were numbered. I wanted to be with him, but I was repeatedly drawn back to how this was the opposite of what I'd always seen as possible for myself - I never, ever wanted to find myself here. If I didn't grow attached, I'd never face the problems with secrecy that I was facing; my problems and my past could remain my own, without somebody aching to share the burden.
I couldn't love him like he deserved to be loved. It wasn't even in my vocabulary - not with any sort of deeper meaning. He'd cried onto my shoulder earlier this evening, and I hadn't even been able to reassure him the correct way. I wasn't near what he was deserving of. In wanting to be everything for him that he was for me, I was naïve; I couldn't even be half of what he was, even with how little I let him know about me. I was torn between the fact I felt endlessly cruel in not being able to give him what he deserved, but also in that I could never draw myself away from him. I was selfish, without a doubt, and I hated holding back from him - but there was no alternative, in my mind, for all I'd hate more; was being honest.
I hadn't said anything - and in my prolonged silence, his head had buried into my neck, again, and I sensed a shift in his breathing. He was asleep, and I'd escaped confrontation, again. It felt like I was having far too much luck with how he was letting me away from these difficult topics, but I still couldn't find it in myself to be honest with him.
I wasn't sure that I ever would.