That afternoon, we retrieved the moped from where Harry had parked it the night before, outside the hotel complex. His hand brushed over my waist as he helped me onto the bike, once he was already on to steady it. His eyes met mine in a gentle tease, as he caught my silent wince at the movement as I got onto the moped. I was still sore from the events of that morning, with a dull ache in my inner thighs that made it slightly painful to walk, and I could tell he was finding great humour in it.
"Don't say a word," I muttered to him, as I got into my seat, winding my arms around his waist and interlocking my fingers at his stomach. His hand traced briefly over my own, as I heard him breathe out a laugh.
"I'm not," he returned, craning his neck around to meet my eye and show me the amused smile playing on his lips. His other hand drew gently over my outer thigh, covered by the skirt I was wearing, as I leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling somehow even more obsessed with him than I had, already. I could smell the cologne on his neck as I kissed him, his hand gently patting my thigh in acknowledgement before he moved to start up the bike.
The air was warm on my face as we drove along the cobbled streets, a comfortable silence between us. The gentle buzz of the city was the only thing I could hear, with the low hum of the moped engine. I noticed the occasional street that appeared to be more densely populated, I supposed with tourists, but I'd only seen them in passing - Harry avoided them, like he knew the area well, keeping us on the streets we needed to be on.
His hand occasionally drifted to my own, on his torso, tracing over my knuckle and sending a jolt of warmth through my body. I gently kissed the back of his shoulder as he drove, finding myself lost in my thoughts, once again. In a situation like this, I almost found myself feeling like an imposter - like this wasn't quite real. I'd never imagined that I'd find myself here, clinging onto the back of my boyfriend as he drove us around the sunny streets of Naples. Just the pair of us, feeling like it could be like this forever.
And, of course, it had to be tainted. It was beginning to feel like, more than ever - that I couldn't just be happy. If it wasn't my own head getting in the way, it was the interference of the people who would never really let me leave them behind. Every time it felt like I made advances in bettering my life - my life, here, with Harry; something had to come along and ruin it. I'd never had to balance both concealing my problems, and protecting somebody else's feelings - I could feel that it was bothering him, but I couldn't stop. He was letting me get away with it, and I was in no position to break the pattern.
We'd passed out of some of the streets into a more rural area, onto more of a dirt road. I could see dust kicking up around us as the tires of the moped scratched the surface of the floor, as we drove through the prescribed path through much longer grass. He brought the moped to a slow halt, catching me by surprise as he clicked the brake into place, and switched the engine off. I dropped my arms from around his waist, now the moped was secure.
"Why don't you drive?"
He glanced over his shoulder at me, a boyish grin on his lips as he predicted what my reaction would be. He stood up, then, to leave me sitting on the bike, where he'd parked it, still resting his hand on the handlebars.
I narrowed my eyes at him from my seat, and he caught my face in his hands with a gentle laugh. "Don't give me that face," he laughed again, drawing his thumb over my cheek. "You know how to drive a car. You'll be fine."
"I don't think that's how it works," I countered, watching him roll his eyes, but he was already putting his hands on my waist to shift me forward, to where he'd been sitting. He was gentle as ever, aware of how I'd complained about the ache between my thighs, earlier. "Harry-" I protested, weakly.
He looked at me for a moment, his eyes scanning over my face, as if trying to piece something together. His fingers found my chin, his eyes still searching my reluctant ones, for a brief moment. Then, he leaned in, softly pressing his lips to my forehead.
"Just don't kill us," he said, moving to sit behind me in the space that I'd previously occupied. His tone was light, and I knew that we weren't in any danger with him behind me. Not only did this moped definitely not travel above thirty miles per hour, but we were completely away from any other traffic, now - but I still protested the idea.
I swallowed, feeling a little nervous with the - though minimal - control panel in front of me, now. I did know how to drive a car - Johnny had taught me in my first year in London, after I'd expressed that I wanted the chance to learn, and I'd told Harry that before. But I'd not really driven one since passing my driving test; in London, there wasn't much of a need, with all the public transport at my disposal. It was more to prove a point, that I'd wanted to learn. It was more about accomplishing something that I thought I couldn't.
"Iz," Harry's voice sounded from behind me, and I felt his large hands land on my waist. I tilted my head, turning back to meet his eye; to see the achingly beautiful, slightly amused grin on his lips. "You have to start the engine, first."
I blinked, broken from the trance I'd been in. I'd been sat there, staring at the control panel and lost in my own thoughts, that I hadn't so much as made a move. Actions as trivial as this - anything out of my comfort zone, I thought of myself as being incapable of. It took a lot for me to ever want to push against that - I liked proving doubts wrong, but it was rare that I felt like I could. I couldn't - that was what I'd always been told, and believed, but Harry made it seem insane to even suggest I couldn't do something like this. It was like he knew I'd say no, and think myself incapable straight away, and so he'd refused to take 'no' for an answer. He'd left me without the option of refusing.
One of Harry's hands lifted from my waist, then, and moved to start the engine. Without hesitation, even from his seat behind me, he began to drive, placing his hands on top of where I'd shakily positioned my own on the handlebars, as if he knew that I needed it. He took over, smoothly driving us through the grass, sensing my own hesitation to do so. I felt so much more at ease with my back pressed against him, letting him guide us around - I was fine like that.
"You're driving, now," he said, then, and I felt my heart drop. No. I was good with how we were. "Take control," he prompted, and I shook my head, vehemently.
"I don't want to," I returned, feeling one of Harry's hands leave my own on top of the handlebars. His right hand still covered mine, but he'd taken one of them away. "Harry, don't-"
"I think you need to drive."
"No," I replied, immediately, sensing the amusement in his expression. "You're doing so well. Who am I to intervene?" I offered, hearing a soft laugh leave his lips.
"I need you to look after us," he said, as I craned my neck around to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. I watched a playful smirk pull on his lips, then, humoured, as he brought his free hand over his eyes. There were slight gaps in his fingers; his vision wasn't truly obstructed at all. "I can't see. 'Think you're gonna need to drive," he said, my eyes widening at him as he deliberately swerved the bike a little - only a tiny amount, but enough to jolt us and prompt a squeal from my lips.
There was virtually nowhere for us to veer off to, and he still had his hand on the handlebar, and his long legs positioned to keep us firmly balanced on the bike - there was no way that we would've ended up hurt, but I still felt a twinge of panic. I inadvertently steadied my own hands on the handlebars to straighten our position, and Harry gently shifted his hand off mine - and then, he was right. I actually was driving now.
I wasn't sure when the panic turned to enjoyment - but at some point, it did. Harry kept one of his hands ghosting underneath one of the handlebars, so that he could grab it from me if he needed to, but his other hand wound around my waist, holding himself to me.
"There you go," he laughed, after a minute, placing a light kiss into the hollow of my neck, and I couldn't help but breathe out an elated laugh of disbelief, in return. We were doing it - I was doing it; I was driving us along, and I wasn't messing it up. And it felt fun - it felt freeing, coasting over the path between the grass, the wind whipping at my ears as Harry held onto me. I'd loved him driving us along for the duration of the trip so far, but he was right - it felt like taking control, here. There was something different about being the one who sat in the driver's seat, navigating our journey; being the one to instigate each slight tilt, or turn, and being the one at the front of the action.
The sun was casting a golden hue upon our surroundings, and I could somehow see it all even better from here. I was driving us; I was steering us - not in spite of being incapable; but, because I was capable. There was no reason to believe I couldn't be the one to drive us. Harry had known that.
Harry made my chest feel so light; murmuring things into my ear to make me laugh, and placing kisses on my neck and below my ear as I drove us along. His hand was coaxing over my waist, his other hand that had been on the handlebar eventually dropping to my knee. He wouldn't let me stop and overthink for a single moment, and I didn't even find myself tempted to. This was fun, and I'd been so willing to let myself miss out on it.
As I drove us along, I grew used to every sound that occupied our space. Harry's soft laughter and murmurs of encouragement; the low hum of our moped engine, which seemed to easily form part of the blissful quiet that we'd established between us. The only sounds were ours' - until another sound broke through. I heard a whirring sound; a more intense, powerful one - almost like that of an engine, which seemed to overtake the familiar hum of ours. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sound as it slowly increased in volume, and I felt Harry's hand shift on my waist, as he appeared to catch the sound at the same time I did.
"Here - slow it down for a second, love," he said, bringing his hands back onto the handlebars to guide me in slowing us down. We came to a halt, and he guided me in setting the brake on, and I switched off our engine. But the whirring sound didn't stop - it continued, growing far louder than anything else.
From instinct alone, I looked up, and my eyes landed on a black helicopter directly overhead. I watched it for a second, as it appeared to hover over the grassy area we occupied, without really taking off in any other particular direction. I glanced back at Harry, his hand now back on my waist, but he was staring up at the helicopter, too. His eyes were narrowed, and his head was tilted, as his gaze followed it in its gentle movements.
"That's... weird," I said, then, glancing back up at the helicopter and when I felt his shoulders tense behind me, I realised that, for whatever reason, I was right. I hadn't seen any other helicopters since we'd been here - especially not ones that hung around in one spot in a random corner of the countryside. It was weird. Something was off.
"I'm gonna drive us the rest of the way," he said, then, his eyes not leaving the helicopter above us. I nodded, noticing a strange solemnity in his expression, but I didn't press him. I rarely saw a look like that in his eyes, and I didn't like how it felt - but it didn't seem like pushing was the answer. I got off the moped, letting him shuffle forward, and I got into the space behind him, instead.
I wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but it didn't feel particularly good. He started the moped again, feeling his hand brush over my thigh as if to check I was secure, there. He'd planned a boat trip for us, today - that was where we'd been heading - we'd only taken a small detour to mess around a bit. I felt the tension in Harry's shoulders as I let my hands grasp onto them, as he continued driving forward, and I could feel him make an attempt at dropping them.
The helicopter appeared to hover above us for another few moments, before some distance was created between us and them as we drove away. I wasn't exactly sure what it was; what exactly the problem was - how a random helicopter above a field could have any implications for us, but it felt pretty apparent that it did. I was confused and uncertain about why it was there, but with Harry's reaction, paired with a funny gut feeling; I knew it wasn't good.
We made it to the dock, and parked up the moped alongside some others that were already there. The water was bright, and translucent, with a number of small, vibrantly painted boats tied up at the edge of the water. There were a couple of people about; none who even reared their heads at mine and Harry's arrival. That was one of the reasons why he loved it here so much, I supposed - over this past summer, Harry couldn't go anywhere without a dozen heads immediately turning in his direction. Every move and outing he made, whether he was with me or the entire group, elsewhere, had to be calculated, evaluated, and weighed up. Here, he was supposed to be just like anybody else.
I couldn't see any situation where Harry was somehow just like anybody else. It felt like even if I didn't know him like I did, he'd stick out to me in any situation. He had something so indescribable about him; I often thought about it whenever we were doing the most trivial of things, like lying in bed, or when he'd driven us somewhere in the car. When we were doing the most normal things - somehow, it was those that made me feel more than anything, for him. There wasn't a world I could picture, not even in the depths of my imagination, where I wouldn't be captivated by Harry's eyes in the most crowded of rooms - he would never, ever be like anybody else, and it wasn't for the reasons he or anybody else believed; it wasn't because of his fame, or his status, or his career. It was because of every other intricacy I was lucky enough to learn, of his, inside and out - each one, somehow, more captivating and infatuating than the last.
Whenever I spoke to Grace about how things were with Harry and I, she'd often mention the shows; the paparazzi, and the glamour and I wasn't at all numb to it. Every moment of this tour felt like another world - it felt incredible to see him live the way he did, and to be his girlfriend; to be the one who got to have him come back to them at the end of every day - but that was never the primary element that I found myself focused on, regarding him. I found myself endlessly obsessed with doing the most simple things with him - drinking coffee, cooking dinner, or just laying there whilst he zoned in so adorably on a book, or on scribbling lyrics down in his notebook; it was the things that didn't matter, that I found myself loving so, so much. I loved sharing every moment with him - those were my favourite parts of him, because nothing was boring, or dreary - it wasn't like being with anybody else. He was so, so much more.
I looked back up above us as we got off the moped, following the low whir of the helicopter engine that had yet to cease. I glanced back at Harry, then, to see he had his lips pursed in some sort of contemplation; his eyes narrowed. But he wasn't saying anything - and his silence was unusual.
Still, he took my hand, taking my bag from my shoulder and slinging it over his. He led me over to one of the boats, where somebody was waiting, adjusting some things onboard.
"Buongiorno," Harry spoke politely to the man waiting onboard, receiving the same greeting in return. Harry's eyes flickered to mine after he spoke, as if able to predict the way I'd be fighting to mask a smile as the Italian left his lips. I wasn't sure why I liked it so much, or why it made me want to laugh so fondly, but it did. Harry's hand pressed to the small of my back to guide me onto the boat first, murmuring a sheepish 'shut up, you,' at my faint amusement, as I passed him, but I saw the equally amused grin on his lips, nonetheless.
The whirring of the helicopter had almost become background - I was becoming so adjusted to the constant noise that I almost forgot to be alarmed, in Harry's company. I couldn't help but glance up at it another time, as neither Harry nor I mentioned it - but his eyes followed the sound, again, too, his lips pressed together.
Our boat began to glide away, as the pair of us settled on the other end of the deck, from the man in charge. We sat down, as our boat drew away from the dock, and it was then that I realised, as we inched further and further away from land, that the helicopter had slowly followed us out into the water.
My eyes fell straight to Harry, who appeared to have the same realisation.
"What is it?" I asked, softly, feeling like I may have potentially known the answer as his eyebrows furrowed into a gentle frown. He swallowed, glancing back down at me.
"Paps," he murmured, then. He was silent for another moment, biting his lip. "I don't know why they're even - how they're even-" he stopped, blowing out a breath. My heart sank a little. The boat continued to pull gently into the water, and he glanced down at his lap for a moment, before his eyes shifted to the area around us. It was like he'd tried to convince himself that it wasn't what he thought it was - he'd tried to push through, for the sake of our day; perhaps it was paranoia. Perhaps it was an odd coincidence - but now the helicopter had followed us onto our brief descent into the water; it didn't feel very coincidental, anymore.
I didn't know what to do, here; what to say. Cameras and paparazzi had been established from the beginning as something we both needed to avoid - completely. That was a large reason why Harry and I were never publicly affectionate - at least, not intentionally - and why we worked to keep everything private. It felt like we'd been floating for much of the previous weeks together; coming off the high of his stadium show, to go on this trip together. Aside from everything personal I had on my shoulders - there'd only been the one brief encounter with paparazzi that had shaken him; us, as a pair. And they hadn't caught anything; they hadn't actually seen me, or us, together. This time - it didn't feel like we had much of an out.
"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered, then, his eyes flickering around. I wanted to reach for him, from instinct, but I wasn't at all sure how this worked - he knew, far better than I. All I knew, was that this was bad.
Harry had spent the majority, if not almost all, of his career marketed as somebody with a very specific personal life. He was very, very private, and not much of his life was known by the general public; despite his level of fame - and the parts that they did know, were completely deliberate. Stella had spent years perfecting an image that she'd insisted would put him in the best position possible - he was a mysterious, untouchable rockstar; one who was never caught underdressed, or overshadowed, or in any sort of unflattering position. And it was impossible to argue with Stella's methods, because they weren't exactly failing; Harry was one of the most famous, sought-after people in the world, and though it scared me whenever I truly contemplated that fact, I had to put it aside. Harry's image, and their insistence on polishing every public part of him, meant that he and I got to be together without being under the watchful eyes - we got to learn, and know each other without anybody else's input. He was careful to keep us shielded from outside scrutiny - but it also, inherently, meant that we'd never be able to be together 'normally'. Harry had never sold it to me differently, and it wasn't something that truly kept me up at night; being kept away from the public eye, rather, did me a favour, and Harry had made all of this clear from the beginning. We'd been lucky, and we'd gotten away with so much, until now - we'd been unscathed, somehow. This had been ours, and I didn't want it to be anybody else's, yet. I wasn't sure I could handle that. I wasn't sure I could handle so many eyes on me, as I struggled already to navigate the vulnerability of being in a relationship with somebody - I scrutinised myself enough, for it; I didn't need anybody else's scrutiny, too.
Harry had insisted we'd be more careful after our near-miss with the paparazzi in New York, but Italy was supposed to be different. That was why he'd kept going, even after we'd first seen the helicopter - I supposed it was some sort of denial. This place was supposed to be safe, like it always had been for him. Never had he ever been caught or photographed here, and he'd assured me how it would be even more unlikely with the fact that he was still in the midst of his US tour - nobody would've expected him to make a trip to Europe, at this point. But they had; they were here.
"Just tell me what you want to do," I said, softly, sensing the nerves from Harry beside me - and his nerves, made me nervous. He knew, better than I, what it was like to have your every move plastered over the news.
I didn't touch him, for fear it would be the wrong thing to do. I knew Harry was incredibly fragile when it came to his career; his image and his work were absolutely everything to him - he did everything Stella and everybody else told him, for they knew best - he would never, ever put everything he'd worked for at stake. And I knew, equally, how hurt he'd been by media interference in the past, and I knew he wanted to protect us both from that. The media had the ability to ruin things; millions upon millions of watchful eyes had the ability to warp and damage things, and neither of us wanted that to happen to us. I knew that he didn't want that for himself, or me. We were supposed to stay private, for a plethora of reasons - it gave us control. For the first time, it felt like it was about to slip away.
He sighed, then; a mixture of frustration and defeat.
"I'm sorry, Iz," he said softly, looking at me with apologetic, and still slightly confused eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't understand how they-" he started, and I shook my head, quickly, trying to convey that it was okay. I knew this wouldn't change - Harry would never disappear from this kind of spotlight; it was a part of his life, but he'd wanted to shield us from it, somehow. I couldn't deal with global scrutiny, and it felt like he knew that - and he didn't want it for me, or us.
"I'll have a car take us back," he said, then, sending me a glance as he stood up to walk over to the man driving the boat. He spoke to him, and I watched the man nod - and within ten minutes, we were back at shore, bundling into a car with tinted windows, and the bubble of Italy had begun to feel a lot more like the familiarity of tour. The moped we'd been driving was bundled into the back of the large car, and I felt an odd sinking feeling as we drove back away from the dock; our blissful afternoon was cut unfairly short.
I looked over at Harry, who looked somewhat annoyed, his lip brought between his teeth. In the privacy of the back of the car, I reached over to take his hand, feeling his fingers twitch as if he'd suddenly been brought back to earth. I knew he was upset, and I was, too - neither of us wanted this to involve anybody other than us. This trip was for us, and the last thing either of us wanted was to be confronted with paparazzi.
I sighed, looking over at him as I ran my fingers over his knuckle. It felt like things were becoming difficult, and I didn't want them to. This was a problem, undoubtedly - it bothered Harry, and it bothered me; yet somehow, it had slipped down my priority list with everything else I'd been harbouring. I felt dishonest, and it felt like I was being unfair - unable to pay this situation the proper attention it deserved, with how preoccupied I was. This was supposed to be our only problem - and it wasn't an internal one; it was supposed to be the one obstacle.
"Hey," I murmured, stroking my thumb over his hand. "Are you okay?"
"I just wanted one day," he said, causing my eyes to soften. "One week. One trip, with my girlfriend. One thing where it's just about us-" he stopped, bringing his lip between his teeth as if trying to stifle his momentary outburst. It was unlike him to ever lose his composure, and though he was still collected, I could see the irritation on his features.
"It is about us," I said, gently, trying to ignore how anxious I felt at what felt like a pending wrath of the paparazzi. "It is. I know this isn't what we wanted..." I trailed off, searching for the right words to say. I wasn't good at this, despite how much I wanted to be. I'd caught glimpses of disappointment in his expression for weeks now, but this was the first time I'd seen him look genuinely dismayed.
"We don't even know how long they were following us," he said, a little firmer, shaking his head. "I'm sick of it," he said, then, and I turned in my seat to properly face him. That may have been the first time I'd ever heard something resembling a complaint from his lips; he was endlessly grateful for his life, even with all the invasions of privacy and the annoyances that came with it - but he'd lose sleep, and just about any and everything else for the sake of his career; he'd put up with all of it. For what felt like first time, properly, he seemed genuinely exasperated - only fuelled by his confusion as to how they'd even found us.
"I know. I know you are," I said, quietly, unsure of what else I could say to him, my eyes searching his side profile as he looked ahead. I was horrible at this. He pursed his lips.
"If people know we're here..." he sighed, closing his eyes for a second. He looked at me, then, a defeated look on his face. If people knew that we were there... he'd have to call his security. That was that - Stella, Ally, and just about every other name behind him were already sour on the idea of us taking this trip without Harry's security; but he'd been able to assure them. Harry had been desperate to keep this just for us - for this to be normal, without security escorts and without flashing cameras. This was the last thing he'd wanted to do.
I didn't say anything yet, only keeping my hand placed over his. I knew how badly he'd wanted to be free of his security for this trip - this place was supposed to be somewhere he could just get away from it all, but he couldn't have prevented the sudden emergence of the paparazzi this afternoon.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling his index finger loop nervously with mine. "I know you didn't want it to come to that."
"I just don't understand," he said, quietly. "I don't understand how they knew where we were. Here..." he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed.
I bit my lip. The way he was so stumped by it slightly worried me - the paparazzi, he'd said, himself, had an esteemed ability to hunt celebrities down wherever they were; for him to be so sure that it was strange, here, made me believe it was, too. He'd said from the beginning that he'd never experienced it here - never.
"I don't think the pictures will be clear, of you," he said, "if we'd stayed on the boat longer, they might have been. But I can't imagine they got anything revealing, up there. The helicopters usually don't." His words, even in their solemnity, made the knot in my stomach loosen a little. He knew how it all went, all too well. I didn't want my face plastered online for being with Harry - he knew that, too - but I knew, equally, it wasn't just about pictures - it was the principle, too, of not having eyes on us as we just tried to go about our day.
"It's okay," I said, softly, moving a little closer to his seat, and feeling his hand curl instinctively around my knee, as I did. I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, caressing it for a moment before I pressed my chin to it, trailing my eyes over his jaw as he turned to tilt his head down, looking back at me. I'd have been lying to say that I wasn't worried by the situation, but this also wasn't really my area of expertise - I didn't quite know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of publicity, and I didn't know how hard it could rain down. My only real focus was on him, and how bothered he was. I looked over his face. I said, "I didn't even know they had helicopters like that."
"I haven't seen one in a while," he said, gently running his hand over my knee. He hummed, then, tilting his head back against the car seat and closing his eyes for a brief moment. "It's not even about what they could've got, then... it's just, now... I don't know when others will turn up," he sighed, my chin still on his shoulder to keep us close together.
"When? Not 'if'?" I asked, picking up on his choice of words, and he exhaled, his eyes still closed.
"When," he repeated, confirming his answer as the car drew back up outside our apartment building. I drew my thumb briefly over his cheek as the driver parked up, and we got out of the car to head back inside. The streets were still quiet outside the building as we went inside, my arm looping with his.
We went back into the apartment, and I couldn't help but notice how faint disappointment remained on his features at the interruption to our afternoon. I'd never been good at comforting anybody, but with him, all I found myself wanting to do was make him feel better - even if I didn't know how. When I was with him, he just made everything else fade away - I wanted to be able to do that for him, even if I didn't have the same ability he did.
I noticed the continuous, soft furrow of his eyebrows as we sat down on the sofa. He looked stressed, and I didn't like to see him feeling that way; feeling like I wasn't emotionally equipped to help him, with it. He understood how this worked far better than I did. He'd pulled his phone from his pocket - something he'd avoided doing often, since being on this trip - and began texting. I glanced over and saw two little contact initials at the top of his screen; Ally, and Stella.
I let him focus, whilst he texted - I didn't lean in to bother him; not wanting to interrupt, before I felt one of his hands land on my leg in a gentle acknowledgement, as he continued to type with his other. He appeared to send his text, but I didn't choose to lean in and read it; I was too focused on him, beside me, as he glanced across at me again and let his fingers snake up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. His eyes searched over my face for a moment, his lips pressed together as I leaned into his touch. He was quiet for another moment.
"I know you want everything to be perfect," I said, softly, as his thumb drew gently over the height of my cheek. I felt my eyes soften a little as I looked at him, the weight of my words dawning on me - he just wanted to make me happy. I may have spent the previous days battling with the way it felt like I could never just truly lean into everything I wanted; to just be happy, but the man in front of me only wanted that for me - he just wanted us to be happy, together. I didn't deserve him. "I know you made plans, but I promise you, nothing's ruined. We still get to be here, together."
I looked at him as I spoke, meaning every word. With every difficulty we seemed to face, it felt like I could keep suppressing them - just so long as I got to be with him. I knew, deep down, it wasn't good, or healthy - but he made everything feel so okay, even when I felt like I was simultaneously losing my mind. He made me feel like I could just keep pushing, and pushing, without really facing what I needed to, because he managed to make me feel so good, at the same time; whether it was every wretched part of my past, or the threat of a media ambush - I could ignore it. I could convince myself I was ignoring it.
"That's all I want," I said, honestly, my eyes burning into his as he listened to me. I laid my hand on top of his. I didn't know what all this had the potential to mean; not like he did. All I knew was that I didn't want to let go of this. I didn't want to face anything, but I knew, equally; that was a problem. It was unfair to him.
I leaned further into him, "We can just stay here - we can do whatever. It doesn't matter," I told him, meaning every word. He looked over my face, taking in my words with a glint in his gaze that told me he was thinking; deeply. He was contemplating, and he was thinking, and it was ignited as he looked back at me.
My phone began to ring from the table beside the sofa, where I'd placed it upon our return to the house. My eyes flickered to the side; my chest jolting a little at the sudden interruption. I didn't pull away from him just yet, feeling my stomach turn as the sound that appeared to haunt me, lately, sounded across from us.
Another moment passed, and I realised I was acting stupidly obvious. My refusal to even look at the phone, as it continued to vibrate against the table, was a clear move - and it was stupid. I'd spent so many years lying to myself, and everybody around me, that you'd have thought I'd have become an expert in playing it off, by now - but I wasn't. I was embarrassingly shaken inside, as the phone rang. Immediately, I was praying - praying, that it wasn't her. Please don't be her.
I glanced back at Harry, expecting him to have an undoubtedly confused expression on his face at my delay in even picking up my phone; but he didn't look confused at all. His face was almost blank; slightly expectant, as it watched my own - almost as if he was trying to gauge my reaction to the phone ringing. I quickly reached for the phone, saying a thousand silent prayers to myself as I did - only to have to stifle my sigh of relief as I saw Grace's contact name on the screen.
"It's Grace," I announced, exhaling as I was flooded with relief. It wasn't my mother - thank god. Maybe it really had been a misdial, the other day.
Harry's eyes didn't waver as I almost smiled down at the phone, so incredibly relieved, as the call died out without me answering it. He watched my face - not necessarily angry, or confrontational - but focused.
"You don't need to answer her?" he asked.
"I'm sure it can wait," I replied, setting the phone back down. "I'm talking to you," I said, laying my hand back over his.
He watched me for another moment, his eyes shifting slightly - but he didn't say anything else. He was looking at me like it was his only focus in life; as if he was making an attempt to read me, when he usually didn't have to. I tried not to grow restless under his eyes.
"Anyway," I said, swallowing. "Maybe the cameras didn't get much - like you said," I offered, returning to the previous subject, still clinging to the slight glint in his eye.
"Yeah," he returned, gently caressing the side of my face a couple of times, before his eyes and hand fell to his lap, his lip drawn back between his teeth. I could sense a faint tension, now, since my phone had rang and I didn't like it. "Maybe."