In the Open | Harry Styles | Sequel to Undercover

6.

El

"What do you think of it?" I ask him, turning to observe him, observing the art work.

"It...I don't know. I'm so bad at this, it always makes sense to me after you explain it to me. That's the best part of coming here with you. It's like I get insider information on what the artist was thinking. This times even better because it's not during some fancy event that I've dragged you to as my best friend, it's just us, Harry and El, the real us on like, almost an actual date."

I laugh and shake my head, not knowing how to respond to all of that. Finally I gesture back to the painting, a series of vibrant colors and odd shapes on canvas.

"It's by Elizabeth Murray. She was really influenced by graffiti and she was famous for using these shaped canvases which was something no one else was doing."

I babble on about the artwork and only stop when I catch myself talking with my hands and look over to find Harry staring at me.

"What?" I ask, feeling my cheeks flush and my skin heat.

"I love you." He says simply and I'm vaguely aware of the other patrons of the MOCA. No one seems much the wiser of us, I guess the art fans of LA are less into boy bands and pop stars. So far we've been left alone, able to aimlessly wander about the exhibitions. I find myself wondering often if Harry even sees the art at all.

"I love you too." I whisper when I'm sure no one is watching or can hear. "Do you think we've been spotted?" I whisper.

"I don't think so." He says following me to take in another painting this one a series of harsh black lines across a stark white canvas. "No ones staring and I don't sense anything. At this point it's like I can feel it when people are recognizing me."

"I'd love it if we could make it to the restaurant before anyone notices."

"Me too." He slips his hand in mine before I have the ability to protest and pushes me gently against the wall of the empty room.

His green eyes pierce through me, like he can see straight to the very core of my soul. I force the lump in my throat down and meet his gaze, trailing my hands up his side to rest on his waist.

His hands cup my cheeks and pull me gently towards him, his lips dusting mine before he attaches them firmly. My hands move instinctually to the back of his neck tugging on his hair as our bodies press closer together. He groans and I am suddenly hyper aware of where we are.

"Haz, we're in a fucking art museum."

"I know." He says rubbing his nose against mine. "This the most normal I've felt in public in like...years."

"I like that I make you feel normal."

"I've always felt like I could be my true self around you, El. Since night one."

"I wonder why that is?"

"I dunno, maybe our souls just knew we were meant for each other. Knew I'd need some kind of sign, the way I was going at that time."

"I can't believe it's been so long ago. Shit, that was five years ago now. Doesn't seem like it's been that long."

"I dunno, I feel like I've known you my whole life." He says glancing over to me, a smile etched across his face.

"As much as I love hearing all of your mushy romantic thoughts and you know I could stay in this place all day, my stomach says it's time for dinner."

"Gio's?" He questions and I scoff like that even needs an answer. For once we don't have to order our favorite Italian food for delivery.

When we step outside, the beautiful bubble we'd known within the walls of the MOCA is burst. Cameras line the street with paparazzi fighting for a shot of the infamous Harry Styles and his arm candy for the night.

A few seem disappointed when they see it's me.

"That's just his friend El. I thought it was a new girlfriend." I hear one of them say and Harry and I share a glance indicating he has overheard the comment as well.

If only they knew.

We slide into the car my hand gripped tightly around Harry's elbow as I do my best to not be blinded by the camera flashes.

Once we're both secured in the backseat Harry gives his driver the address and we head towards the restaurant.

Our arrival at Gio's is a much calmer affair than leaving the museum was, I'm sure by the time we're through eating though the crowd will have followed us and we'll have to deal with it all over again.

I remind myself not to be irritated. This is his entire life, it's only a part of mine. I still have the ability to remain anonymous when I'm on my own. He's Harry fucking Styles. His anonymity is long gone.

You don't realize how precious that trait is. The ability to blend in among the masses, to be just some random person on the street until everyone you pass knows your name and wants something from you. Until your friends and enemies blend together and you no longer are able to separate friend from foe. That's one of the biggest things I've learned from my time with Harry.

I've learned so much since really getting to know him and now I understand why he was so ready to give it all up that night I met him. At the time it had seemed absurd. I'd always wanted to be noticed, to be anything but ordinary and I couldn't fathom a reason why someone would want to trade that all away until I had been a spectator to what that could do to a persons life.

I pick at my salad and pasta and try to avoid Harry's growing look of concern.

"El, what's wrong? Are you regretting this?"

"No. I will never regret spending time with you. I just hope I'm prepared to deal with whatever comes of this. I promise though, whatever happens, it'll be worth it as long as I have you."

He squeezes my hand and visibly relaxes at my words. I eat another bite of my lasagna and try to ignore the warning bells going off in my mind, telling me that though I can't quite put a finger on it, something is very wrong.