Matilda | Harry Styles

TWENTY-SIX

We left the room after I'd sent the photos over to Ally. Harry stopped me in my tracks in the hallway the moment the door had closed behind us, murmuring, "Come here."

His lips pressed against my temple, his hand on the other side of my head to hold me to him. The sentence from his lips was enough to make my heart race, immediately pushing the odd demeanour of Stella from my mind as my arms wound around his torso. "I'm so proud of you," he said, then, in a way that made goosebumps rise on my skin.

I let him catch my chin between his fingers as I looked up at him, leaning up to press my lips to his own. He kissed me once, and then again, before I sensed the grin breaking out on his lips as he suddenly wound his arms completely around me. I laughed, elated as he tugged me into him, embracing me so tightly that I was almost lifted from the ground, and I squeezed back at him. It felt so good to share this with him; to have him feel so excited on my behalf. It was almost like he'd forgotten what we were doing this for - it was his song release; a huge week for him, but his focus was on me and my contribution.

"I feel so out of it," I admitted, as he leaned back to look at me. Half of me was surprised that I was even able to stand on my feet, still, having not gotten an ounce of sleep in far too long, and the other half was reeling from the fact the photoshoot had worked; that we'd pulled it off, and it had been what they'd wanted.

I met his eye, exhausted, but all I could really think about was how lucky I felt to be standing across from him; to be supported by him. It felt so foreign to have somebody's fixation be your happiness and success, rather than just their own. I'd never have known that it was this that I'd been wanting, until it had really come to a situation like this - without experiencing him, I could've never known how much it was him that I wanted, and everything that he brought; everything that came with him. He somehow exceeded every expectation without me ever having to set them.

"I bet you do," Harry returned, his arm still wrapped around my waist as we moved back toward the elevator. It couldn't have been past eight PM, but all I wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep.

We went back to the hotel room that had quickly become ours, rather than his, and I had to resist throwing myself down onto the bed, immediately. The moment it was in my sight, I was aching to rest my head against the pillow - but I needed to change, first, and sort the final things of mine to go into the suitcase before we were due to travel the following day.

I sighed, turning to Harry, who he was standing behind me. I pursed my lips, "I still need to pack all my things up, and shower, and-"

He cut me off, bringing his hands to the sides of my face. "Pack tomorrow. It can wait. Or I can do it, if that helps," he said, softly, holding my face and drawing a gentle line with his thumb. I softened my expression, leaning in to connect our lips, briefly, feeling my chest ache with emotion for him. His lips remained pressed against my own, as he murmured, lowly, "I can also help with the shower part."

My breath hitched in my throat, my arms looping around the back of his neck, unable to do anything else but hum in a gentle agreement against his lips.

Slowly, Harry guided me backwards to the door of the bathroom, his hands dropping lower on my body to rest upon my sides. I leaned into him, my fingers pushing into his hair as we passed through the doorway, his lips delicately moving against my own.

My back pressed to the edge of the bathroom sink, and I felt Harry's hand shift to rest upon the side of my neck, sending a chill along the length of my spine.

Suddenly, the last thing on my mind was how tired I'd been feeling; before, I'd felt so exhausted, but it didn't feel so negative, somehow; to feel like that. I wasn't sure when I'd last been so physically tired after being so overwhelmed, but feeling so emotionally good. I wasn't switched off from wanting to speak to everybody; I didn't want to confine myself to a dark room and refuse conversation. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was a good kind of tired; from working on something I was passionate about, with somebody that I felt so passionately for. And he was so revitalising - I didn't want to lose a second with him. It felt like being tired, or overworked, didn't matter as long as I was with him.