Matilda | Harry Styles

THIRTY-ONE

"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."