In the clear yet?, good.

The one with all the stalkers

"Fuming. I am fucking fuming", he yells on the phone, "and freaked out".
He paces his room, his free hand on his hip.

"You need to hire security". She simply states.

"For my own house??, like people living in my house all the time?", he complains.

"Well, yeah, that's how it usually works", she adds quietly.

"How can you be so calm about this?", he stops on his tracks. "With a dude lurking around your house?"

"Who says I am?". She ads soberly, contrary to what she really feels. But Knowing there is no point on both of them stressing out and panicking over the same subject at the same time.

"Shit. It's mental, fucking mental, and she was arrested last year, you know, and she came back?". He paces again.

"Babe, I get it, it's scary and you are upset, but try focus on the solution not the fact itself. Because it is sick, incomprehensible, and you're gonna drive yourself crazy", she soothes him.

"I am already". He stops pacing, at the realisation.

"I know", she smiles, "I can hear it".
And he sighs.

"£14 million house, and still have to live in it with a bloody lock on my bedroom door ", he says on a frustrated tone, pointing at it.
And she gives him time to cool down.

"Imagine if it was the two of us in the bedroom. We would have to board the room up every night, and tear it down each morning". She tells him casually.

And he pauses at her words for a minute, frowning at the image they evoke in his mind. "You really have the weirdest of thoughts", and he smiles, finally giving in to her cooler approach to the situation.

"Awarded songwriter here", she teases him, and he smirks.

"Get a security team Harry. Don't make me send mine your way".

"I don't want to...", and she knows then what is bothering him about the situation. His free spirited character. This is Harry, he can't be told what to do or how to live. He will fight it, it's in his contrarian nature.

"I know, I don't want it either. But it's what you would tell me to do, right?", and he nods, agreeing with her, "I know".

"Don't see it as a jail. See it as a castle, you are just protecting it. Not being trapped in it". And he sits down on the bed, her words finally clicking. Sighing.

"I am scared too". She tells him, on a flat tone.
"I am sorry. I am just thinking about myself and you..."
"No, it's fine. I understand. I do. And I know you want to feel safe and free in your house, well, anywhere you go, all the time. It's your right. To not live in fear."
And he feels the sting of tears then, because that is exactly it.
"I do too. But it's not worth it if it puts you in danger. And fighting it won't change it. There's crazy people out there. Not many, thankfully, but it only takes one".

He nods, drying his eyes with his fingers.

"I don't want you to get hurt", she tells him softly then. And his heart clenches at her words. And he doesn't want her to get hurt either, never.

"Are you ok?", He asks her then. A sniffle.

"Yes, I have three very hot and bulked-up ex special forces agents, guarding all the entrances", she tells him in serious teasing tone.

And he chuckles. God I miss you. He thinks. Even if they had to board up their room every night and tear it down every morning, he would, for her.

"I'll get a security team", he tells her matter of fact. "They may not be as hot as yours...", and she laughs then.

"As long as they keep you safe", she smiles.

"Thank you", he tells her then. Realising this is exactly what he needed, after two days of rage and worry, and two sleepless nights.

"What is that you say, Styles?. Anytime, babe". She says softly, pronouncing the endearment on a British accent.

And he smiles. The I love you he feels pushed back to the back of his heart, adding to the high pile of previously unsaid ones.

"Anytime, Swift", he tells her then.
"Stay safe, Styles"