Our Song (Harry Styles/Mitch Rowland)

Our Song

Harry bowed one final time, thanked the loud crowd once again and then he left the now dark stage in a hurry. He was high on adrenaline and he could still hear the thousands of girls screaming his name, begging him to come back as he made his way backstage. He accepted the white towel he was given with a warm smile and a thank you. He quickly dried off the sweat on his face - he was already looking forward to a shower - before making his way over to the crew backstage. He thanked them all individually as he felt someone patting him on the back. He turned around and engulfed the person in a warm hug, slightly squeezing before letting go.

"Great show, man," Alex said.

"Yeah, this one was really good," Harry said with a huge smile on his face.

"See ya tomorrow, man," Alex walked away and Harry waved after him.

Harry walked to his dressing room. He changed his Gucci pants and white floral shirt for tight black jeans and a black shirt. He grabbed his bag, thanked some more people and then he left in his black Range Rover.

He drove away from the O2 Arena and he felt the adrenaline slowly leaving his body.

He drove through the deserted streets of London, the radio playing a soft, yet familiar tune in the background. The rain fell down on the streets and Harry thought it made the city look even more beautiful. The calmness on the road, the awful weather, the oh so familiar buildings - it was all home.

No matter how many places he has visited, London will always be his home.

Maybe it is because it gives him some kind of rest. So many things in his life does he not have in control, so many people come and go without leaving a note, so many faces he won't even remember in the morning. But as he drives through the empty streets of London, it feels like time has frozen. The streets, the buildings, the shops, it's still the same as seven years ago. This city never ages and it makes Harry feel young. Feel like he's still that small boy with the untamed curls and the too baggy clothes. And even though he loves his job, he doesn't mind disappearing in the liveliness of London for a while. Pretending he's not some famous pop star.

God, how he hated that word.

Famous.

It's a label. A label you'll be having for the rest of your life and you won't be able to get rid of it, no matter what you do. People know you because you're portrayed as the famous one, not the kind or gentle or funny one. They don't see the stuff you do for charities or sick fans. They're solely focused on the parties you attend twice a year or the model you hang out with for 24 hours. It's sad because all Harry wanted was to perform and be friendly to everyone he meets, because that was what his mother taught him to be. Unfortunately, that's not how the famous world works and Harry came to terms with it. He has learned over the past 7 years how to deal with it.

But when he drives in the rain, he feels like he can forget everything. Feel like he's just Harry. Not Harry-former-boybander-but-now-solo-artist-slash-actor-Styles. Just Harry. And he likes that more than he wants to admit.

When Harry parked the car in front of his flat, he saw that the lights were already on. He smiled softly. He turned off the engine and made his way into his flat.

"You're late," a voice called from the kitchen. Harry took his shoes and coat off and put them away.

"I know. Got a bit held up backstage," he said. He walked into the kitchen where Mitch was preparing tea. He had already changed in more comfortable clothes.

Harry walked up to him and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on his shoulder. Mitch hummed in response.

"I'm going to run a quick shower," Harry said, kissing Mitch's neck before disappearing in the hallway.

He showered quickly while he hummed a tune that had been stuck in his head for the past two days. Maybe it had some new-song potential. He changed in shorts and a t-shirt from Mitch and made his way to the living room, knowing Mitch would already be there.

He plopped down on the couch next to Mitch and curled into his side, accepting the hot cup of tea Mitch offered him.

They sat there for a while, enjoying each others company and sipping from their cups of tea. Mitch's fingers absentmindedly playing with the curls at the base of Harry's neck. Harry sighed contently and closed his eyes.

Being with Mitch was easy. It came natural. It's like breathing. You don't think about it too much, you just do it. That's how their relationship was as well. They didn't have to set rules or do dates multiple times a month to prove their love. There wasn't any pressure on them. Not like when Harry dated those models or singers. Back then he was trapped in his own love. He was convinced he loved them, although it was merely the thought of being loved by someone else that made him fall in love. By the time he realised that, the damage was made. Rumors were spread, hearts were broken and songs were written. Harry tried to not think about it too much, focused more on his music than the consequences of his miserable love life.

But Mitch and Harry, they just worked together. With just one look or touch, they knew what the other one needed. They were like the two missing puzzle pieces in a web of other puzzle pieces. They fitted together perfectly. A punch wasn't needed to keep them together. They moved together, breathed together... they were one.

Being with Mitch felt like coming home after a wild sea trip on a stormy night. He was the lighthouse that guided you home when it was too dark to see anything, when you're surrounded by waves who don't feel your uneasiness.

Being with Mitch felt like having a safe haven. Harry never had that before. A safe haven or a lighthouse. He only knew the dark and the crashing waves. Not the light and calmness of the ocean.

But being with Mitch changed all of that.

"What are you thinking about?" Mitch asked. Harry took another sip of his tea and looked at the liquid in his favorite cup. The one Gemma bought for him last Christmas.

"You," Harry said. He felt Mitch tightening his grip around his shoulders and he snuggled deeper into Mitch's side.

"In a positive way, I hope," Mitch joked. Harry kissed Mitch's chest and the small gesture of affection made Mitch feel warm and fuzzy inside.

" 'Course," Harry mumbled. The rush of adrenaline Harry had felt a mere hour ago had disappeared and he felt the exhaustion kicking in.

Harry loved the rush and the kick that came with performing and he loved to sing his heart out and inspire other people to do the same. But this, this moment right here, was maybe even better than singing all his songs. Just lying on the couch with Mitch by his side was more than he could ever ask for. Mitch was more than he could ever ask for.

And some people would describe this as boring, but maybe that is exactly what Harry needed. Someone constant in his life. Someone who would bring rest to his hectic life. Someone like Mitch.

"I love you," Harry said. Mitch kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, love," Mitch whispered, but loud enough for Harry to catch it.

And if Harry fell asleep against Mitch and Mitch had to take the not empty mug (he should know better than to give him a full mug, he never finishes them after concerts) from Harry's hands so he wouldn't spill it on his hands to put it on the coffee table, nobody needed to know that.

And if he cradled a sleeping Harry against his chest and sang him a soft lullaby, nobody needed to know that either.

Because this was their song.