The Other One {Harry Styles AU}

30. Now

I am laying under a thick warm blanket on Anne's sofa, my legs tented over Harry's lap, and we are watching The Doctor Who Christmas special. Well, he is. They are. I'm looking at my wrist, twisting my bracelet around and around. The way it is put together, I can always see one of the engraved plates. Happily. I flip the flat metal over. Strong. Flip. Happily. Flip. Strong. I spin the whole thing around my wrist, the blue and green and purple beads catching the light.

I feel like my gift for him was shallow in comparison. His is all, I love you. Mine is all, I know you like music? (shrug). But if he knew what I had to do, what I had to fucking do to get that backstage pass. Then he would know it meant love. You see, even Maddie Turner can't just get behind the scenes with The Rolling fucking Stones. You have to know someone. And I do, but he's not someone I talk to. Ever.

My dad.

Okay, to be fair, I still didn't speak to him myself. I had Karen call him. And then he put her in touch with his old high school friend Jim, a drummer who has worked with the likes of John Lennon and Elvis Costello and Mick fucking Jagger. Jim knew who I was straight away when I called, and when I explained what I needed, he said he would see what he could do. Especially if his son could come to a taping of Turning Pages. I mean, who gives a shit, right? I obviously agreed to that. And Jim called me back two days later with the details, though the passes themselves were sent from the Stones management directly to my PO Box later that week. But then, fucking asshat that he is, my father started calling Karen asking to speak to me. And calling Mitch. And calling my mom. As if I owed him now, or something. Fuck you. So, yeah, my present to Harry shows my love for him. Because only for him would I ever reach out to my father. In any way.

Harry is staring at me as I twist my bracelet around. "What?" I ask, wondering how long he's been watching me.

"Is it uncomfortable?"

"What? No! It's perfect." I hold my wrist to my chest protectively, as if he might take it from me.

"You keep moving it around like it's bugging you."

"No," I keep moving it around like I'm in awe of it, like I can't believe it. "I love it. I'm just...admiring it." He smiles my slow, oh so beautiful smile. "Obviously you had it made..."

"I had the plates engraved, but I made the rest of it."

"Shut up," I sit up, my eyes widening. "You made this?"

He laughs. "I mean, it was just stringing some beads on some wire and cutting some chains and attaching it all to the loops at the end. No big deal--"

I stop his words with my lips, my hands wrapping into his long hair. It's almost to his shoulders, reminding me of my mom's pictures of teen heartthrobs from the early 1980s. No big deal. Shit. His present is even more perfect now that I know he fucking made it. "I love you," I whisper into his mouth, then push my tongue back in. He pushes my legs down onto his lap, and I can feel him hard against my calves.

"Come on, Haz, too much!" Gemma throws a pillow from the other sofa. I laugh and flop back onto the couch, shifting so my feet press against his erection. I grip him with my toes, and he shoots me a warning glare. Like, I will tickle you. I will carry you up the stairs while tickling you. Or maybe just, I won't be able to stop my groaning. I move my foot slowly, my eyes locked on his. He mouths the word brazen at me. But he doesn't stop me. The muscles in his shoulders and back tighten as he tries to pretend to watch the show. His hand dips under the blanket and wedges between my legs. He rubs his fingers against my pajamas slowly and raises his eyebrows at me, like two can play at that game. And I will lose, so I swing my legs off him and stand, stretching.