IT IS 4 AM AND I CANNOT SLEEP SO I BANGED THIS CHAPTER OUT <333 I also do not have my glasses on so there might be typos lmao I literally cannot see
...
Amelia
I'm exhausted by the time I get home. It hasn't been a terribly long day, but it definitely wiped me out. First the doctor's appointment with Dr. Rhoades, and then lunch with my mom. It was nice to spend time with her, but technically I'm still concussed so I just wasn't feeling it. I felt bad for my horrible attitude, but I told her that I'd come over for dinner sometime within the next week or so.
Well actually I said Harry and I would go, so I hope he's okay with that.
I groan to myself as I get out of the elevator, entering my apartment. I just want to sleep, I think. I feel bad because Louis is here still, but my social limit has been spent.
Damn, this concussion has really made me into quite the antisocial and moody creature. Definitely not sweet in the slightest.
I sigh and walk through the apartment, towards mine and Harry's bedroom. I'm assuming he's out since the apartment is eerily silent and I haven't seen him or Louis yet, but I'm proved wrong when I push the bedroom door open and see the both of them sat on the bed.
"Oh hey, baby," Harry says, moving his hands behind his back. "I didn't realize you'd be home so soon."
I furrow my eyebrows. He seems tense and just...off. Not necessarily in a bad way, but more like he was caught doing something he shouldn't have been.
"I cut my lunch short. I wasn't feeling up to it," I say. My eyes flicker between Harry and Louis, both smiling awkwardly at me. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes! Yeah, everything is fine," Harry brushes me off, his hands still behind his back. "Are you okay, love? Would you like to sleep or to be left alone? Can I get you anything?"
I sigh, opting not to think too much about his suspicious behavior.
"No, I'm okay. And I don't mind hanging out with you two. I just want to curl up in bed though. I'm tired but I don't think Im ready to sleep just yet, if that makes sense," I say.
Harry nods understandingly.
"Of course, we can hang out in here. There are a couple of things I want to talk to you about, actually," he says, causing me to frown. "No, nothing bad, bubs. Why don't you get comfortable and I'll join in a second? I just want to - uh - change my shirt."
Harry stands up quicker than I can process and rushes over to the closet. I want to ask him what his deal is but I also might just be reading his behavior wrong. I feel out of it and just not ready to open up a can of worms.
"How was your doctors appointment?" Louis asks me while I place my purse down on the dresser and then walk over to the bed, crawling under the covers after kicking my shoes off. He stays put where he is, just turning towards me and sitting crosslegged.
"It was okay," I respond. "My doctor didn't say too much about my concussion, but she said my cheekbone is healing nicely. She just reminded me to sleep with my head elevated and to ice it whenever I can. She also wants to begin slowly decreasing the amount of pain medication I'm on, which I'm not excited about. The Vicodin makes me groggy but it definitely helps with the pain."
At this point, Harry comes out of the closet with the NYU sweatshirt I bought for him a while ago. I smile softly at the sight while he climbs into bed, snuggling up next to me.
"I'm sorry, love. But that's also a good thing if she's decreasing it. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think while you ween off of it," Louis says.
I shrug.
"I hope you're right," I say. "She did say, however, that I could take Tylenol, the extra strength kind. Hopefully that should help while I come off of the Vicodin."
"I'll go out and get you some," Harry jumps in. "I can go now if you'd like."
"No, no," I cut him off, gently. I place a hand over his which he had put on my thigh. "I'm good for the next couple days. She wants to start weening me off on Saturday so I'm okay for right now."
Harry nods.
"Okay. I'll go tomorrow then. I have to go out and get groceries anyway. We're running a little low on food," he says. I hum in agreement and glance down at our touching hands, my heart fluttering at the sight for no apparent reason. I guess I'm just happy we're back together. "The rest of your appointment went okay though?"
I nod my head.
"Yeah, nothing exciting or new happened. Dr. Rhoades just said I'm doing well and healing better than most," I say.
Harry gives my thigh a squeeze and I look up at him, seeing him smile at me.
"I'm glad you're doing okay, love bug," he quietly tells me. "If you ever feel uncomfortable or in pain, though, please tell me. I'll get you whatever you need."
My cheeks heat up at his words. I don't know why, for it's a relatively simple statement, but it sounds sweet coming from his lips.
"Thank you," I whisper, a stupid blush on my face. I clear my throat, trying to compose myself and gather my other thoughts. "So you had something you needed to talk to me about?"
Harry's eyebrows furrow momentarily, clearly having forgotten what it is he wanted to say, but then they smooth out and his mouth forms a small 'o' shape.
"Yes," he says. His eyes nervously dart over to Louis, who has been watching our whole exchange, for some sort of reassurance. I see Louis give him some sort of silent signal through his facial expression, urging him to continue. "So as you know, because I believe Mitch told you while we were on our break - and if he didn't, then this is going to be really awkward - I'm co-hosting the MET Gala next month."
I purse my lips. Did Mitch mention that to me? I want to say yes, but my mind has been so incredibly hazy over the past couple months that I honestly can't remember.
"I don't recall Mitch telling me," I slowly say, causing Harry's face to fall. "That doesn't mean he hasn't, though. My mind's just been....everywhere," I add. I almost blurted out something about me adjusting to being on anti-depressants, but I leave that part out since Louis is still in the room. "But Harry, that's incredible. That's a huge honor and accomplishment."
Harry shyly smiles, a dusty pink color inking across his cheeks.
"He's quite the fashionista," Louis chimes in, causing me to giggle.
"Agreed," I say.
Harry definitely has an eccentric sense of style. Around the house he opts to wear sweatpants and random t-shirts, but when he goes out or to events, he completely transforms. Recently he's been into fancy shoes, I've noticed. Minus the same dirty white pair of vans he insists on keeping around, of course. He's also into fisherman caps and jewelry, and sweater vests. I caught him perusing a selection of them last night on his phone before we went to bed.
"Thank you," Harry bashfully responds. "But I - uh - I don't bring it up to gloat. I bring it up because I was told that I'm allowed to bring a plus one and well, I know the timing is awful with it coming up so soon, but I wanted to know if you would go with me," he asks, looking directly at me.
What?
He wants me to go with him to the most exclusive party to ever exist?
I know that I would be attending as his guest, but even then I don't feel like I belong. The MET Gala is full of celebrities and people high up in the entertainment world, as well as just insanely rich people in general. It's certainly not a place for someone like me.
"I know I should have asked you sooner, but I found out when we were on our break and didn't know if I should have asked during that. I also didn't want to ask anyone else because I just want to go with you..." Harry continues, earning an "aww" from Louis.
I feel frazzled right now. I should be jumping at this opportunity because surely this will only come once in a lifetime. Unless of course Harry is invited again, but he's not guaranteed to be allowed to bring a guest. He's also not guaranteed to invite me again if he does go.
"I - I don't know," I answer, honestly. "I mean, it's such a big event and I'm just...me. I don't have anything to wear and I wouldn't know how to act. And my face still looks like this! Harry, I can't go with this huge bruise on my cheek. I don't know when it'll go away,"
Harry frowns.
"We would run through everything beforehand, love. I would help you prepare. Plus you'd be with me the whole time. I wouldn't leave you," he says. He runs his thumb over my thigh for comfort and I'll admit, it works. "As for the dress, Alessandro Michele - he's the creative director for Gucci - said he could create something for you. He's working on my outfit and offered to do yours as well. We would just have to let him know fairly soon so it would be done in time."
I bite the inside of my cheek. This would be the first major event Harry has invited me to. We've been out together publicly, but never to something this grand. I would say the most prominent event we've been to otherwise has been Harry's concerts while on tour, or the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show but still that was nothing compared to the MET Gala in terms of celebrities and red carpets and interviews.
Oh God, would I walk the red carpet with him? Would he introduce me as his girlfriend to interviewers? Am I ready for all that publicity?
My mind is reeling with information that I'm unable to process right now. My brain was foggy enough today to begin with, but this only adds to that.
But although I'm overthinking this for personal reasons, I also know that Harry is asking me to go with him. He wants me there as his date and to be honest, that should be a good enough reason to go. I might be anxious about the whole ordeal, but I also want to experience this event with him. I want to be able to go to things like this with Harry if we're going to make this work long term. I just have to find a way to work through my insecurities.
"What about the bruise on my cheek?" I ask Harry.
He smiles softly at me.
"You'd have your own hair and makeup person," he calmly says. Of course. "I know it's a lot to take in and you can sleep on it if you'd like, but I'll be there with you the entire step of the way. I would just want your doctor to clear you beforehand, of course."
Right, the concussion. How could I forget?
Every fiber of my being wants to scream yes. Of course I want to go with Harry. I'd be a fool to say no, but that stupid little nagging voice in the back of my mind is yelling at me, persuading me that this is an awful idea.
"What if I'm not pretty enough?" I whisper, my heart hurting. "There'll be other celebrities and beautiful people and - and I'm just average,"
"Don't you dare speak about yourself like that, Amelia," Louis sternly cuts me off, catching me off guard. My eyes snap over to him and see him giving me the most serious expression I've seen on him. "You're fucking gorgeous. Yes, there will be pretty people there but you know what? You're going to be one of them. You've fallen victim to believing that you're not beautiful because of the media's portrayal of beauty standards, but fuck that and fuck anyone that tries to put a label on what's pretty and what's not. You're stunning, fractured cheek and all, and if you go, you're going to absolutely be the star of the show."
My mouth drops open, genuinely not knowing what to say.
Does he mean that? Surely he must, judging by the expression on his face. It's one I've never seen before.
"Thank you," is all I can muster to come out. There's so much more I want to say to him, but I literally can't seem to formulate words. I want to hug him and cry and thank him profusely because I didn't know how badly I needed to hear those words until now. Harry's been great at reassuring me recently, but this? This is different. I think I needed someone to yell at me, or rather give me a stern talking to rather than just coddling me.
"Of course," Louis says, his expression softening up a little. "I meant every word of it. I know what it's like to feel down and uncertain but...you just can't let it rule your life. Easier said than done, but you enjoy so much more of life when you just let go."
I hate my newfound depression and anxiety. It's been ruling my actions and thoughts and everything in between, but Louis is right. I won't be able to overcome it overnight, but I shouldn't put off an event that I really want to go to with Harry because I'm feeling iffy about it. I'm iffy for the wrong reasons and that's not a good enough excuse.
"Okay," I say. I tear my eyes away from Louis and look at Harry, who has a smilier expression to mine after Louis' spiel. It's one of shock, mostly, but also admiration. "I might need a pep talk or two and some guidance, but...I'd love to go with you, Harry,"
And although my feelings are all over the place right now, I genuinely mean that.
...
okay I actually need to sleep now