I swallowed, peering up at the mass of overhead cameras pointed at the stage. There were far too many lights for me to count, each one seeming bigger than the next. I watched as a woman with a bright, red-lipstick-painted smile was surrounded by two others, who lightly swept makeup brushes over her cheeks. She was laughing at something one of them said, clearly unphased by the fact she was about to go live in front of millions.
Stella had booked this interview for Harry - one of multiple, this morning - to take place before we left to move onto the next city for Harry's show that very evening. I wasn't quite sure why I was needed here - I supposed I could take some photos of him getting ready to go, and whatever else; as Ally had said, capturing the whole essence of the tour, but I felt there were definitely enough cameras here to cover my job. I didn't mind, though. I certainly wouldn't have gotten to experience this, otherwise, and it was anything but dull. I'd been surprised to see none of the other band, or crew, here, but I figured Harry was the star that the networks wanted.
A hand landed on my waist, for a mere second, but it was enough to startle me from my thoughts. I spun around, greeted by the warm smile of Harry - somebody else, who was clearly unphased by the magnitude of the situation. I realised this ought to be normal to him by now, having done it for the best part of a decade, but I still couldn't wrap my head around it.
"Hi," was all he said, his eyes locking onto my own. The gentlest of smiles pulled on his lips - one I was beginning to really enjoy the sight of. Harry seemed to have a range of smiles - his most performative when he would widen his eyes and raise his eyebrows, trying to imitate his joy as starkly as possible, likely for a non-candid photo I was taking. He had another when he was being friendly, or polite, though still genuine; talking to fans, or to other members of the crew that he wasn't so familiar with. He had his most candid of smiles, when he was really enjoying his conversation - I'd usually spotted it in conversations with Pauli, or Mitch, or anybody else in the band, with it often overtaking his features between his fits of uncontrollable laughter or whilst telling a joke. And then, he had this one. I hadn't quite put a label on what this one was, yet; I'd only seen it in traces, and when I had, I'd been so lost in the warmth it caused my chest to fill with, that I was unable to do much else. It felt special, somehow, though I couldn't quite describe it. I wasn't sure if it was deliberate, or if it simply tugged on his lips without much warning, but I loved it.
"Hi," I returned, ignoring the heating of my skin underneath my shirt, where he'd touched me for a moment. He'd only done so to brush past me and to make his presence known, but it was already clouding my mind as he stood in front of me, now. He was dressed far more casually than he was for his stage appearances, but he still radiated the very same aura as he did when clad in something adorned in glitter, or diamonds. There was still something about him, even when before me now in a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized cardigan, that just made him look so much better than anybody else could. Harry truly was a star, in every sense of the word.
"Ready to watch me get grilled on my personal life?" he asked, tilting his head a little.
"Do you know what they're going to ask, already?" I returned, genuinely curious.
He shook his head, "No, but Stella pre-approves a list of questions to try and keep them related to what we want to talk about," he raked a hand through his hair, his eyes briefly drifting to the empty chair opposite his interviewer, which he was due to occupy. "'Doesn't mean they don't try and slip in a couple that are unapproved."
I hoisted myself up to sit on the edge of an abandoned equipment box, giving myself a little more height as Harry stood before me. "Like what? Is everybody desperate to know how you have your eggs in the morning?" I joked, catching the playful twitch of his lips at my question.
"You'd be surprised. I keep that information very close to my chest," he joked back. It was funny. Even with all the noise and the buzz inside this room; the intensity of the atmosphere, and the stress of just about everybody bustling around - even despite the lowness of his voice, as if the volume were reserved solely for me, he was all I could hear, and all I could focus on.
I bit back a grin at his response. "Why don't they just ask you about the tour? Isn't that what you're here to promote?"
I watched as his eyes scanned over my face, a tiny, almost a little wistful smile upon his own lips. "That doesn't really matter to them. As long as there's a headline. It's like they can't help it, really - there always has to be a 'are you seeing anybody at the moment?' or a 'do you still keep in touch with this random person from your past?"
"Surely you just don't answer them."
He blew out a breath, "I don't, usually. But that doesn't really matter, either. They've got my facial expressions on camera, or they'll overanalyse the little that I do say," he paused, raking a hand through his hair, forcing the playfulness to return to his tone, a little. "It's a losing game."
I remembered what he'd told me a little while before about how he would've liked to go to university. University was something that had seemed so trivial to so many - it was almost something that you just did. I know I hadn't given myself much another choice - it was university, or nothing else. And at the best of times, I couldn't stand it. I associated university with exhaustion - just another thing to drain me of every ounce of interest or joy that I had. University, for me, was symbolic of how nothing I ever did felt right. But Harry wanted it.
I would never have imagined that somebody in Harry's position might envy a position like my own. I remembered the wistful expression on his face, as he'd told me he'd have liked to have the opportunity to grow up, properly. The opportunity to learn, and make mistakes, and grow into yourself as you should be able to; as you should be encouraged to. I looked up at him, now, and felt a strange urge to take his face in my hands; to touch him and tell him that in a funny way, I understood that feeling. I'd have liked that opportunity, too.
I watched him as he stood before me, pressing my lips together. I wanted to ask him more about himself; what it was like to grow up how he did, but I feared he might ask me the same. I watched the gentle furrow of his eyebrows as his eyes were drawn away from me, to a loud noise made by some equipment from the corner of the room. His lips parted in focus, before he pressed them back together, and returned his eyes to me. I found myself wanting to understand him, weirdly; I wanted to know what had gotten him to where he was. I wanted to know what had made him so wary of others; what had prompted him to create this persona of his that he presented when in public. I knew I'd never understand the intricacies of fame in the way that he did - but I'd always believed a life like his own would be anything but complex; I'd figured it would be a matter of quite literally everything being handed to him on a silver platter, day in, and day out - and in a way, it was. Everywhere he went, he was catered to without hesitation. People fought for even a glimpse of him passing by - but I was beginning to realise that there was far more to it. There was far more to Harry.
"Harry, they're ready for you over there." A voice sounded, suddenly, breaking me out of the secluded bubble Harry and I had appeared to form at the side of the room. I looked up, greeted with a head of blonde hair, and for some reason, I felt my stomach turn.
Stella's hand landed briefly on Harry's shoulder, and he sent her a nod. He sent me another brief glance, as he took a step away, before his back fully turned away from me, and he made his way over to his chair. I watched him as he walked away, suddenly feeling a strange emptiness in his absence, without him to talk to.
Stella now stood before me, and she looked perfect. I couldn't help but feel so inferior when positioned across from her. She was quite literally everything enviable; she was tall, her hair a beautiful blonde that likely cost more than my rent to maintain, always styled without a strand out of place. She was gorgeous, I couldn't deny that, not even with the glare fixed upon her expression as she stood before me.
I couldn't stop the fact that she and Harry were once an item from sneaking into my mind as stood before me, typing on her phone. I knew I didn't really understand the extent of it; I only knew what Harry had told me, vaguely. I knew it was four or five years ago, when they were much younger, and that it had only lasted a matter of months. And it didn't really seem to mean anything to him, at least not anymore - but I didn't quite get that same impression from Stella.
It was then I realised that I wasn't sure we'd even spoken yet. Multiple shows in, and several days being spent in the group - I don't think we'd even made an introduction. She'd made it quite clear, to me, that she wasn't interested in doing so; each time I'd stood within a five-mile radius, I'd been the receiving end of scowls, and irritated eye-rolls, that I'd done my best to ignore. I wasn't quite sure what I'd done, but I'd been repeatedly told by the others that this was simply how Stella was. I hadn't seen her talk to the others, either, and I supposed they'd all known her for far longer - they were used to her, and perhaps, the novelty of her evil looks had worn off.
I wondered if I was overanalysing. That wasn't exactly out of character, for me - I was trying to be a little more aware of that. We hadn't said a word to each other - she hadn't explicitly expressed a problem with me. It could very much have been all in my head.
I felt oddly inclined to introduce myself to her, but my chest was thumping with nerves. I wasn't sure if it was due to the thick level of tension filling the air between us, or her undeniably intimidating presence before me. Stella was everything that I wasn't. She was an esteemed professional; she had an established career, with connections, and experience. I was certain she knew that as well as I did.
"I don't think we've really had a chance to talk, yet," I said, not really recognising the sound of my own voice as my words filled the space between us. "I-"
"What is it that you're actually doing here?" she snapped, suddenly, lifting her eyes from her phone to lock onto mine in the iciest way possible. I frowned, taken aback, unsure if she was talking about where we were today, or if she was asking a far larger question. She added, "Other than getting in the way?"
I didn't respond, and I could picture my shocked expression. If I'd been waiting on her to explicitly express a problem with me, I certainly didn't have to wait any longer. I wanted to muster up the will to respond to her, but she'd spun on her heel and walked away from me before I could even begin to do so. I bit my lip back into my mouth, leaning back against the wall in my seat on the equipment box. What on earth had I done to her?
I could feel Harry looking at me, even metres away, seated beneath the bright TV lights. They didn't seem to be on air yet, the host of his interview only just preparing to take her seat. I wasn't sure if he'd watched Stella and I's conversation, or what even would've been distinguishable from his distance across the room. I felt a strange lump in my throat. And for the first time since I'd been here, I felt deeply unwelcome, and out of my depth in a very, very different way.
Harry tilted his head at me, confused, and I realised I hadn't made any effort to fix my expression. He could probably see all of the thoughts seeping from my mind, and though I wasn't sure if he'd be able to read very many of them, I knew he wasn't stupid. I shook my head, quickly, sending him a little smile. He didn't appear convinced, and I could feel his eyes remain on me, even when I looked away.
I stood up from the box and made my way over to where I needed to be. I wasn't quite sure why she'd rattled me so much - though it was likely due to her being the first to outwardly say what I'd been inwardly thinking this whole time; I didn't really belong here. I did my best to ignore her. I knew her opinion didn't really matter; the others had told me as much, and they all seemed to hold equal disdain for her as she did for them - but it bothered me. I was bothered that she thought that of me. That was something else I was trying to be more aware of - that I hadn't ought to care what she thought. But it didn't stop her words from dangling in the back of my mind for the rest of the day, hanging over me in a taunting, tantalising manner.
By the time we'd left the studio, and Harry's interview had concluded, I was thankful to return to the company of Elin and Pauli, Sarah and Mitch. Harry certainly hadn't done anything wrong, but I needed a break from the relentless overthinking that occupied my mind every time he was anywhere close to me. Harry murmured something into Pauli's ear as we approached, and Pauli's eyes widened. He then broke out into a wide grin, holding his fist out for Harry to meet it with his. Mitch surfaced to stand beside the pair of them, before Harry turned to him as well, muttering something else I couldn't distinguish, only for Mitch to pat his shoulder. I watched, curiously, from the corner of my eye.
"God knows," Elin said, answering my question before I could even ask it, and playfully rolling her eyes, before handing me a coffee that they'd grabbed before meeting up with the rest of us. I accepted it, gratefully. "They're always onto something that we don't get to know about. How was the interview?"
I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. "Harry seems to think it went well."
"And Stella?" she asked me, a knowing grin on her face. Elin definitely didn't like her. I glanced to the side, where Stella had separated from the rest of us at the soonest given opportunity.
"Lovely," was all I said, choosing not to mention the comment she'd directed at me, earlier. Elin raised an eyebrow. I knew I didn't need to say anything else; she could already imagine how Stella had behaved, I supposed.
The remainder of the journey to Harry's next show was rather eventless. We had a three-hour drive on the tour bus to make it to Dallas. Ally and Stella took their seats in the front, as they usually seemed to, away from the rest of us. The tour bus had far more space than I would've expected it to, originally, but I was rather thankful for that, given the length of time we had to spend on it. There was a large, sort of rounded, couch in the back, where we'd all begun to occupy; Sarah and Mitch huddled into a corner, with the rest of us grouped together in a half-circle in our seats.
Harry had put his earphones in, curling up into his seat. His knees were brought upwards, and he'd kicked his shoes off, and I hadn't noticed until now, but he'd brought a notebook out of his bag. He held the lid of a pen between his teeth, and his eyes narrowed on the page, clearly focused. The depth of his facial expressions never failed to amaze me - I'd never met anybody else whose expressions held so much intensity, or managed to captivate me in quite the same way.
I figured I'd been staring for a minute too long, when Harry glanced up from his page, to meet my eye. A boyish grin played on his lips, as he sent me a playful raise of his eyebrows, and I shook my head back at him, fighting back a smile of my own. My heart thumped in my chest at our silent communication, before I tore my eyes from him and his gaze, bringing my eyes down to my phone.
I replied to a few texts that I had from Grace, filling me in on what was happening in her life, and asking me equally about mine. I smiled down at my phone as she told me about the 'most stunning' boy she'd met, feeling a gentle pang in my chest that she couldn't tell me in person, and had to be excited alone. I really missed her.
I opened my emails, typing a response to one I'd received from Johnny, who had no idea how to compose any form of text, and so would use his computer to email me, whenever he had a chance. I smiled fondly at the odd abbreviations he made with words, wondering if they were deliberate.
When we finally arrived in Dallas, we didn't even have a chance to stop at the hotel. Instead, we were straight to the arena, past the mass of fans who were buzzing with anticipation for Harry's arrival. As we drove by, I watched Harry raise from his seat, twisting his body and craning his neck around to gaze through the tinted windows at them, unsuspecting as we drove by. His expression was soft; thoughtful, at the sight of them. I wondered what he thought of it all.
As soon as the bus came to a halt, Harry and the band were straight off into rehearsals and soundcheck. I decided to let them be for a little while, the tiredness from the busy day we'd had really beginning to hit me. I was certainly the least used to it, out of the whole group - I wasn't quite sure how they were so accustomed to minimal sleep, and constant movement. Instead of joining them, I wandered around backstage, a little aimlessly, my camera hanging from around my neck.
I took only a few minutes for myself, but I'd certainly felt as if I'd needed it. It was the moments of quiet such as these, even when we were only a small number of shows in, that I was beginning to savour. I still struggled to wrap my head around the situation I was in, despite already being so deeply immersed; it was when it was quiet, that it would all hit me, and I was forced to overthink it all; that I was really here, after everything.
I remember when he'd broken my first camera. It was only a small one; made of feeble plastic, and no bigger than my tiny palms. It was the type that came wrapped in film as an extra to a magazine - my sister had bought it for me, hiding it under my mattress one afternoon, after school. I remember when I'd found it, and how my heart had almost burst with joy. I'd read the magazine back to front more times than I could count - but it was the little extra that kept me occupied, the most. I'd always wanted a camera.
I don't think it even actually took pictures. It made a childish clicking sound, and a tiny bulb would flicker, acting as a flash, and it had a little lens that poked out - but I loved it. It was bright pink in colour, with stickers of tiny hearts upon it, that had come as another extra in the magazine, and I'd stuck on, myself. I'd hidden it under my pillow, inside of the case, whenever I had to be away from it, and pulled it out to admire it only when I felt it was safe enough to do so.
I remember coming home from school in a good mood. My teacher had praised me that day, for a story I'd written, and I couldn't wait to tell my sister. She was the one I knew would be most interested - even at such a young age, I knew it wasn't at all worth telling the others. It would only become a point of ridicule.
I'd been stopped by him when I was only a couple of steps inside the front door. I couldn't even recall what he'd shouted at me for - something unbelievably minuscule, blown entirely out of proportion, no doubt. But I'd nodded, and taken it, apologising when prompted, and aching to get upstairs and away from him. She'd stood behind him, whilst he shouted, nodding her head, routinely. That was often what confused me, the most.
Finally, I'd made it upstairs. I was careful not to hurry, for the fear that he might ask what I had to be so excited about. My school bag slung over my shoulder, as soon as I knew I was out of sight, I rushed to my room. I opened the door to dump my things down, excited to run across the hallway to my sister, only to be stopped in my tracks. I froze in my doorway, my bag at my feet.
Tiny pieces of pink plastic were scattered across the wooden floor. I'd taken a sharp intake of breath, before taking a tentative step into the room. No. I'd hidden it so well.
I started to frantically wonder if it could be anything else. Anything but my camera, laying at my feet, in broken-up fragments. I dropped to my knees, clawing at the pieces in search of an answer, but I knew I already had it. My eyes scanned over the sight before me, my lips parted in utter dismay, seeking any other explanation for the sight before me. I glanced up at my bed, in a frenzied haze, only to see my pillow torn from its case, laying at the opposite end of the bed from where it should have been. He'd found it.
I brought my hands back up, catching something tiny that had latched onto the pad of one of my fingers. I turned my finger over, a tiny, metallic heart sticker caught upon it.
I'd sworn then I would never love anything so much again. I would never, ever, let myself become reliant, or possess too much passion or love. I never wanted to feel that again. I never wanted to have something so special to me, ripped from me again.
Looking up at the hallway, backstage, now, I ran my fingertips over my camera, in my grasp. I held it tightly, pressing my lips together. None of them would've ever believed that I was here, working, as I was, now. I wouldn't have, either. Part of me wished I could tell her; that I could go back and help her pick up those tiny pieces of plastic, and say that she'd get her very own camera, again, one day.
By the time I made it to soundcheck, they only had couple more songs to go. I took some photos of them as they practised, before they finished up to go and get ready for tonight's show. I figured I ought to do the same, and I didn't cross paths with them again until they were about to go on stage.
I took some more photos before they hit the stage, the loud buzz of fans now able to be heard from inside the arena. Harry was clad in a green velvet suit, without a shirt underneath, and I, of course, had to force my eyes away from his body before me. He'd buttoned the jacket, loosely, but with wider movements, a glimpse of his abdomen or his chest was provided, and it caused my breath to hitch in my throat every time. He was truly breathtaking.
Harry, Mitch and Pauli seemed to continue exchanging glances between each other, and I was tempted to ask Pauli what was going on - he seemed most likely to give me an answer. But before I could, it was time for everybody to go on stage.
Elin came over to me, mindlessly tightening her ponytail as she did so. I turned to face her. "What's up with them?" I asked her, referencing the three guys. She shook her head, laughing softly.
"They're excited about the show," was all she said, sending me a playful shrug. She glanced back over her shoulder at them, before looking back to me, with a smile. "I'll see you out there."
I headed out to take my place as the lights began to drop in the arena. I was surprised when a fan, positioned against the barricade, shrieked my name as I crouched before her. Somebody actually knew who I was?
I turned around, snapping a photo of her group of friends, after checking with her that they were happy for me to do so, a warm flush on my face at the amicable interaction. I knew Harry would be excited to see a picture of his fans, later. I didn't have much time to dwell on it, before the music signalling Harry's entrance had begun to play.
After seeing a few shows, and having been given a printed version of the setlist to study on my first night, I'd begun to learn the patterns of the show. I'd started to learn which side Harry would flock to the most, and where he'd position himself for the start of each song; at which points he'd make his way down the catwalk of the stage, and when he'd make time for fan interactions.
Around halfway through the show, Harry would take a few minutes to interact with individuals in the crowd; often to poke fun at creative signs, or people who were particularly clambering for his attention. My eyes narrowed, when we drew to this point, but the lights didn't lift as they had done for the previous shows. Sarah was tapping against her drums, with Mitch strumming an individual chord on his guitar. Harry's eyes landed on me, clearly catching my puzzled expression. He moved quickly to the edge of the stage, where I stood, beckoning me in with his hand.
I frowned, stepping forward so that I was in his reach, as he dropped to his knees, into a crouched position. His hand rose to meet my hair, tucking it behind my ear and sending an immediate shiver down my spine. His hands lingered, one placed upon the opposite side of my face to him to hold me in front of him, and the other with his fingers pushed into my hair, exposing my ear to him. He leaned in to bring his lips to it, loud screams sounding behind us at his proximity to where I'd been standing in front of the fans.
His voice rasped against my ear, "We're doing a new song. I'll probably stay on the other side." His breath was against my ear, with his fingers dragging slowly against my hair in our position, causing my heart to thump rapidly in my chest, before he drew back from me, and met my eye with a knowing smirk upon his lips.
My entire body felt hot, just at how he'd touched me, and I had to quickly force my composure to return so that I could actually go and do as he'd requested. I caught Elin's eye as Harry returned to his microphone stand, and I headed over to the opposite side, as he'd told me to. A new song?
The crowd went eerily quiet at the sound of a sudden, unrecognisable beat sounding - they clearly had never heard this, hence their confused reaction, as Harry grasped his mic in his hand, and headed over to the side I'd occupied, as he said he would.
His voice suddenly rang through the arena, sounding as effortlessly beautiful as it always did - but with unfamiliar lyrics, that I'd never heard. I lifted my camera at his first line, before bringing it back down in an attempt to listen.
"It's you, and I'm not getting over it," he sang, nodding his head from side to side, "darling, is it cool if I'm stubborn when it comes to this?" His eyes opened, bringing his microphone down, briefly, tapping his foot against the ground. It was as if the absence of crowd noise had caused him to compensate with his own movements.
I watched, carefully, as he bent forward a little, bringing his mic back to his lips. "I guess we're in time... if you're getting yourself wet for me, I guess you're all mine," he sang, now, dragging his hand sensually over his own body, and I had to pause in order to try and comprehend if those words had actually left his mouth - but the loud array of screams throughout the arena confirmed to me that they, too, had heard the same as I had. Still reeling from how he'd pushed his fingers into my hair, only moments ago, his words lingered desperately on my mind - another reminder of how intimate we had been, and wouldn't be, again.
He finished his line, "You're sleeping in this bed with me," and I felt my stomach turn. I'd have been stupid to believe his words had anything to do with me, but it undoubtedly caused the image of him, asleep, beside me in my hotel room, to flash into my mind. I blew out a breath, raising my camera again, forcefully trying to remind myself what I was supposed to be doing - working, not stupidly fawning over Harry before me.
Harry's eyes then locked onto my own, his body swaying to the beat that he had created, as his lips parted again. "I just think you're cool," he paused, letting his eyes flutter closed for a second, "I dig your cinema. Do you think I'm cool, too? Or am I too into you?" He raked a hand through his hair, and I felt like my entire body was on the verge of bursting into flames with how he was staring so intently at me. This has nothing to do with you, Izzy. Not a chance. "Tell me what you want, and you got it, love. I want all of you, give me all you got; that's cinema."
I bit my lip back into my mouth, attempting to focus on the photos I needed to be taking. Harry had directed me over here for a reason, after all; to capture photos of him performing this new song, and I was becoming far too distracted with the lyrics that he sang. But I couldn't help it.
Was this what he'd come up with at his writing session with the other two guys the other day? Was this what they'd been exchanging glances about? This new song? But why hadn't they simply told me about it, earlier on? I knew I was overanalysing, but again, I couldn't help it. I was beyond intrigued, and such intrigue was only repeatedly heightened by each lyric he sang. What did they mean? What had made him write this, and decide to perform it so soon?
"It's you," he sang suddenly, breaking through the brief instrumental. He had, somehow, yet to move from his spot in front of me, his eyes falling briefly over the crowd, before they returned to me, "don't know why, but it feels so right to me," he stopped, gaze fixed on me. I raised my camera up, blocking us from making eye contact, and I assumed he must've been seeking a photo - that must've been why he stopped to sing those lines in front of me. But the moment I broke through our eye contact with my camera, he took some steps away and turned back to the crowd.
The crowd seemed to pick up on the few repeated lyrics of the chorus after a while, their confusion beginning to fade as they focused, instead, on singing scattered lines that they would manage to predict, or simply screaming in approval and applause at the words Harry sang. I couldn't help but watch, mesmerised. Each word felt so pointed, and though there was no way this could have anything to do with me, I couldn't force the flutter from my chest, and the heat from my skin. Am I too into you?
My mouth went dry, beginning to contemplate the same. Don't know why, but it feels so right to me. This wasn't about me, but I certainly could've said many of these things about him. I felt that sneaky, tormenting feeling that although we'd been explicitly clear on being friends, and nothing more, the impact he had on me wasn't something I could ignore - and it wasn't friendly. I wasn't sure why, either, but in his presence, things felt right - us sleeping together had felt right; when he kissed me, it had felt right. And I didn't know why; all I knew was that it shouldn't have.
This couldn't have been about me, surely. Why would he write a song about me? He hadn't. Harry had made his feelings clear; we were friends, and colleagues, and I was perfectly fine with that. There was no possible way that the words he'd written were feelings that he had about me - it didn't make sense. He wasn't into me. It wasn't me. I wasn't his.
I tried to force all of my overbearing thoughts from my head - the deep overanalysing that was happening, even with him only feet in front of me, continuing to sing. This song wasn't about me. But, as much as I despised to admit it, and how much I wished it were otherwise; I couldn't help but wish that it was.