I woke up to a firm knock on my hotel room door. I dragged my head from the pillow, hazed with confusion, before rolling over to reach for my phone from where I'd left it on the bedside table. I squinted, reading the time to be just before seven o'clock. It was a Sunday, and I was sure the rest of LA wouldn't have even begun to stir yet. The sun was already streaming through the hotel curtains, where I'd only half-drawn them in laziness the night before, and the room was beginning to warm under the light.
I exhaled, dropping my phone beside me and laying back on the mattress again, wrapping myself back in the covers. It was far too early for me to even consider moving, and I'd already decided on ignoring the knock on the door and allowing myself to drift off back to sleep. I was sure it must have been the housekeeping, seeking to get into my room to clean it, but I was also sure they'd go away upon realising the room was still occupied, eventually - I just didn't quite feel like alerting them to my presence, then - after all, I hadn't actually gotten to bed until late into the evening, and even then, it had felt impossible to fall asleep.
I'd spent much of the previous evening in a trance - partially of envy, that he'd had so much more strength than I, to say what he was feeling, and the remainder; in a weird sort of elation. I hadn't felt that before; the flush of my cheeks as he confessed to being able to tie a tie, all along; the way I had to bite my lip forcefully back into my mouth to stifle the grin I felt threatening to spread as I followed him out of his dressing room as if nothing had even happened; when Stella and Ally joined us again, both of them ushering Harry away - our distance restored with him, as the world-famous megastar, and me, just his photographer - nobody knew a thing. Neither Ally nor Stella could've suspected anything - even when he turned back, to shoot me a final, mischievous glance, causing my stomach to flutter as he walked away from me. But that didn't matter, because he knew. I knew.
He won every award that he was nominated for. It could've been three, or it could've been four, I didn't really know. I lost count after the second time he rose from his chair, a humble smile upon his lips and a sheepish hand raking through his hair. The celebrities around us that I'd only ever seen on magazine covers before tonight rose in admiration each time, some of them shouting playful jeers about Harry stealing all of the awards from them, squeezing his shoulder in a respectful gesture as he'd make his way to and from the stage.
"Somehow," he'd murmured, lowering my camera with his fingertips from where I'd positioned it to capture him with his awards, once we'd arrived back into his dressing room. "This isn't even the best thing to happen tonight."
It felt like I was walking on air - and just for a moment, I wanted to relish in it. My mind hadn't even caught up with it all just yet - it felt like for once - just this once - things could be good. Harry was good. Harry was so, so good.
Everything that had taken place over the past couple of weeks felt like events in the life of somebody else; like the experiences of a life that wasn't mine. I'd never have been able to picture myself in a position even close to this one; every single aspect of my situation felt surreal - I'd been unable to even comprehend my very presence on this tour - how on earth was I supposed to digest this?
He'd practically spelt it out for me, but even then, I couldn't fully let myself believe it. He couldn't have been more abundantly clear, but even then, I found myself questioning if this was all somehow a huge misunderstanding that he wished he could go back on; a lapse in judgement, or an odd moment of spontaneity. But it wasn't - it was thoughtful, it was calculated, it was deliberate.
I could still feel how his fingertips had pushed into my hair, and his face had lowered to my own. I could still see the way his lips twitched into the most radiant of grins, a breathy, satisfied chuckle filling the space between us - that image had been burned into my mind from the second my head had hit the pillow that evening; I was sure it would be burned into it forever.
"Iz, I don't quite know what you're doing to me, but I want you to keep doing it."
When I'd finally fallen asleep, I'd been unable to tear the ridiculous grin from my face, or shift my mind away from the taste of his lips on my own. I wasn't sure I'd ever felt infatuation before, but this had to be it; it was otherwise inexplicable, the way that he occupied my mind with such relentless ease. Was this what it was like to want, and to be wanted in return?
The nagging in the back of my head told me quite the opposite - it told me that he'd not paid me another thought since we'd parted ways earlier that evening. No, I wouldn't have even crossed his mind; not once. His fingers wouldn't have lingered on his own lips, as my own had on mine, silently recalling how it had felt for us to kiss after what felt like torturous weeks of avoidance; nor would his chest have fluttered at the recollection of my face inches from his. Harry wouldn't have cared; he couldn't have cared.
But he did. At least, it felt that way. When his hand would reach for my chin, capturing it gently between his fingertips, or his hand would draw over my waist, his eyes falling to lock on my own; it felt like he did, more than anything. It felt like everything else could be silenced; it could disappear, because it didn't matter.
But with elated recollection, and each warm flutter of content, came a twinge of panic. They were only in flashes, and I'd managed, mostly, to stifle them. But they were there - they were most definitely there.
I'd never been anything but pragmatic; that was how I'd argued it to Grace, when she'd huffed and rolled her eyes at my lack of willful imagination. I had hopes, I had dreams - of course I did. But I'd never dare let myself fantasise or dwell upon them, for the fact that they simply weren't realistic.
"If something feels too good to be true, that's because it probably is," I'd pointed out to Grace, once, bringing my knees to my chest as I positioned myself in my seat on my bed, watching her roll her eyes from the space beside me. She'd sighed at me, defeated.
"Sure, you don't have to be naïve, Izzy, but sometimes," she shrugged, turning to look at me, "sometimes, things can just be good."
What had been the point in wasting the very little energy I had on dreaming about self-fulfilment and a life that I wanted to lead, when quite simply, they weren't an option in actuality? Of course, I could build castles in the air, relentlessly daydreaming and fantasising about what I really wanted; about what could've been, if I'd been brave enough to take it. But I feared doing so might break me; instead, I needed to keep my head down, and do what I needed to do. And therefore, I'd never pursued anything outside of what I deemed practical; the correct thing to do, because what I wanted, I didn't think I could ever have. That was why it had taken so long; so much, to get here - I'd never have pursued this job, or anything like it, I'd never have pursued the life I wanted for myself, and I'd certainly never have pursued Harry.
I'd never known anybody able to simultaneously turn everything I thought I knew about myself on its head, making me question every boundary I'd ever set in place, whilst also making everything feel so easy. Despite the constant cavilling of my mind, being with Harry felt right.
The knock sounded at my door once more, just as my eyes had begun to flutter shut - still firm, but a little more scattered, as if the perpetrator was hesitant to alert me to their presence for a second time. I furrowed my eyebrows, bringing my hands over my face to rub my eyes a little too fiercely. So much for going back to sleep.
I let out a silent, tired huff, tearing the warmth of the covers from my body. I pulled weakly on the remnants of the ponytail I'd tied before falling asleep last night, not daring to look in the mirror for fear of the sight - I just needed to politely decline the service I was sure was waiting to be offered on the other side of the door, and then I could go back to sleeping, undisturbed.
I glanced over at my open suitcase, reaching for the first thing I saw in search of something to pull over me. I'd fallen asleep in very little, and didn't fancy answering the door and exposing myself to somebody on the other end. I grabbed a pair of black sweatpants, fidgeting urgently to pull them on, before my hand landed on a black sweatshirt and I quickly pulled it on, also. It felt slightly larger than the ones I typically wore, and a little unfamiliar, but I didn't have much time to dwell on it, heading for the door to pull it open.
What I hadn't expected, was to be greeted with the very individual who I'd been unable to push from my mind all night, standing before me looking far more presentable than I was sure I did at this time of the morning. Clad in a poorly-buttoned Hawaiian shirt that I was sure I'd detest if sported by anybody other than him, a tote bag hung from his shoulder, his hands occupied with a cardboard tray holding two iced drinks, which judging by their colour, appeared to be coffee.
"I was starting to think this was the wrong room," he said, pressing his lips together in a teasing motion. My heart was undoubtedly threatening to thump out of my chest, but my exhaustion won, and I yawned, bringing my hand to my mouth and watching him raise an eyebrow, "Late night?"
"Uneventful one," I teased back, playful satisfaction filling my chest as I watched his jaw drop in mock offence. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, or say, next, my fingertips pressing against the edge of the door, where I held it open. Harry appeared to read my hesitation, before I forced myself to move, pressing my back to the door to pin it open, fully, now, and beckon him inside.
I closed the door behind him, and turned to follow him into my room, seeing how he'd stopped just beyond the entry to the bathroom, before he could get to the main area of the room. I forced myself not to stop there and stare at the back of his head for too long, unsure of how I could be so fixated even upon the back of somebody, and instead, I opted to gently brush past him, ignoring the chill on my skin as his head turned to follow my movements. I made my way back over to the bed I'd been so reluctant to leave, climbing back into it and drawing the covers up. I could feel Harry watching me as I did so, catching a small smile pulling on his lips. I leaned forward to gently pat the end of the bed, inches away from where I sat, signalling for him to sit down there, too.
"I wasn't expecting you," I stated, honestly, feeling oddly relaxed in his presence and finding myself nuzzling back into my pillow. I felt the mattress dip, signalling to me that Harry had taken me up on my offer and taken a seat at the end of the bed.
"But are you happy to see me?" he countered, and though I'd closed my eyes, I could sense the playful glint in his gaze upon me.
"If you want me to stroke your ego, all you have to do is ask," I told him, tiredly, reluctant to admit that as nervous as I was in his presence, of course I was happy to see him. I wasn't sure I could ever be anything different.
"That wasn't a no," he quipped, and I giggled half-heartedly at his response. "I thought you might be a little reluctant to get up so early. I got you this," he said, suddenly, and I opened one eye, not lifting my head from the pillow, peering over at him as he held out one of the drinks I'd noticed upon his arrival.
"Oh," I felt a flutter in my chest at the gesture, taking the drink from him and attempting to prop myself up against the pillows. "Thank you."
"That's not too much milk, is it?" he asked, catching me by surprise, appearing slightly uncertain. I shook my head, confused - it was the ideal colour, to me, an iced black coffee with the tiniest splash of milk. I noticed his drink looked a little paler in colour than mine. "I know you don't like much, but.. haven't quite mastered how much."
I felt my cheeks heat at his declaration. How did he know that?
"How do you..?" I trailed off, watching him match the tilt of my head with the tilt of his own.
"'Just do," he replied, softly, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, his eyes meeting my own, and suddenly, I felt much more awake.
"Thank you," I repeated, bringing the straw to my lips. The coffee was perfect - of course, it was. "Is this bribery for the early wake-up call?"
"It's not that early.." Harry trailed off, as if he, himself, wasn't even convinced of his words.
"Do you just not sleep?" I asked him, though I already knew it wasn't the case. When travelling, it felt like there was barely a second lately where Harry's eyes weren't closed, and so it surprised me that he appeared to be up so early from choice.
"I had some other things on my mind," he returned, and I tried to ignore the inkling I had that Harry had struggled to sleep for the very same reason I had. "In fact, I had a proposal for you."
I drank some more of my coffee, waiting for him to continue. I watched as he pursed his lips momentarily, before his eyes flickered from mine, to the remainder of my face. I was struck, then, with the sudden reminder that I undoubtedly looked like hell, in that moment, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I tried to ignore it, but now that was another prodding point of self-doubt to add to the plethora of them, in my mind. The way I felt so overwhelmed with feeling in Harry's presence made it almost hard to believe that I'd had sex with this man on more than one occasion; he'd seen me in just about the most personal way possible, yet I feared his judgement now, despite the fact he'd never given me any sort of indication that he was capable of judging me even half as negatively as I was judging myself. I tried to focus on him in front of me, forcing the anxieties from my head as best as I could.
"You can say no.."
I frowned, waiting for him to continue, again. He drummed his fingers repeatedly against his coffee cup, peering down at it in his lap for a moment, before he looked back at me.
"You'll have to tell me what it is, first," I teased, gently, after he didn't break the silence. I tilted my head, beckoning for him to continue and earning a tiny twist of his lips which I couldn't help but mirror. It was like every panicking thought I'd had since last night was somehow amplified, but simultaneously eased in his presence; I couldn't explain what it was that he did to me, or how he made me feel - everything felt so heightened and overwhelming, but at the same time, so calm - so natural, so okay.
He felt too far away from me, despite only being sat a foot or two away on the bed. I was aching to request for him to move closer, but I wasn't quite sure how, or if I should dare to ask.
"That's mine," he said, suddenly. I frowned, peering back at him blankly for a moment, before I followed the line of his eyes. They'd fallen to my body, now, rather than my face - they'd fallen to the sweatshirt that I'd pulled on in a hurry to answer the door, and I quickly realised what he meant; this was his sweatshirt. The very one that he'd given me when I'd left his house that first night we'd met.
I didn't even remember packing it. Why would I have packed it? Did I even pack it?
I dared to meet his eye again now, only to see the most satisfied of smirks pulling on his features. I felt my stomach flutter and I was sure my face was reddening as he didn't shift his eyes from me.
"Is it?" I asked, as if clueless, earning a tiny scoff from him.
"It absolutely is."
I pursed my lips, "Weird.." I tried to sound nonchalant, but wondered if he could sense the rapid beating of my heart from my position a few feet away. His smirk didn't waver, as he watched me as if he could see right through me. Suddenly, he moved, leaning past me to set his coffee down on the table beside the bed, and though he hadn't been reaching for me, his sudden proximity caused my breath to hitch in my throat. When he returned to his seated position, he was far closer than he had been a moment before; if I'd wanted to, I could've reached out and touched him, now. And I definitely wanted to.
I set my own coffee down beside his, and returned my hands to my lap. I lay my eyes on one of his hands, resting dangerously close to my crossed legs. My eyes fell to the intricate cross tattoo that embellished the hand that was closest to me, and how his slender, neatly manicured fingers almost drowned in the bulk of the jewellery upon them. I'd never have thought I could be so captivated by such a small aspect of somebody, but undoubtedly, I was.
It was like he could read my mind, lifting his hand from the mattress to lay it between my own, and though I felt a jolt at the sudden touch, I accepted it, biting back a smile as I could now toy with his hand in my own.
"What's your proposal?" I asked, reminding him of his own statement, feeling the heat of his hand in mine. I drew one of my thumbs slowly over the bulkiest ring he wore, feeling the cool surface of the metal design. His eyes flickered down to where our hands were, before they landed back on me.
"I figured," he said, finally, his eyes holding onto mine in that hypnotic way that they always seemed to, "we have one free day here. I don't have any more press to do, or anything else... and I know you've never been to California," he paused, eyes scanning briefly over my face in a way that almost made me feel slightly conscious, again, of how undoubtedly dishevelled I looked before him, before I caught the smile playing on his lips. His fingers now ran over mine, still positioned in my lap. "I want to show you around. If you'll let me."
There was such an odd warmth in seeing him this way - quieter, gentler - somebody who was so confident in every other aspect of his life; who would literally throw himself around a stage night after night, quite literally anything but shy. But he was different, here.
I wanted to spend the day with him in California more than anything. I wanted to tell him that absolutely, yes, I would love to do just that - but I feared what that would mean. I feared that could symbolise a greater commitment than I was able to give him - I feared losing the contentment I'd been feeling since he'd kissed me last night. Harry was so, so special. And I so, so wasn't. I knew I couldn't possibly be enough for him - I'd never been enough for anybody, ever, and I worried that this wouldn't be any different.
I wanted things to be good. I knew how easily it came, really, being with him; our conversation never struggled to be sustained; I never felt judged, or at risk of being undermined or ridiculed. I knew this wasn't some kind of death sentence - it was an incredible man, who I had an unspeakable amount of feelings for, requesting to spend the day with me. But it was there - that sneaky, pesky nagging in the back of my mind - that if it felt too good to be true, then it probably was.
But I'd come this far. Though I hadn't quite had the same strength as he had to tell him exactly what I was feeling - nor had I even been able to tell myself - I knew he still knew that I reciprocated what he said he'd felt for me, at least. And we were here, as surreal as it felt, we'd finally caved. I didn't want to go back to how it was before; yearning, and longing, and wishing things could be different. I wanted him, truly.
"Won't you be recognised?" I asked him, though that was arguably the least of my concerns. His eyebrows furrowed a little, as if he was, too, confused that was my key question.
"Probably," he said, honestly. "But that's okay. I came prepared." He glanced down at our hands, and withdrew his gently from my grip to reach into his tote bag, retrieving two pairs of yellow sunglasses, earning a small laugh from me. They would do absolutely zero in disguising him from the public eye, but it was endearing, all the same. "It's a rule, Iz. You come on my tour of LA, you have to wear them." He leant forward again, lessening the space between us, and I felt my heart swelling at sight of him there, grinning, in front of me.
Without really thinking, I reached up to rest my hand on the side of his neck, dragging my thumb a couple of times over the sharp line of his jaw, a smile pulling on my lips.
"Well, if that's the rules..." I trailed off, watching his face light up as I reached for one of the pairs of sunglasses and pulled them on, and he mirrored my actions.
"So you'll come?"
My head was screaming at me to say no - to keep go back to trying - and failing - to maintain as much distance between Harry and I as possible, so not to allow it to blow up in my face. I could feel myself really, really starting to like him. Much more than I had planned to - and with that, came more and more complications. Distance was safe; distance was familiar, and it didn't have strings attached. But every other part of me was pulling me to him - I wanted to be with him, as he appeared to want to be with me. I wanted it to be easier - and it was, when I was with him.
"Of course I will," I laughed at his gleeful demeanour, still detectable through the tinted lenses over his eyes, before I pulled the sunglasses back off. "If you'll let me shower, first."
"However long you need," he told me, his boyish grin never wavering as I placed the sunglasses back in his hands. My heart swelled at his excitement as a result of my confirmation - I wasn't sure I could recall another time I'd sensed that somebody was excited to spend time with me.
I stood up and made my way into the bathroom, showering and brushing my teeth, the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach now becoming difficult to ignore. I hated myself for seeking to ruin everything with my own overthinking; my own complications. This could easily remain simple, and remain enjoyable. Harry just wanted to spend a day together, as did I.
I peered at myself in the mirror as I wrapped myself in a towel, before making my way back out into my room. I'd half-expected Harry to have left before I got back, having resolved to meet me downstairs before we left, but as I entered the room, he was still lounging on my bed, this time with his phone in his hand, scrolling mindlessly. Clad in only a towel, I almost subconsciously drew to cover myself as his eyes landed on me, and it almost brought a small laugh to my mouth. I somehow had to remind myself, again, that I'd had sex with this man on the first night I'd met him.
His eyes followed me around the room as I reached into the clothes I'd brought with me, in search of something to wear for the day, retrieving some things from my suitcase.
"Cover your eyes," I requested, earning a playful whine from Harry, who, of course, obliged, nonetheless. I bit back a smile as I pulled on my clothes, before I told him he could open them. He did so, as I folded my towel back up and moved back over to the bathroom to hang it in there. I returned to the room, standing in front of him.
"Is this too much sideboob?"I asked him, twisting my body slightly to run my finger over the cut of my shirt. His eyes widened slightly at my question, before his expression turned to a playful one.
"Dunno, Iz. Come and give me a closer look," he quipped, and I laughed, taking another step towards him and enabling him to hook his fingers through the belt loops in my jeans. My chest thumped a little as he did so, and I stood positioned between his legs, as he remained seated on my bed. Subconsciously, my hands rose to land on the sides of his face, my fingertips just reaching his hair. He closed his eyes briefly, before tilting his head back to look at me, and I could've melted, feeling the urge to connect our lips. I let one of my thumbs draw gently over his mouth, tracing the light stubble that surrounded it as his eyes remained on me. How could I ever grow tired of this - this simplicity, this dynamic, the ease in which we interacted when it felt like we didn't have to stop ourselves from crossing some sort of line anymore. I was already beginning to adore it.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked, softly, as if any higher volume would shatter the bubble forming around us. My main fixation was upon his hands drawing tantalising circles on my waist, but I forced my eyes from him to scan the room briefly. My eyes landed on my open suitcase, and the item wrapped, protected, in a scarf that sat amongst my clothes.
I moved away from Harry, his fingertips ghosting over my waist as I separated from him and lifted the item from my suitcase. My fingers wrapped around the edges of the scarf, unlooping it carefully. Inside, perfectly in tact, was the camera that Johnny had gifted me before I'd left London.
"What's that?" Harry was standing, now, and he'd followed me across the room. One of his hands brushed over my waist, again, as I turned to face him.
"Johnny found it for me, just before we left," I smiled fondly. "It's all black and white film. I've been waiting for the right time to use it.." I trailed off, turning my head to face him. I pressed my lips together in a tiny smile, as he waited patiently for me to continue speaking. I drew back from him, raising it as if silently requesting for him to pose. He only watched me, and I raised my hand, lifting my middle finger to direct the gesture at him, causing him to break out in laughter as I snapped the photo. "It works. Can you put it in your bag?" I requested, innocently, as Harry closed the distance between us with a playful roll of his eyes.
"Mm," he hummed a response, still mimicking annoyance, but his hands were incredibly gentle as he took it from me and headed back over to the bed. I watched him arrange his bag, carefully, so that it was cushioned by the remainder of his things.
He reached into his back pocket, and held up a set of car keys, showing them to me. He raised his eyebrows, stepping aside to gesture for me to head for the door. "Let's go for a drive."