I'd always dreamed of going to New York.
Grace and I had always sworn that one day, if we ever made enough money between us, we'd blow it all on a single trip to New York City. It was a silly sort of pact we'd made; I'd never thought that I'd ever actually be there. And if, somehow, I was, then it would never have been without Grace there, too.
But that's where I was headed. I'd promised to take a photo of just about everything in sight, and to call her even more than I had in every other city, but it still made me a little sad; a little wistful, even. I knew she'd have been furious at me to know that I was wasting a single moment yearning for her presence, but I couldn't really help it. As happy as I was; as much as I enjoyed the company of the people I was surrounded by - she was my best friend, and there was a strange sort of emptiness in reaching big milestones whilst being so far apart from her.
There were five shows due to take place in New York - consecutively. Back to back, five nights at Madison Square Garden. Wednesday to Sunday, and in the midst of all of this, after the second show; Harry's new song would be released at midnight, on Friday. That meant, today, when they'd post the announcement of the new song to his social media accounts, that the media frenzy would begin. He'd have his first interview, virtually, the moment we were due to arrive back at the hotel, and then, I doubted I'd see much of him at all outside of the shows for the next five days.
Again, I wasn't sure how he was going to do it all without a word of complaint, but I didn't push. For, now, I understood its importance; he'd told it all to me. He'd do whatever he felt that it took, whatever everybody told him that it took, not to lose what he had - if that meant sleepless nights; relentless performance, then he'd do it.
I'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, my knees pulled into his lap as we waited to board the plane. His arm was draped over my thighs, my arms practically clinging to his as I slept. When I'd woken up in the hotel that morning, I wasn't sure when I'd last slept that well. It felt like each night that I slept beside Harry, it seemed to get better and better. I'd never have known the comfort that could come from somebody's arm wound around my body, or being able to bury my face into their neck, if it weren't for him.
It struck me that I could stop being so alert, and just fall asleep in his presence. It was yet another thing that just seemed to come with him that I couldn't quite fathom - I felt so at ease, that it almost made me feel the opposite. I'd slept for over twelve hours the night before - I didn't even feel especially tired; it felt, instead, almost like a comfort thing. Like I could just stop when he was there.
"Do you want to write it?" was the first thing I heard, breaking me from my sleep. I lifted my head from his shoulder, seeing that Ally had appeared to stand in front of where Harry and I were sitting. She sent me a small smile as I looked up, bleary eyes, and I felt Harry tap his hand lightly against my thigh in the gentlest of acknowledgements. My eyes shifted from Ally, to notice Stella standing beside her, somehow looking so perfectly made-up, despite being about to embark on a day of travelling. Her hand was outstretched, offering a phone to Harry.
"Yes," he returned, taking it from her, "I'll do it now. I'm posting it now, too?"
"Well, I'll obviously need to check it," Stella returned, her eyes flickering between both Harry and me, beside him. I hated the way my body turned cold at her eyes on me, instead choosing to focus on the touch of Harry beside me.
I looked up at him, catching him as he narrowed his eyes. "It's a tweet for a single, Stella, I'm not planning on going rogue and posting a nude. I'm posting two sentences, at most," he said, and as he brought the phone to his lap, I noticed the icon in the corner. It wasn't his phone, but it was logged into his Twitter account. I knew he had access to them himself, but it only struck me, then, that there was likely a whole team of people behind each statement he'd make on social media.
I watched Stella roll her eyes, but I proceeded to focus my attention on Harry as he drew his hand from my leg to compose the tweet. His arm remained threaded through mine, and I felt a thump in my chest, noticing how attached to the draft of the tweet, was my photo. It was the photo I'd taken, and hoped so desperately they would pick - they'd chosen it, and they were using it.
I watched as he contemplated for a moment, before he began to type.
'Complicated Freak. I had the time of my life writing this and I can't wait to share it with you all. See you Friday. H'
"Poetic," I remarked playfully, as he handed the phone back to Stella, and I felt him pinch lightly at my thigh in response. Stella took the phone, scanning it with her eyes. She didn't look up again, fixing her eyes on the phone and saying nothing else before she walked away. I caught Ally rolling her eyes as she went to follow her.
I exhaled, leaning back into Harry's shoulder and feeling him kiss my hair. After a moment, he pulled his own phone from his pocket, and opened up the Twitter app. I frowned, watching as he went to click on his own profile, refreshing it as a new tweet showed up, sure enough. It was the single announcement that he'd just composed, yes, suddenly with over a hundred thousand likes, with the photo I'd taken attached to it. But the text had been altered.
'Complicated Freak. See you Friday. H'
"Why did she do that?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. She'd extracted the most genuine part of the tweet.
"Enjoying my life isn't very 'mysterious rockstar', I suppose," he said, his tone rather unreadable. He didn't seem particularly phased; by the way he'd gone straight to open the app, it didn't feel crazy to assume this sort of thing wasn't uncommon. It did feel a little unfair, to me, but I didn't comment on it.
"I think you're a very mysterious rockstar," I said, my tone laced with wit as I pouted up at him. My hand moved to rest upon the side of his face, before my fingers pushed back into his hair as he pouted back at me.
"Yeah?" he spoke with equal humour. "Is it all the sequins?" he asked, the pout still on his lips as I mirrored it, nodding, as we joked. "They turn you on? Do you promise?" he asked, lowering the volume of his voice as if pleading with me, causing me to laugh. I tilted my head back as he began to litter my chin with short, quick kisses, and I could sense the laughter falling from his own lips.
"Izzy," Elin had caught my attention once we'd boarded the plane and taken off. I was sitting with Harry, but across the aisle, maybe two metres away at most, was Elin. She had a notebook in her hand, and a pen in her other as she met my eye. "Do you know what time you were born?"
I heard Pauli and Harry groan simultaneously, causing my eyes to widen in confusion at both her question, and their reactions.
"Don't answer," Pauli said, leaning over to meet my eye. "She's trying to clone you," he whispered, a mock expression of fear in his eyes as Elin elbowed his side.
"Shut up, will you?" Elin huffed, turning back to me. "I used to want to be an astrologist. I might start doing it on the side - they make a lot of money, you know," she said, matter-of-factly, shrugging and leaning back in her chair.
I bit back a laugh. "I don't know what time I was born. Sorry," I shrugged back at her. I was sure my mother wouldn't even care to know that.
"Fine," Elin sighed, "I can only go surface level, then. When's your birthday?"
I raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to predict my future?"
"No, that's not really my thing," she shook her head, "even though I did predict you and Harry, so-"
"A blind person could've predicted that," Pauli remarked, earning a snort from Harry beside me. Elin rolled her eyes, turning back to me and waiting for my response.
"It's on the eighth. Next month," I told her, watching her scribble it down intently, as I felt Harry's arm tense beside me.
"What?" he said to me, as I turned my head to face his narrowed eyes. "Are you serious? That's, like, a couple of weeks away."
"I think it's around three weeks, still," I furrowed my eyebrows, calculating it in my head. It was around a week before the tour was due to end, in California - it was something I didn't like to think about.
I hated birthdays - I always, always had; mine, or anybody else's. I certainly didn't like to make a fuss of them. In fact, I much preferred it when they were ignored altogether. Grace, historically, had tried to make a small thing of it, in any way that she could; usually, it meant eating an entire cake between the pair of us, or a bottle of overpriced wine. But I never dared classify it as a celebration, because what on earth was there to celebrate surrounding my life, surrounding me?
Growing up, birthdays were never mentioned. They practically didn't exist, and so, now - to me - they still didn't, really. It was only upon moving away from home that I realised most people did, indeed, celebrate their birthdays. I'd always known when my birthday was, but I'd never felt any sort of buzz surrounding it - there'd come a point where I'd often barely even notice it approaching.
Until my father died on that exact day.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, appearing slightly offended as he broke me from my thoughts. I pursed my lips, receiving yet another reminder that most people did, indeed, care for these sorts of things.
"I don't know, it's not really something I've ever made a big deal out of," I said, honestly. "I don't really care for it." I did, now, have yet another reason to dread the days drawing closer to my birthday, because it meant that my time, here, on tour, would be coming to an end soon after.
Harry frowned, not speaking for a moment. His eyes were searching my own, as I attempted to appear unphased by the topic. He spoke, then, seeming genuinely curious. "Would you have told me? Or would it have just passed?"
I hesitated, knowing the real answer wouldn't be the one he wanted to hear. But I stuck to it, regardless. "I probably wouldn't have, no," I admitted, pressing my lips together. "It's just another day."
When we made it to New York, it was around a thirty-minute drive to the hotel, from the airport. For the duration of the drive, my eyes had been set on the sights out of the window, an immediate warmth filling my chest. New York City was beautiful. I'd spent a fair amount of time in the US, now, but this was like nothing else, yet. It possessed that same charm in the city that London did; where in the centre, it felt almost surreal. But this was bigger; this was better. The billboards extended metres higher than the ones at home, and the lights were so much brighter, even in the midst of the afternoon. The buildings were all those tall, sort of office buildings - narrow, and reflective in nature, making everything seem even more vast. The streets were rammed with people, and cars, and with those yellow taxis that I hadn't known actually existed until now. This place had the kind of buzz that I could fall in love with, just like I had with London. This felt like the real deal.
I must have sent Grace at least fifty photos before we'd even made it to the hotel, each one met with an immediate response of equal awe, and playful jealousy. The hotel was of the same extravagance that they always were, but there wasn't much time to take it in before Harry had his first virtual interview. The tweet announcing 'Complicated Freak' had surpassed a million likes on Twitter within a matter of hours, and just about every news headline was talking about it. It was almost easy to forget how famous Harry was; I knew him so personally, it was hard to remember that around a billion other people knew who he was, also.
He didn't even have time to change, the baggy hoodie he'd worn on the plane still hanging from his body as he pulled his laptop from one of the bags. I hadn't even contemplated checking into a room of my own, and it appeared that he hadn't either; we were staying together. He blew out a breath, opening his emails up as he set his laptop down on the desk. We'd barely been inside the room for a minute, and he was already back in work-mode.
"I'm waiting for them to send me the link, to join," he explained, turning to face me. I'd just switched on the kettle that the hotel had supplied. He sat in the chair, positioned before the desk, and he tilted his head at me, his eyes on me enough to make me melt. My body moved toward him of its own volition, and his arm immediately looped around me to pull me into his lap.
He hummed, then, his lap enabling my face to hover level with his own. I took it in my hands, dragging my thumb to trace over the faint stubble on his jaw, as his eyes fluttered closed.
"You look so good," I couldn't help but remark, quietly, sort of fascinated by the way he always seemed to look so well put-together, even in a constant state of sleep deprivation and after extensive travelling.
A short laugh left his lips, then, his eyes opening briefly, only to tempt my lips toward his own. We kissed for maybe a second, before a notification sounded from his emails, signalling that his meeting was about to begin. He huffed, tilting his head back in my hands. I lightly pinched his chin, as he squeezed at my waist.
"Do you want tea?" I asked him, as the kettle made a clicking sound to signal that it had finished boiling. He nodded, murmuring a 'please', as I stood up from his lap and he leaned up to kiss me again. I leaned down, obliging, feeling goosebumps arise on my skin as I drew away from him, and he turned to his computer.
He clicked away for a few moments, as I silently grabbed two mugs and began to make the cups of tea. He looked over at me, "The camera can see, like," he paused, drawing a perimeter with his fingers around his shoulders, "here. So if you don't come that close, you won't be in the frame," he warned, and I simply nodded, pouring water into the cups. I heard him connect to his call, an enthusiastic "Hello, Harry Styles!" sounding from the other end, and thus: his performance began. He was oozing energy and charisma, a bright smile on his lips as he returned their greetings.
I made our cups of tea, adding slightly more milk to his, than I did to my own, knowing that was how he liked it. I tried to be as silent as possible as I stirred it, gently setting the spoon down and creeping over to where Harry sat, his eyes fixed on the screen as the interviewers asked him a question I hadn't listened to. I set his tea down a few inches from him, certain I'd be out of frame. His eyes didn't waver from the screen, but just as I turned from him, his arm subtly raised to enable him to pinch lightly at my bum in acknowledgement of his tea. It took everything in my power not to squeal at the contact, but my heart was racing as I shot a playful glare at him that I knew he couldn't see, but he'd definitely be able to sense.
I ended up sitting in one of the other chairs a couple of metres across from him, my knees to my chest and my own mug of tea grasped in my hands. My camera also sat in my lap, where it always did, and I was unable to resist taking a photo of him, there, doing his interview. There was something so oddly intimate about being on this side of the screen; they got to see what he put in frame, of himself, answering their questions, but I got to see the entirety of him, as he did so. His baggy sweatpants; his mismatched socks - the way he mindlessly would tap his feet against the ground, almost in some kind of uncertainty as they would ask each question.
"We'll let you go in a minute, Harry, but we do have one last question for you. 'Complicated Freak' comes out this Friday, we already know we're going to love it - what goes into writing a song like this? Is it along the lines of what we've heard from you before?"
"I mean, I think writing's very individual," he replied, his voice slow as he contemplated his answer. "For me, it's about people, and experiences, and just... I don't know," he said, almost shyly, peering off to the side, as if catching himself on the verge of divulging too much detail. "I'm really happy with it. I'm usually quite a slow songwriter, and I really like to take my time, but this one came along pretty quickly, and it meant my process has been a little different. I'm just trying to," he paused, as if searching for the word, "embrace it. I think this song does a lot of that, and - um," he trailed off, "yeah. I'm excited for you to hear it," he finished, a little firmer. It was interesting to see how his confidence and wit seemed to waver and fluctuate when he answered about the actual content of his songs; as if he feared giving too much away, or saying something he shouldn't. He was careful, and calculated in his honesty - he was thoughtful.
As expected, I barely saw Harry outside of the shows for the next two days. He'd been snatched up into song promo, and I barely got him back. Soundchecks suddenly didn't feel long enough, as Stella would always cut them short to whisk him away for another appearance.
Although I missed him, it felt nice to spend some more time with the others, again. Harry was often separate from them, so that meant that being with him, I was often separate from them, too, and it felt somewhat of a shame. I loved spending time with the four of them, so I supposed there was a slight positive to Harry's absence.
I spent those two days, mainly, with Sarah and Elin, occasionally joining up with both Pauli and Mitch. And I loved it, truly, but I felt his lack of presence.
"Are you excited?" I asked him, in one of the brief moments I'd had with him since the morning of the day before. He'd just gotten out of the shower, and we were back in our hotel room. Two shows had passed at Madison Square Garden, the second one somehow even more electric than the first. The arena in itself somehow seemed to amplify his performance; with it being such an iconic venue, packed with 20,000 people. He made it look easy.
"Kind of nervous," he admitted, running his towel through his hair. "I've never released a song while on tour."
"It'll be amazing," I reassured him, pulling one of his hoodies over my head. "Did you see all the signs, tonight? They already love it." I'd spotted at least a dozen signs in the crowd referencing the new song, despite the fact not one person in attendance had heard it yet.
"Well, I'm excited," I told him, then, my arms winding around his neck. It was almost midnight, and we were minutes away from heading downstairs to meet up with the others. At midnight, Stella had told us, in Times Square, a huge billboard would illuminate with Harry on it, to celebrate the release of the new song. I'd watched Harry's face light up when he'd learned that. It was a big deal to him, I could tell.
"I should tell you," Harry said, before we left the hotel room, "this song is obviously about you, too."
My face flushed, surprised at his bluntness, my skin turning warm. "It is?" He nodded, his hands drawing over my hips. "Wait, I'm the freak?" I raised an eyebrow.
"No," he shook his head, laughing, "I am. Or I was. You'll get it, when you hear it."
We couldn't go into Times Square - not a chance. Harry would've been mobbed the moment we stepped foot into such a crowded area - and so, we'd be driving. Me, Harry, Sarah, Mitch, Pauli, and Elin were all going together, to see the billboard; from the safety of the car, trailed closely by Harry's security team.
Everybody was in hoodies and sweatpants, all obviously too tired to pull themselves into anything else, with how hectic the week had been. I was sure Harry was exhausted; I'd caught him stifling yawns, and letting his eyes close for a second too long when he'd lean against my shoulder, or rest his chin on the top of my head. But everybody was so excited for him, just as I was - I could tell - and it was so heartwarming to see.
Harry sat by the window, and I was sandwiched between him and Pauli, across from Sarah, Mitch, and Elin as we began to drive. Harry's hand was in mine, in my lap, as the car took off from outside the hotel, and a funny buzz filled my stomach.
"Oh my god, it's out, it's out!" Elin exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. I glanced down at Harry's phone as he tapped on the screen to light it up, seeing that it was now midnight. 'Complicated Freak' was officially released.
"Put it on!" Sarah urged her, as Elin leaned behind her to where the radio was positioned, messing around with it. My heart raced in anticipation.
"I'm trying!" she exclaimed, messing with her phone. Harry squeezed at my hand, as Elin finally connected it, and cheered victoriously.
A low guitar strumming sounded, before the repeated beat of a drum came in over the top of it. I glanced over at Harry, who was already looking at me. The instrumental lasted a couple of seconds, before Harry's voice came in.
'She got wrapped up in somebody else, I'm wrapped up stuck in love with myself.'
Elin let out a loud cheer, clapping her hands together excitedly as the others joined in. I watched Harry smile at them, before his eyes were back on me, as if waiting for my reaction. I narrowed my eyes, listening intently.
'I never saw this coming around, but I miss her skin on me, now.'
I looked up at him, raising my eyebrows at him in a silent question, as another array of cheers filled the car, praising each line as he sang it. His voice sounded beautiful - of course it did - so beautifully raspy, and deep, as if it all came so naturally.
'Tip of my tongue, she's pulling my hair,' the lyrics continued, and I heard Elin gasp. 'I do what she wants anywhere.'
'Backseat of the car, and up in the air. But I miss how she kissed, everywhere.' The drumming picked up, and I felt my chest jolt, feeling how his eyes were burning into me.
'I can't get you off my mind,' Harry's voice sounded from the track, before it repeated again, sending a chill along my spine. I leaned back in my seat, an elated laugh of disbelief escaping my lips, as everyone else listened with equal engagement. 'I still crave it, complicated freak, I still crave it; complicated...' a pause, and another beat sounding, 'freak.'
Elin kicked off another array of cheers, which I couldn't help but join in on, this time, squeezing at Harry's hand. Harry's shoulders seemed to drop in relief, laughing as everybody screamed in support of him, just as we seemed to reach Times Square.
"Oh my god, there it is," Harry breathed, as the instrumental of the song continued to sound throughout the car. And sure enough, on the biggest billboard there was, the photo I'd taken of Harry was plastered upon it, fully illuminated in light. Everybody continued to cheer, as I raised my camera to snap as many photos as I could through the window.
My photo was on a billboard in Times Square. This was arguably the most significant thing that had ever happened to me, but I wasn't even thinking about me. I was thinking about him; how happy I was for him; how proud I was of him. I could see in his eyes, he was besotted with the sight in front of him, his lips slightly parted in shock. One of my hands couldn't stop from snaking upwards to rest on the side of his neck, his hand squeezing at my leg as he stared out of the window, almost like a fascinated child. He looked so real; so truly bewildered at a sight before him. He didn't even speak, he only stared out of the window as my fingers brushed over the nape of his neck.
'Turned up too late one too many times,' the song continued, and I zoned back in on the lyrics as Harry still stared out of the window. 'Bad choice of words in my alibi.' I watched as Pauli drummed at the air in front of him, beside me, clearly fully immersed in the song. He had, after all, helped make it. At points in the instrumental, him and Mitch would connect their hands, as if silently praising one another for their work.
This song felt so personal, yet so conveniently ambiguous. Just as he'd described in his interview; just as he'd been so careful. I got this; I understood it - but it was likely that, other than him, nobody else would. It felt so explicitly descriptive of our journey up until now; 'it's complicated', as he'd repeatedly told me. This weird loss of control where we'd both been stuck in our own heads, desperate to ignore everything that our minds were telling us. He was describing it from his perspective, and it was making my entire body ache. He'd missed my skin, just like I had his - he hadn't seen it coming, just as I hadn't, either. In the back of the cab, the night we'd first met; it was all there. I knew it, I got it, all of it. And I'd craved him, entirely, and ultimately, the entire time.
I'd never gotten him off my mind, at all. It filled me with an indescribable warmth to receive further confirmation that he'd never gotten me off his, either.
'Guess I love crazy, out of your mind. You lost your head, so I'll give you mine.'
"You're smooth," I remarked into his ear, feeling my stomach flip at the words he'd sung. Everybody else was still chattering to each other about the song between lyrics. He didn't reply, only turning his cheek back toward me as we finally drew away from the billboard, and I let my lips press to his skin, lightly. "I love it, Harry. I love everything about it," I told him, lowly, and I meant it. I loved the flutter that it was causing in the pit of my stomach in the way he'd so subtly; somehow commercially, disclosed parts of our intimacy, but in a way that people wouldn't so blatantly understand it. He had a gift for it. I loved the sort of thrill it caused, that same one he always gave me.
"Your photo made it to Times Square," he said, as if the impact had suddenly weighed on him. I could've laughed - his primary focus was me, instead of his own song. I bit back a wide grin.
"I know," I breathed, blissful disbelief in my tone as I longingly eyed his features. "So did your song," I said, running my hand gently over the lower half of his arm. He was the most hard-working person I know; a single complaint never left his lips, because he knew just how privileged he was to be here. He loved this; this was everything to him. I felt so lucky to get to watch it get even better for him. I kissed his cheek again. "It's my turn to be proud of you," I whispered, his eyes burning into my own.
"I get to be proud of you, too," he told me, his voice matching mine in volume. "We get to be proud of each other," he murmured, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear and causing a chill to run along the length of my spine. He made my heart ache in the best way.
"Deal," I whispered, watching the smile that pulled on his lips. My thumb drew a gentle line over his cheek, as his eyes searched mine. "Freak," I added.