"I have something for you."
I lifted my head from where it had been tilted towards my laptop. I was sitting on the bed in our hotel room, focused on editing the photos from last night's show. Each one seemed to be even more magical than the next; my heart thumping the moment I laid my eyes on the first few photos I'd taken in the rain. It felt like such an honour, everyday, to be entrusted with the responsibility of capturing these moments in Harry's life, and career.
I'd have been lying to say my focus on my work, then, was unwavering. I was fixated on last night, from start to finish; how every moment had been so incredibly blissful, and how my withholding had the ability to ruin it. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about the question he'd asked me, and everything it was undoubtedly laced with; at this rate, I wasn't sure he even remembered it. But it was playing in my head on a torturous loop, as I tried to figure out what the actual answer was.
Last night had felt like the first time in a long time that I'd been close to tears.
Not being able to give him an answer had pushed me to feel so lost. That, in combination with the multiple close run-ins with conversations about my past, as of late, made me feel like I'd lost control.
I didn't cry - ever. I wasn't sure anybody had ever seen me cry. For as long as I could remember - dating back to when I was a young child; I was sure I hadn't cried in front of anybody after the age of eleven or twelve, because at that point, I'd simply grown numb to it all. Before, I'd be hysterical; I would shake, cry - whether it was in genuine pain or hurt, or in fear - and I'd lose control of my breathing. I'd learned that the reaction to me doing that in front of my parents was a terrifying one; and so, I'd learned to stop myself from crying at the moments I wanted to the most. I'd learned to save it for later, when I was alone, and when I was safe in my own company. But every time I would cry, it was never brief, or a relieving kind of feeling - it would be all-encompassing, and it would be crippling. I'd feel my whole body aching to give in; I'd feel pathetic, and powerless, and I hated that feeling. It reached a point, then, where I didn't even cry when I was alone. And in the times that I'd come close to doing so again, I'd find a way to cut it off immediately. The contact with my mother, recently, had been the only other thing to almost push me to that point, again, but even then - I hadn't let it happen.
It didn't help - it didn't make things easier, and I was tired. It had only spiralled from when I was younger, and I think I'd begun to fear that if I allowed myself to cry again, I'd never be able to pull myself together. I hadn't even cried the day that my father had died. Even then; even though I'd known it was coming, and even though I knew he'd been gone in a matter of weeks, months, leading up to it - I couldn't bring myself to cry, at all. I'd simply stared at him - stared at my mother, at my sister, looking for the right thing to do, and finding nothing resembling an answer.
I needed to be in control of myself - if I refused to let myself harbour those emotions, I couldn't let them control me. Crying had never gotten me anywhere.
I felt like that was, perhaps, why yesterday had shaken me so much. There were a number of reasons, but, seeing Harry cry; seeing everybody else cry in a way that they were open to sharing with one another - it threw me. It was unfamiliar, and it was uncomfortable. It was a reminder of everything I couldn't do, and everything that I couldn't relate to. Part of me ached to be in a place where I could feel, so freely - but a larger part sought to avoid everything that came with it.
I felt so guilty. That was a place I never thought I'd find myself in; to feel guilty for protecting myself against somebody else, because that was all I'd ever promised myself. I would never let somebody know me, and I would never let somebody hurt me, again. I was breaking every rule I'd set to be with Harry - I let him break down so many barriers, just in how he touched me, just in how we spent every moment together, and how we talked. I adored him so much that it hurt, and it was terrifying. It was terrifying that I felt so bad, because I'd never felt that way before - I felt like he ought to know more; like there were parts of me aching to share these hidden parts of myself with him. In every aspect, he'd never been anything but caring, and understanding, but I just couldn't take the leap. He masked it well, but I'd receive glimpses that told me my distance hurt him. I didn't know what to do.
It scared me that our morning was just as blissful as any other, even when I felt like I'd done something wrong last night. In my head, even though everything I'd ever known about Harry contradicted my fears, I'd decided that he'd have despised me by the morning; that he'd have been angered by my continued failure to live up to what he deserved, and he'd have lashed out. If he remembered my neglect to respond to his question about us, then he wasn't showing it, or holding it against me - this morning, he'd been just as adoring and attentive as he ever was. Getting to wake up beside him was a dream, with how his legs would lace with my own, and my face was buried into the crook of his neck as his arm wound around me. It was one of my favourite parts of us - the first few moments before the day began, where if I was lucky enough to wake up before him, I'd get to just watch him, there, existing. It was one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever known; Harry, free of expression or any form of deliberate movement - just peaceful, and just him. And, in the times when I didn't wake up before him, I was lucky enough to be greeted with his affection, regardless, whether it be through the emergence of a bouquet of tulips beside the bed, or simply by the tracing of his fingers over my bare skin - he was there. I never wanted to lose that.
Harry had been out on the balcony of the hotel room, only for the previous few minutes. He'd stepped out just after he'd finished his cup of coffee - and that was something else that I liked about us. I noticed, particularly on Harry's off days, he liked to sit in bed with a cup of coffee, that he'd always make from whatever machine was provided in the hotel room. He'd always make one for me, first, making it exactly how I liked it without me even having to make a request - if he was awake first, he'd somehow time my coffee to be ready the moment I opened my eyes. I'd noticed another of his little morning habits - he'd make his coffee, and flick the television on in the hotel room. He'd always click it to the news channel, and the volume would either be incredibly low, or on mute, completely - but he'd always put it on. He'd sit with his coffee, glancing between the empty space ahead of him, and the television screen, and it was one of the most endearing things I'd observed. He was never even paying any attention, with it often being a random local news channel, but it was always on, first thing in the morning, if he had the chance to spend it resting. Only after that, would he begin his day - usually by going to the gym, either alone, or when Pauli would join him.
We had around ten days, now, without a show. It was a rare, extended break, before the final two shows of the entire tour would take place in California. Then, it would all be over.
Harry had suggested that I joined him in heading to California, early - he had his own house, there, after all. The remainder of the band, and the crew, were either going to be heading home, or hanging around here, in Jersey, for a short while. It would've been a week of Harry and I staying in his home, and it was something that felt incredibly daunting, but also deeply inviting, all at once. I found myself wanting to experience that kind of domesticity with him - our entire relationship had been spent living out of hotel rooms, with him constantly on the move; it would've been nice to experience Harry just living at home, in whichever way he preferred. We were due to leave the following morning, to head there, and despite the tumultuous battle going on inside my head, I found myself excited to return to California. That was where it had all started for Harry and I, properly, and it felt almost like a fitting, full-circle moment to finish the tour there. Though I had no idea where the end of the tour would take Harry and I as a couple, I wanted to live in the moment as best as I could for the remaining couple of weeks.
I set my laptop down beside me, just as Harry reached an arm on either side of me, to lean against the headboard of the bed. His hair was still slightly dishevelled from his sleep, the boyish grin that had refused to leave his lips since he'd hit the stage last night still very much apparent on his features. I could taste the coffee on his tongue as he leaned in to kiss me, letting his fingertips trace briefly over my jaw.
"What is it?" I asked. He appeared to have forgotten, briefly, his own statement, appearing to have grown lost in our brief physical interaction. I knew the feeling.
I drew my knees to my chest to enable him to take a seat on the bed, in front of me. He did so, immediately reaching for my legs to draw them back over his lap, as he always did. I met his eyes as his lips twitched a little, as if masking some kind of excited anticipation.
"You're not going to like what I say at first. But, then you'll like it. I promise," he said, then. I raised an eyebrow.
"You're scaring me."
"Well," he said, pursing his lips as he pinched gently at the fabric of my sweatpants. "I may have lied about next week. A little bit."
I narrowed my eyes at him, anxiously waiting for him to continue. He didn't speak, letting the silence fill the air between us, only amplifying my nerves.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" I asked, referencing his prolonged gaps between sentences. He grinned.
"Yeah. Is it working?"
I attempted to dig my knee into his ribs, where my legs were in his lap, but he only laughed, closing his palm over my leg and easily thwarting my movements.
"Please just tell me. You're making me nervous," I said, honestly. The suspense was killing me, not even soothed by the tracing of his hand on my leg.
"Well," he said, his eyes locked onto mine, "I know I said California. And I know you won't think that you'll like it, but I want you to let me do this for you, please," he said, mysteriously, and I only stared at him, suspiciously waiting. What was he talking about?
"I want to give you a good birthday."
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. No. I didn't do birthdays - that was a no, without a doubt. I hadn't wanted him to even know that it was coming up - it meant nothing to me. The day needed to pass like any other. I'd done my best to ignore that the day was even approaching; the last thing I wanted to do was highlight it.
I bit my lip, "Harry-"
"Let me take you to Italy. Please."
My lips parted in shock, my eyes scanning rapidly over his face.
"N-No," I stammered, dumbfounded at the sentence that had just left his mouth.
"Iz-"
"No, Harry, it's not-" I stammered again, cutting off my own sentence to stare at him in pure disbelief. "It's too much. Please. I don't even celebrate it-"
"It's not too much. I've been wanting to take you for months, now. Let me take you."
I remembered, a while back, when we'd still been in that awful stage of avoiding our feelings for one another, how he'd told me that Italy was his favourite place in the world. With everywhere he'd been, and everybody he'd travelled alongside - Italy was his favourite place to be, and he'd told me that he liked to go, alone. He'd said that he was always drawn there; to every part of it, and that he thought I'd love it, just like he did. I never thought I'd actually experience it - I never thought he'd ensure that I did.
I opened my mouth to speak again, only for him to lean forward to take my face in his hands, pushing his fingers into my hair.
"Shh, stop. Stop," he murmured, shaking his head and scanning his eyes over my face as a smile began to pull onto his lips, "you didn't think I was actually just going to let it pass, did you?"
I bit my lip, staring at him for a moment. I didn't know what to do, or say. I pressed my lips together, letting his eyes burn into my own. I felt so much adoration for him in that moment that it hurt, even with how much fear I felt in me. The slightest acknowledgement of my birthday felt like my worst nightmare, but I should've known from the moment he'd heard about it that he wouldn't just let it go.
I was aching with emotion for him. He was so thoughtful, and he only continued to prove it - even now, he'd somehow pre-empted my reaction to his proposal. Even with how I'd tried to mask my birthday as something that didn't matter at all, good or bad, he'd seen through me enough to know that I actively avoided the celebration. He'd seen through me enough to know that I would immediately reject his idea; not with malice, but with panic. It made me wonder how much more of what I'd told him - half-truths and omissions - that he'd also seen through. I underestimated his ability to read me, at times.
"I don't want to celebrate my birthday," I whispered before my mind could catch up, my voice shaky as I was unable to stop the sentence from coming out of my mouth. I must've sounded bratty, and ungrateful; I had an incredible boyfriend who offered me the world every single day, and here I was, practically begging him to let me throw it back in his face. I was doing an awful job at pretending that my birthday didn't mean anything, in my undeniable upset, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't wrap my head around this gesture that he wanted to make.
"Then, fine, we won't call it that. I framed it wrong," he replied, gently, his eyes searching mine. He didn't seem surprised by my reaction at all, like he'd known there was more I hadn't told him in the taboo surrounding the day, quickly approaching. He'd almost predicted it. "It's just you and me. I just want to show you my favourite place in the world. I want to share it with you, for no other reason than that."
"It's too much," I replied, in a weak, final attempt to change his mind.
"It's not enough," he returned, without hesitating, raising his eyebrows in response to the likely dismayed look upon my face. His expression was light, and gentle in how he was combatting my refusal to accept his offer - it was like he knew the score, in how I'd fight him, but he'd get his way, ultimately.
"We spend every day on tour, not being able to properly go out, or having to hide away that we're together. It won't be like that, there - I've never been papped there before in my life. We can just be normal, Iz - we can behave like a normal couple, on a trip, together," he paused, looking at me as he drew his thumb over my cheek. "You trust me, don't you?"
Perhaps, a little too much. He was selling it incredibly well, he knew that he was. I wanted more than anything to just spend a carefree week with him - after all, once we would return and complete the final tour dates, I was entirely unsure of what the trajectory of our relationship would be. This was real; this would be unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I'd have been lying to say a vacation with Harry didn't sound like an absolute dream, but I was scared. The mention of my birthday had thrown me, admittedly.
I didn't say anything yet. I didn't want him to think that I didn't want to be with him, on a getaway, and I prayed that wasn't how it seemed - it just felt like a lot to take in, with how he'd framed it, but it felt like he'd expected that.
"Come on," he murmured, then, pressing a gentle kiss to my chin, and then another, to my jaw. Then, another, and another, as it brought a smile to my face that I couldn't stifle. He kissed my skin again. "Let me make you happy."
"You make me happy, anyway," I replied, feeling his hand shift to the side of my neck. I blew out a breath, bringing my hand to wrap it around his wrist. He was never going to take 'no' for an answer - and it wasn't that I wanted to give him it. I wanted everything he was offering, truly - just without the fuss around that particular day; just without this heavy weight I felt on my chest.
He pulled me properly into his lap, now, and I exhaled, nudging my nose against the line of his jaw. I rested my head against him, then, feeling his hand coax over my outer thigh.
"Say yes," he murmured, ghosting his lips over my forehead. I leaned against him, unable to truly wrap my head around where we were. It had been ages since he'd mentioned how he thought I'd like Italy, but it hadn't left his head.
I never wanted to lose him. That was why all of my secrets felt so heavy - because there was now as much risk in keeping them, as there was in telling them. I didn't know of the right thing to do, as much as I searched for it.
"I don't deserve you," I said, without really intending to. I meant it - completely, it was what I believed, but I hadn't intended to say it aloud. I wasn't worthy of somebody as good as he was; with his attentiveness, and his affection - with his incredible mind, and just everything about him. He put so much thought into every day with me, that it was beyond comprehension.
His eyebrows gently furrowed at my sentence, as I tilted my chin to let my eyes meet his. He leaned in, edging his lips closer to mine as he responded, "You're crazy to think that." I did my best not to huff out a sigh, feeling the butterflies in the pit of my stomach as he connected our lips, kissing me gently. He didn't get it, nor could I expect him to.
The most Harry knew was that my last relationship hadn't been a good one. I'd barely told him anything - only that the way he'd made me feel hadn't been good for me - and he hadn't pressed me on it, further. Though that was about it - that was all he knew, even with Calvin only being one singular component of everything that had been wrong up until now. I wondered if that was what he'd begun to suspect - that I'd had an unkind ex-boyfriend, and that was where it ended.
Of course, I wanted to go on this trip with him. I was honoured that he wanted to share somewhere so special with me. I knew I'd love it - I'd love anywhere with him; it didn't matter if it was some cramped tour bus, or some uncomfortable airport chairs in the late hours of the evening, or if it was a luxury hotel - as long as he was there, it didn't matter. But, with everything he'd told me about Italy, it sounded like it would be my favourite place, yet.
"We leave tomorrow," he said, then, against my lips, and I couldn't stifle my smile. I wound my arms around his neck, and he leaned immediately into my embrace, enabling me to cuddle him. He'd somehow eased my worries so quickly - or at least, he'd pushed them from the surface. They were still lingering, undoubtedly, but at the forefront of my mind was him, and only him.
Harry, and how I'd never felt for anybody else like I felt for him.