I shielded my eyes from the bright sun with the use of my sunglasses, my arms crossed over my chest partly to keep the cool wind at bay, and partly to keep my camera from swinging at my side. My gaze remained forward, my pace casual and without mission, as I tried my best to seem indifferent and slightly aloof. Or at least that was what I was trying to do. In reality, I was acutely aware of the person next to me, seemingly trying to appear just as indifferent and aloof as I was.
After several more moments of bickering in my apartment, Harry finally stood abruptly, hauling me to my feet. The blanket I had wrapped around myself fell to the floor, and I glowered at him in annoyance.
"Go, get dressed," he said sternly, pointing in the direction of my room. "We're shooting today,"
My hands found my hips, my eyes narrowing at him.
"You are so damn pushy!"
"And you are so fucking stubborn!" he shouted back, his tone laced with humor. Despite my sour mood, he seemed determined to keep his own in check. The more annoyed I got with him, the more teasing he became. Usually, if I got irritated with him, he would just deal it right back at me. But it was apparent that he realized his misstep earlier in the week, and was making a concerted effort to keep his own mood swings in check.
"Now go get dressed, or I will drag you out in your little sleep stuff," he threatened, pointing to my room again.
Shooting him daggers without them really being heartfelt, I trudged off to my room, slamming the door behind me. Pulling on jeans and a sweater, I threw my camera gear into my bag, while quickly trying to formulate a plan for our suddenly reaffirmed shoot. I sat on the edge of my bed, my mind reeling as I tried to come up with a plan of action.
Despite my arguing, I really did want to shoot today. The weather was a mixture of overcast, with flashes of bright sun as the clouds skittered across the sky. The wind seemed minimal from what I could tell, which made for rather pleasant conditions. But beyond that, I wanted to move ahead with this project. I wanted to see what else we could produce. And if I was being honest, since receiving the surprisingly positive comments from professor Murray, I was even more determined to make this the best possible assignment I had ever done.
But my annoyance and anger with Harry had not faded despite his appearance at my door. He was seemingly on his best behavior, and although I appreciated the effort, I was still angry with him that it was necessary at all.
I felt torn when I thought of our tumultuous relationship. One minute, he was pushing me away, shouting at me and accusing me of prying into his life, when I had yet to ask him a single personal question with regard to the real reason I had been drawn to him in the first place. The next minute he was seeking me out, almost to the point of trying to connect with me on a deeper level, but not knowing how. I didn't know his inner workings well enough yet, but it seemed to me that he kept holding himself back. Whether from accepting my friendship, or something more, it was like he was warring with himself as much as he was with me.
A knock at my door brought my attention back to the present.
"If you think hiding in there is going to make me leave, you're wrong," Harry called out. "So come on out or I'm coming in,"
I groaned loudly, making a point of being noisy enough that he could hear my frustration. Although I was being difficult with him, turning the tables on him as such with my grumpy mood, I was smiling at his persistence.
We decided to do my original plan; a simple walk around the city, shooting Harry blending in to the crowds of New York. He said he liked that idea, because it wasn't like he was on display. He liked the fact that in a city like New York, you would literally disappear within a crowd. There were so many people, so many stories, and no matter what yours, you didn't stand out. You didn't look out of place.
We wandered towards mid-town, no specific destination in mind. The streets were busy, people seemingly determined to enjoy the first somewhat nice day we had had all week. In contrast to the endless amount of snow we had endured lately, today could almost be counted as spring.
It was the end of March, April right around the corner, and it was almost as though spring was looking to try and fight through the hold of winter. The snow and slush remained on the ground, but there wasn't a chill in the air that had been there before. It was like a little spark of hope to escape the frigid cold.
"So, what do you want me to do?" Harry asked, his head bowed low. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his pace matching my own despite his long legs.
I glanced around, seeing if there was anything in particular I wanted to shoot him against within range. "Just walk," I said. "I know you don't like knowing when I take your picture. So just walk around. I will fall a step or two behind you, or try and shoot you without you knowing."
"Now I'm going to be on edge anticipating it," he teased smirking at me with a side eye glance.
"No you wont," I countered. "You didn't notice half the time last time we shot."
Harry nudged my shoulder with his own playfully, as we continued our wander.
And I was right. Three hours later, we had walked all the way up to Central Park, along the paths, and meandered the streets of the city, and he had only caught me taking his picture twice. I was getting better at noticing his changes, the subtle differences in him that made it clear his mind was elsewhere. Those moments made it easy for me to slip from his side undetected, but were also the ones where the expression on his face was most pure. His head would be down, almost as if he was hiding within himself as he walked. For such a tall, striking man, he hid himself away frequently. Probably without ever knowing, or meaning to. It was almost like a habit he had created, that went hand in hand with his emotional tendency of locking himself away. It seemed to have manifested into a physical display as well.
By shortly after three that afternoon, I had taken over a hundred images, and was excited with what I felt we had produced. Unlike the last time we had shot, Harry seemed more relaxed, not as on edge. I wasn't sure if that was because he knew what to expect this time, or because we were more comfortable with each other. Once in a while he would ask to see what I had taken so far, but the moment I held the camera up, he would change his mind. It would have been humorous, if I hadn't known the confliction was based on his own self dislike.
I had given up shooting any more images for the day, deciding now to let Harry relax without wondering when the next click of the camera would come. He had been amazing all day, not once trying to start a fight, and never once complaining. We walked through the paths of the park, the tall trees hanging over our heads still coated in glistening snow, the bright sun reflecting and glittering off the branches.
I loved the park. It was one of my favorite places to shoot. There was always something to do and something to see. Now, walking in a peaceful silence through the paths with Harry, I smiled.
"What?" he asked, catching the change in my expression.
"Nothing," I lied, my eyes falling to the ground in front of me.
"Lie," he grinned, pushing his hip against my own. He was silent for a moment before pressing the matter. "What are you grinning about?"
I snickered at his persistence. "You," I admitted.
"What about me?"
"If you had told me a month ago we would he wandering the park together, not fighting, after doing a shoot that didn't result in us bickering, I would have thought you crazy,"
Harry paused for a moment, before laughing loudly. He leaned back slightly as he laughed, the sound causing me to join him.
"You make it sound like all we do is fight," he said, giving me a playful glare.
"Well, we were fighting as of this morning," I reminded him.
His lips turned down in a frown, remembering that I was right. "Huh,"
I snickered. "See," I giggled, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear.
Harry laughed again, before reaching up and taking my hand in his as it fell back to my side. He laced his fingers with my own, the gesture so relaxed and casual, I wasn't even sure if he realized he had done it. I tensed slightly, surprised, waiting for him to notice. Either he didn't realize, or didn't care, because as we continued walking, he kept a firm grip on my hand.
Another silence fell between us, as I was left wondering what he was thinking, and feeling the warmth of his hand against my own. We walked along the path towards the edge of the park, the city street coming in to view. The only sound was the crunch of the snow beneath our feet, and the hum of the cars beyond the little refuge in the middle of the city.
"Can I come back to yours?" he asked, again gaining my attention.
"What?"
I looked up to find him glancing at me. "To see how the pictures turned out."
My God I felt like I was on a roller coaster with him, and it had only been one day. From fighting, to teasing, to playful banter, to hand holding, to this....Harry Styles was one tall, sexy, British mind fuck.
"Sure," was all I was able to respond.
***
"I don't like that one," Harry said, pointing at my screen. "I look stupid."
"Harry, for fuck sake, you cant even see your face!" I groaned, slapping his hand away.
He frowned, bringing the mug in his hands up to his lips. "I still look stupid," he muttered before taking a sip of tea.
We had made it back to my apartment after the hour long walk from the park. And that entire time, Harry kept a firm, gentle grip on my hand. I had ascertained that he had to know what he was doing, because no one held someone's hand that long without realizing it. After determining that fact, I was then set to wondering why. Yet again, he had made another little gesture to insinuate something more. And yet, it was a simple thing, one that could mean very little, or nothing at all.
I should have been relieved to return to my apartment, as I was anxious and excited to look over the shots we had taken today. But with Harry in tow, determined to see our progress as well, I found myself more nervous than ever. With the last time he had reviewed our work, I had had time to weed through the images, picking out the best, and editing them to increase their impact. This time, they would be raw, unedited and just him. I wasn't sure how he would react to that.
The moment we entered my apartment, I stepped away from him and into the kitchen, offering him a tea. He accepted, heading towards the couch and pulling his legs under him. He seemed so relaxed, so natural there, as if he had always been there. It was like there were two versions of him; the relaxed, casual, natural boy that was just like any other, matched against the moody, guarded, secretive man who was fighting back his demons. He really was an enigma.
I was incredibly happy with the photos we had produced today, even if the process had started out rather reluctant and rocky. Images of Harry, standing out from the crowd in a way that only he could, yet seemingly trying to hide within the fray, was yet another demonstration of both the theme of secrets, and his own natural portrayal that made him match it so well. It was like he was perfect for this without ever meaning to be, or without ever trying.
Some of my favorite images, however, had been taken at the park. Harry, with his black jeans and black jacket, matched against the clean white of the fallen snow, was a beautiful contrast. One of my favorite images was of him walking towards me, his head bowed slightly as he always seemed to do, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He seemed lost within himself, his thoughts as dark as his clothing, against the brightness of the surroundings. I loved it, and surprisingly, Harry said he 'didn't hate it'.
I had yet to get a genuinely positive remark from Harry. All his responses had been 'that's okay' or 'I don't hate it' or 'that would be great if it was someone else'. I learned to take those as positives, his own little way of saying they were good photos. Now, as we went through the ones we had picked out as 'finalists', he seemed to decide to go back to being difficult.
"My hair looks stupid," he muttered, nodding his head towards the next image.
"Your hair always looks like that," I bickered, moving on to the next photo before he could find something else to pick on.
His eyes appraised the next photo, one that he had previously said 'that's okay', and said "My feet look too small."
Groaning, I threw my head back against the couch. "You can't even see your feet! They are in the snow!"
"Maybe that's the problem," he pouted, looking at me from the corner of his eye. When I looked over to him, I caught him smirking.
"You fucking ass," I yelled, slapping his shoulder. "You're being a dick on purpose!"
Harry burst out laughing, snorting loudly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to realize,"
I huffed, closing down my computer and setting it on the table. "That's it, I don't want to play with you anymore," I pouted.
"Aw, don't be a big baby," he snickered, setting his mug on the table. "I'm teasing you." Harry reached over, slinging his arm over my shoulders and pulling me towards him. I reluctantly gave in, my arms crossed over my chest.
"They are great, Lane," he finally praised. "If they were of anyone other than me, they would be bloody brilliant."
I refused to look up at him due to the incredibly close proximity of our faces since I was now leaning against his chest. I kept my eyes ahead, my body acutely aware of the fact he had been increasingly affectionate throughout the day. He seemed relaxed with me, and the fact that we had made it through the whole day without him putting up his walls and locking me out hadn't evaded my notice.
He seemed different, as if something had changed since our face off on campus days before. I didn't know what it was that he had decided within himself, but he seemed to have push back all his tendencies to block me out, and was trying. Trying at what, I couldn't decide yet. Whether friendship, or more, remained to be seen. But at least he was trying.
I frowned as I considered his backhanded compliment, hating how he always put himself down. While complimenting me, he was degrading himself. It was always subtle jabs and playful comments, but it was still evidence of how little he thought of himself. And that bothered me.
"Why do you always do that?" I asked, feeling a little braver in the presence of this 'new' Harry.
"Do what?"
"Put yourself down like that."
I felt him tense slightly, his arm still over my shoulders, my back leaning gently against his chest. He paused for a moment, as if appraising how to answer.
"You know why," he finally said, his voice soft.
No, I don't, I wanted to say. I wanted to understand, to truly comprehend why he felt the way he did about himself. I hated not knowing why, but knowing enough to understand that he hated himself because of it. It was confusing, and even though it didn't affect me, it did. Hearing him say these things about himself bothered me, and what bothered me even more, was that I felt like I couldn't convince him otherwise.
I pushed away from him, his arm falling from my shoulders limply to his side. Turning myself towards I met his eyes with as much assurance and confidence I could muster despite the fact that my heart was pounding. When I took in his face, it broke my heart. His eyes were empty, his face drawn. He seemed immediately vacant, whereas moments ago he had been playful.
Reaching towards him cautiously, I took the hem of his white Henley in my small hands. I knew this could go either way with him. Despite how amazing he had been all day, I knew I was pushing him now. But I was willing to take that chance, if it meant making some progress in the long run.
My eyes flickered to his hem, before back to his eyes. They had hardened slightly, his jaw tightening. But he didn't move to stop me, which both surprised and encouraged me. Slowly, I lifted his shirt, exposing his middle. I watched as his breathing increased, and I could feel the tension rolling from him in waves. But again, he didn't stop me.
My eyes fell to his skin, directly to the scar on his side. It was just as I remembered, jagged, and crude, a involuntary marking on his otherwise perfect skin. Holding the fabric of his shirt with one hand, I reached out, running my finger-tips gently along the scar. It was smooth, the shiny skin slightly rippled beneath my touch. I traced the line from his hip, curving slowly up along his side towards his ribs. Harry sucked in a breath, and I paused, removing my hand. Looking up to him, I expected him to push me away. I fully expected him to take my hands and shove them from his body. But he didn't. His teeth were grinding, his jaw tense, but still, he didn't stop me.
I decided not to push him further, slowly letting the hem of his shirt slip from my fingers and fall back down, covering him again. Neither of us said a word for several moments, him trying to calm himself, me waiting patiently. I didn't know if my little demonstration did what I had hoped. I wanted to show him that it didn't matter to me that he was scarred. Both inside and out, we all were. Yes, his were probably more profound than anything I could understand, but that didn't mean he was the monster he portrayed himself to be. Over time it would be better. Scars heal.
His eyes fell to the couch between us, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. When the silence drew on longer than I could stand, I finally broke it.
"Was that okay?" I asked, not knowing how else to word what I wanted to know from him.
His eyes remained down, his lip still locked between his teeth, as he nodded slowly.
When he didn't move to say anything, I said the only thing I could think to express to him. I didn't know if it was the right thing to say, but it was what I needed him to understand.
"They are just scars, Harry," I said softly. "Scars heal with time."
Again, he nodded in response. I left him to his thoughts, hoping he understood what I was trying to express.
I just hoped he understood I didn't just mean on his skin.