I loosened the clamp on the stand, raising it high above me, causing the black backdrop strung across the top to fall in a curtain across the room. Tightening it again, I adjusted the fabric, straightening it across the stand and letting it slide across the floor. Moving to the single strobe at the edge, I turned it on from the power base, leaving it at only half power as not to create too intense a light when coupled with the natural light coming in from the window.
In reality, I had created a mini studio in my living room. Pushing the coffee table into the kitchen, I brought out my backdrop and strobe, setting them up to make a small workspace between the edge of the living room and the window. I wanted to use as much natural light as possible, to create a real feel for this kind of photo, with only a slight fill from the strobe across the room. I wanted subtle, because I knew the true impact would be coming from Harry himself.
The backdrop served two purposes. First, as the obvious. Standing in front of a black backdrop, nothing other than the person, was always an impact. But I also knew that it may not be the most effective when it came to Harrys comfort, which was why I already had alternatives in my mind. If I was being honest, the main purpose for the backdrop was to create a shield for him. To make the room smaller, more safe. So that he didn't feel quite as exposed, as if displayed to the room. Also, if Mia came home, it allowed him a small amount of privacy.
Harry had said nothing to me as I set up, staying seated on the couch, his hands nervously clamped between his knees as he watched me move about the living room. I knew he was anxious, his mind churning, and I left him to it. I was surprised he hadn't run out of the room yet, and hadn't completely discarded the thought that he still might. But until I was forced to run after him, I was going to leave him be.
Finally, I finished all the set up I needed, turning my attention to my camera. Changing a few settings, checking the light with my meter, I made sure everything was what I would need, to keep this process as short and as painless for Harry as I could.
When I couldn't put it off any longer, I looked up to him. His eyes were forward, not focused on anything in particular. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth, his leg bouncing with nerves.
"Harry," I said softly, bringing his attention to me.
His eyes darted to me, his lip popping out from between his teeth.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
Swallowing hard, his eyes fell for a moment. I honestly expected him to say no, and to ask that we shoot anything else. But he surprised me yet again when he took a deep breath, before standing.
"Ready as I'm going to be," he said, before pulling his black t-shirt over his head in one swift motion.
Now, it was my turn to feel nervous and exposed. My eyes took him in, the first unrestricted, completely uncovered view I was getting of him.
My eyes roamed over the ink on his skin. Two swallows decorated his chest, leading down to the butterfly which I had caught a glimpse of that day in his apartment. The two ferns I had seen were etched above his hip bones, all dipping with the curves of his body.
Slowly, my eyes moved to his side, to the scar he protected and hated. It was as I remembered, long and harsh, crude and jagged. Several small scars littered around its edge, only intensifying the fact it was clearly not made by skill, but by force and trauma.
As I looked him over, Harry didn't move. He said nothing. I had to wonder how many people he let see him this way. Obviously, I wasn't naïve. Surely he had had women see him bare, probably much more so than I was now. Maybe they had noticed the scars, maybe they had asked. Or maybe they had been too caught up in their activities to bother or even care.
Either way, our situation was different. The way I was regarding him was different. Just like the way he was baring himself to me was different that any passionate encounter may expose him.
Bringing my eyes to his, I could tell he was nervous and uncertain. The way he looked at me showed his fear, and I could tell he was wondering if I would reject him. Why he could ever think that I understood, but at the same time, couldn't fathom.
I stepped forward, closing the space between us, to reach out and take his hand.
"If you need to stop, you tell me, okay?"
Harry nodded, before following me into the set.
***
I took a step back, changing the angle of my shot to cast a slight view out the window. The light across Harrys front, cascading around his side was the perfect contrast to the dark shadows across his back. The scar on his side was visible, showing the imperfection in this otherwise perfect man.
He was standing in front of my window, his far arm leaning on the pane above his head. His eyes were cast outwards, his expression never changing since we started. I knew he had spent the entire shoot thinking of what brought him here, and while it pained me to know he was torturing himself inside, it created everything I needed from him on the outside.
His free arm fell at his side, slightly forward onto the edge of the window, as the light seemed to fall on him light a sheet. Everything about the shot was perfect, and just as I envisioned it when thinking of how best to end this project.
When we had started, I had made the mistake of setting Harry in front of the backdrop. I figured we would start simple, with nothing required of him but to stand there. Being in such an obvious set didn't take long to put him on edge, causing him to fidget and shuffle, and bark at me more than once to 'hurry the fuck up'. Needless to say, I only took three photos of him like that.
We took a short break, allowing him a moment to collect himself. I offered to quit, to move on to another idea. I told him my concept of Grand Central Station, and how we could make it work, but he shot me down.
"I need to do this, Lane," he said, his voice edged. "I'm not going to be pleasant during it, but I need to do it until I said stop, okay?"
I nodded in response, knowing there was nothing I could say to ease the pain he felt.
In an attempt to find something less studio-esque, I moved Harry to the window. Here, I simply had him sit on a chair, looking outward. I shot him from the side, his hands folded in front of him, the light from the outside world all that I needed. He relaxed slightly as he looked out the window, seemingly losing himself in his own thoughts.
Next, I had him stand, leaning both arms against the window. I shot him from behind, causing a silhouette of his body against the city beyond. What I hadn't anticipated, but that worked wonderfully, was the way the light curved around him, the scar on his side still evident at the edges of his profile.
That brought us to now, a similar shot, taken from the side and a step back. He was still looking out over the city, as if looking out at the world moving without him like he described himself. At no point had he looked at me, or even acknowledged me beyond following my softly spoken instructions. I could see the tension rolling off of him, and didn't bother trying to engage him in conversation. I knew he was struggling, and I wanted to end this quickly for his sake.
From the angle where I stood, I could see everything. The curves of his body, the ink on his skin that held meaning and representation to him. The look on his face that held the pain and secrets of the scars that stood out on his side. As I clicked the shutter, I knew I was taking something amazing, moving, and grippingly painful.
I lowered my camera then, my eyes on Harrys face. He seemed completely ignorant to my presence, his teeth grinding together, his hand against the window in a fist. Taking him in, I knew he needed a break.
Setting my camera on the window ledge, I cautiously reached out to him, placing my hand on his forearm.
His eyes shot to me the moment I made contact, seemingly surprised to suddenly see me standing there. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, before he exhaled completely, his body sagging slightly as if releasing some of the tension he hadn't realized had built in him.
"Do you need a break?" I asked, moving myself slightly towards him.
Harry swallowed, his eyes moving back out to the city beyond. After a moment, he shook his head.
I frowned, knowing he was lying. I didn't know what he was trying to prove, but he had already given me more than I could ever have asked for. I knew I already had the shots I needed to end this project, and to end it in a way that was beyond anything I could have hoped. He was trying to show himself he could do this, but I was afraid he was going to break himself in the process.
Tightening my grip on his arm, I moved closer to him.
"Harry, lets stop for a bit, okay?"
"No," he snapped. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," he challenged. "Just sit for a minute, I will get you a drink."
"I don't need a damn drink," he snapped, slamming his palm against my window. His outburst caused me to jump, my hand falling from his arm. I took a step back from him, giving him space as he rubbed his hands over his face with frustration.
We stood in silence for a moment, me watching him with an edge of fear and worry, him struggling with something he wouldn't explain. His hands stayed over his face, his chest heaving as he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm his temper.
After a long moment, he dropped his hands to his hips, his lip already pulled between his teeth. His eyes were down, his head shaking back and forth.
"I don't get it," he muttered, his eyes still down.
"You don't get what?"
Looking up to me, his eyes locked on mine. "Why you put up with me." He said harshly. "I was awful to you when we first met. Even after I agreed to help you, I certainly wasn't pleasant to be around. And you still did it. You even hung out with me outside of this. I'm a moody, temperamental, secretive prick, and you still stood by me."
His gaze dropped, his eyes flickering to the scar on his side. I saw his expression harden for a moment, before he looked back up to me. His face softened slightly, as he anger faded into dejection. Shrugging, his arms fell to his sides limply.
"What do you see, Lane?" he asked, his voice low.
"What?"
"When you look at me," he finally said. "What do you see?"
I didn't know what he was asking me. Was he meaning outwardly, his perfect but imperfect body? Or inward, his good hearted but tortured soul? I didn't know what the answer was, but I had a feeling there wasn't a right one.
So I just answered.
"I see you, Harry,"
After a heartbeat, he exhaled a breath I hadn't realized he had been holding. He made no move to speak, whether to yell at me or to apologize. I had no idea if I had said what he needed to hear, or if I had made him feel worse.
Before I could even consider which side of him would come out next, he moved towards me quickly, closing the space between us in two long strides. His hands gripped the sides of my face firmly but gently, the force of his pursuit pushing me back as his lips connected with mine, his body colliding against my own.
I gasped, surprised at his move, stepping back slightly. Harry didn't release me, instead he moved me to the side, pressing me against the window at my back, stopping my retreat. Pinning me against the cold window, he pressed himself flush against me, moving his lips against my own.
My mind was racing, my heart beating frantically as I tried to catch my breath. But each breath that I tried to take was stolen by Harry's mouth on mine, urgent and desperate. I moved to take a breath, but the moment I parted my lips, he slipped is tongue passed them, exploring my mouth with delicious strokes.
My eyes closed, a groan slipping from me unintentionally. Harry seemed encouraged by this, as I felt the corners of his lips curve into a grin as I finally started to respond to him. I tentatively moved my lips with his, letting him keep control. He was an incredible kisser, the way he moved against me as if he always belonged there.
Harrys grip on my face loosened, his hands sliding down my shoulders, over my arms until they reached my waist. He only paused for a moment, before slipping his hands against my bum, lifting me clear off my feet as if I weighed nothing, pressing me against the window firmly. I squealed against his lips, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly for fear of falling.
Harry laughed gently against my lips, releasing my own to kiss my cheek.
"I got you," he whispered in my ear, kissing the space just below, before moving towards my neck.
I felt myself tilt my head away from him, giving him access, my head rolling back against the window at the feeling of him against me. It was better than I had imagined, even in the short time I had even considered imagining it at all. He fit to me, moved with me, in a way no one ever had.
His lips moved along my neck, pausing to give a gentle suck at the notch where my shoulder met my neck, forcing another groan from my lips. Gripping my bum tighter with one hand, he brought the other up to the thin strap of my tank top, moving it down slowly so his lips could trace the curve of my shoulder without impediment.
Once he reached the edge of my shoulder, he skimmed his lips back up, exhaling a breath that left me shaking as it fanned over my skin. When he came back to my lips, I kissed him back honestly and without reservation.
My hands wound in his hair, pulling gently as I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth. I felt him tilt his hips, pushing up into me in reaction, a rumble sounding in his chest.
We were a tangled mess of lips and sighs and breath, which was only intensified by the cold window at my back matched against the heat of Harry's bare body to my front.
I wanted to feel his skin, to feel the way he moved. Slowly, I slid my fingers reluctantly from his hair, onto his shoulders. I gripped them tightly, feeling the muscles move as he held me. Moving my hands downward, I tried to inch them over his chest, sliding towards his stomach.
Blindingly fast, Harry's hands gripped my wrists, pinning them against the window with a bang. His move startled me, just as much as the fact he was holding me up with only his hips and his body against my own.
I pulled back slightly, shocked at his move, to find him watching me with a burning look in his eyes. His breath was fanning over my face, heavy and panting, his lips swollen only inches from my own. Neither of us said anything, and I waited for an explanation, or for him to kiss me again.
After a moment, his eyes widened, as if only then realizing exactly what was happening. His hands released my wrists, returning to my bum as he stepped back, placing me on my feet gently. Once sure I was sturdy, he stepped back completely, separating from me.
He left me weak, wobbly and breathless. But more so, he left me confused.
His eyes were down again, and I could tell his mind was racing. His breathing was still heavy, and I couldn't ignore the evident bulge in his tight pants.
We were silent for what seemed like forever, until finally I couldn't take it anymore.
"Harry,"
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, cutting me off. "I shouldn't have done that."
"What?"
He swallowed loudly, running his hands over his face. "That was my fault, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed myself on you like that."
"Harry, I wasn't exactly pushing you away!" I shouted, angry that he was apologizing. If anything, he should still be fucking kissing me against the bloody window.
Harry only shook his head, huffing angrily, before reaching down and picking his shirt up from the floor. Pulling it over his head quickly, he ran his hands through his messy hair.
"I should go," he muttered, his tongue running over his teeth.
As angry as I was becoming, the more dominant feeling was how badly I wanted his tongue again.
"No, Harry, don't go," I urged, stepping up to him. "Please,"
"Look, babe, I'm sorry," he said quickly, finally meeting my eyes. The moment they connected, he frowned, looking at me with such a look of loss it left me reeling and confused. "This is completely my fault. I just need to go, okay?"
He turned quickly, striding towards the door. He hadn't removed his shoes when first coming over, so there was nothing to force him to stop before pulling open the door.
Before he could run away from me, I gripped his arm tightly, spinning him back around to me.
"Harry Styles, don't you dare fucking walk out on me right now!" I screamed, my face reddening, tears of frustration and embarrassment brimming in my eyes.
Taking in my expression, his frown deepened, his eyes flickering between my own and my lips. The same look he had done countless times. Only this time, I knew exactly out amazing his lips tasted.
Quietly, he reached up, cupping my cheek in his large hand just as a tear slipped from my eye. Brushing it away with his thumb, he leaned forward, kissing my forehead gently, before turning and walking out the door without another word.
I didn't even close it behind him as I watched him practically run down the stairs.