"Love, you need to relax. You'll be fine." Harry's hand slides around your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze, his fingers brushing the skin revealed by the hemline of your dress which stopped mid thigh, as he gives you a soothing smile. You run your hands over your dress for the twentieth time and take in a deep breath. "They're really not that bad." He reassures
"That's easy for you to say," you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
"You've been doing this for years. This is like a trip to the corner shop for you." Harry's shoulder shakes against yours as he laughs, edging up as close to you as he can in his seatbelt.
"I know it's scary at first, but really there's so much going on and so many people, it goes by quickly and then you're inside and it's fine." The backs of his fingers brush your jawline, just before he presses a kiss there.
"And I'll be there." His hand drifts down and takes yours, tangling your cold fingers up in his.
"I promise I'll be right by your side the whole time." You nod and try to calm yourself down, trying to let Harry's low, calming voice and his warmth and his love ease you like it usually does, but no matter what you do there's still that tight ball of nerves in your stomach.
It's going to be your first red carpet appearance ever, and the first time you've stepped out at a public event as Harry Styles' girlfriend. The two of you had kept your relationship very discreet for the first several months, guarding the fragility of a new romance from the public eye, until Harry asked you to move in with him and it was difficult to keep things under wraps while living under the same roof. By then you fully admitted to yourself and to anyone who'd listen that you were absolutely, head over heels in love with him, and despite the time apart and the sudden invasion of your privacy, you didn't think you could've found a better partner than Harry.
That devotion is why you're in this position right now, squeezed into a glamourous dress Harry had bought for you that made you feel faint when you saw the number on the price tag and all dolled up courtesy of Lou nearly strapping you into a chair for as long as it took to make you 'red carpet ready'. You had always carefully edged out of events like this before when he'd asked if you wanted to come along to this premiere or that award show, feeling too skittish about all the cameras and questions and the glamour that you always felt separate from to be able to face it. You didn't miss it, though, the little flash of disappointment in his eyes when you declined, and you knew that Harry was itching to have you on his arm, to show his relationship proudly to the world. You knew that sometimes he just wanted the support and comfort of your presence with him, you knew how drained he was when he came home from functions like this, and it filled you with guilt to know you could ease some of that if only you weren't so wary of it.
So when he'd mentioned this premiere of a movie a friend of his was involved in, you'd gulped down your fear and asked him if he wanted you to come with him. Harry had positively lit up, and even through your unease you couldn't deny the flutter of happiness you felt when he grinned and gave you a big, grateful hug.
That happiness was gone now, though, replaced by an unshakeable sense of impending doom, the limo beginning to crawl at a slow pace as the driver navigated a sea of people and other cars dropping off various celebrities.
"Relax, relax," he murmurs to you again, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. "You'll do fine. We'll just take some pictures, I'll do a couple of interviews and then we'll go inside to see the film. All you have to do is stand there and be gorgeous." He bit down on his luscious bottom lip before looking you up and down and giving you a small smile that isn't innocent in the slightest.
"Not a very hard thing for you to do." He manages to make you blush and laugh a little, probably his intention, and you sigh and squeeze his hand.
"Thank you, Harry."
"Thank you for coming with me." His eyes are now rounder, thankful and sweet.
"I'm really happy to have you with me." You feel his warm breath on your face and quickly dodge his kiss before it can land on your lips.
"No kisses! You'll smudge my lipstick." Harry pouts hard enough to make you giggle.
"Fine," he complains, choosing to kiss your hand instead. He settles back into the seat and glances out the window, and over his shoulder you can see the overwhelming number of people and bright camera flashes, the muffled sound of an eager crowd filtering from outside of the limo. You're two cars away from the red carpet entrance, and you shrink down in your seat, holding onto Harry's hand like a lifeline.
"Baby, look at me, you'll be fine." He can sense your apprehension and your ever growing nerves as the car nears, your fear filling the back of the car with nervous tension, he rubs your back, cooing softly to you as the limo finally rolls to a stop.
"Just remember what I told you; some of the photographers will get quite rude to get your attention so don't listen to anything they shout at you and stay with me at all times. Right?" His eyes, looking sea green in the moment a camera flash shines through the window, watch you intently until you nod back at him, and then he only has time to kiss your hand again before someone opens the limousine door and you're plunged into chaos.
Flashbulbs go off at what seems like an impossible rate, there are people milling around everywhere, some of them you recognize as actors or other celebrities, and there's so many people screaming your boyfriend's name that you don't know how he can stand it. If it weren't for Harry keeping a firm grip on your hand you'd feel dizzy from it all. He slips effortlessly into his public face, looking dapper in his polished outfit and well seasoned as he confidently makes his way to where his assistant, a short but stern woman in her thirties by the name of Wendy, waits to efficiently guide him through the throng of famous people and news reporters. You, on the other hand, you're sure you look like a lost duckling, ankles slightly unsteady in your taller-than-you're-used-to heels as you trail meekly behind him.
As expected, there's a large group of One Direction fans huddled together and caged in by a railing, screaming for Harry and shoving phones, papers, and sharpies in his direction. He gives you a smile and a wink before he goes to meet with them, and you feel lost and isolated once his hand leaves yours even though he's only a few feet away. As your boyfriend takes photos with fans and signs their shirts, you take the opportunity to glance around. Photographers are practically falling over themselves to get a good shot of him, and you know that you'll end up in the background of many of them. You swallow hard and try to keep a calm, pleasant look on your face and to keep your back straight, even though on the inside you're filling with self consciousness, going through a mental list of all your physical flaws that are going to be magnified by high definition cameras. Your dress choice will probably be analysed all over the internet tomorrow, comments about your hairstyle and your accessories and that scar on your arm filling up your Twitter feed once you check in. You're very close to feeling as if you can't take it and you just want to run inside when Harry comes back to your side.
"Sorry about that." He gives you a subtle once over.
"You alright babe?" Determined not to ruin things for him, you give him a tight lipped smile and a nod. He doesn't believe you, you can tell, but he doesn't have an opportunity to say anything before Wendy is shuttling the two of you further down to the photo op area, where you'll be posing. It's hard to concentrate with all the noise and lights but Harry remains your anchor, his arm wrapped tightly, proudly, around your waist. You give your best smile and stand as still as possible, focusing on Harry's warmth at your side and not on whether or not your makeup is smudged or if you missed a spot when shaving your legs or how big your thighs might look. Harry's hand is wrapped securely on your hip, and he had told you how lovely you looked about ten times before you left and during the ride, and that's all that should matter.
Harry was right; in a shorter time than you thought, you're once again being herded down the carpet. The entrance to the cinema is close, you can see people shuffling in and out of the doors, and all that's left now is for Harry to give a few interviews. As before, he gives you a reassuring squeeze and a smile before slipping away to answer inane questions from E! News and MTV, and you dutifully drop back, hovering near Wendy who keeps a vigilant eye on her employer. She's not a very talkative woman and takes her job very seriously, so you keep the small talk with her to a minimum as you wait, trying hard not to fidget uncomfortably. Although your feet are starting to ache from the shoes and you feel jittery and restless, you can feel yourself growing lighter as the end of the red carpet adventure comes nearer to an end, but that's when you stiffen up.
Someone is calling your name. It's a voice you don't recognize, not that there'd be anyone you knew personally anyway, and before you think about it your head whips around just in time to have a flash go off right in your face. You gasp and turn your face away, trying to blink away the spots in your vision, and you hear the same voice call your name again.
"Hey, come on, show me your face again, sweetheart!" Cheeks burning, you press your lips together and stand stone still, trying to reach for Harrys hand as he gets pulled between interviews by someone he knows sweeping him up in conversation. The man continues to call to you, getting ruder and more cocky every time you ignore him.
"Can't you just give us a smile? Come on, don't be a bitch." Your heart pounds in your ears, skin heating up in humiliation and anxiety. You want to run inside of the cinema, but you don't want to leave Harry here. "All I want is a picture, then you can go back to being Harry's flavor of the week."
"Excuse me?" So caught up in trying not to react even though you felt like crying, you didn't see Harry come up but you certainly hear him. You've never heard his voice so commanding before, and although he's being civil for his publicist's sake you can see the tightness of his jaw, the darkness in his eyes. "That's extremely rude of you, don't say stuff like that to her. Don't talk to her at all." The pap only looks marginally shamed.
"Sorry, man, I was just trying to do my job, you know?"
"Apologize to her, not to me." An angry crease has appeared between his brows but his actions are gentle when he steps up to you and sets his hand on your arm, asking if you're okay.
"Hey, sorry sweetie, nothing personal. You understand right?" It's much easier to ignore him when Harry has you pulled against his side and he's leading you towards the cinema door. The pap is still calling out to him, asking for a quick picture of the two of you.
"No. Goodbye. Have a nice night." The way it comes grinding out from between Harry's teeth, he may as well have told the guy to go fuck himself, and you're shocked but oddly warm and pleased as he all but carries you inside. Wendy is grumbling along behind you, reminding him he had more interviews to do. "I don't bloody care."
- —-
Despite the mild drama with the photographer, your first experience with the red carpet goes by relatively uneventfully. Harry calms down a little once you get inside and assure him for the fifth time that you're alright, thanking him over and over again and even giving him a few light kisses, lipstick be damned.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly on a sigh, leaning against the wall beside you as the two of you wait for Wendy to come back with popcorn and a drink for you.
"Harry, please, it isn't your fault. You can't stop people from being assholes." You touch his face so he'll look at you.
"And you were so sweet, sticking up for me like that. Thank you." Harry gives you a look you can't read, somewhere between regret and protectiveness and admiration, and in answer he simply wraps his arms around you, and holds you until Wendy returns bearing snacks.
The movie is longer than necessary and not the type you'd normally watch, but Harry seems to really like it, so it isn't a total bust. You spend a short time at an afterparty, being introduced to so many people your head starts to hurt, and both of you drink enough alcohol to loosen up a little. By the time you're crawling back into the limo with Harry right behind you, it's later than you expected and you're exhausted. You lean up against him as soon as he settles in, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his shoulder. Your eyes slip shut as his fingers weave through your hair, allowed to do so now that you've taken it down from the updo it had been put in by Lou's expert hands, and you feel him take a deep breath.
"So. What's the verdict?" You smile.
"I'm glad I came."
"Really?" he asks doubtfully, glancing down at you with eyebrows raised high.
"Yeah, I was really nervous but I liked getting all dressed up with you and I like supporting you." You look up at him, slightly embarrassed "And it was very hot seeing you getting mad at that photographer." His lips stretch into a cheeky grin.
"Is that so?" His arm tightens around you, enough that you're almost pulled right into his lap. You bite your lip and nod, reaching up to twirl some of his hair around your fingers. He cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing your mouth. "Baby, do you still care about this lipstick?" You press your lips against the pad of his thumb.
"Not even a little bit."
s