"Careful," Harry murmurs as he catches my elbow before I stumble over another fallen branch.
Even with the full moon and the flashlight, I can barely keep upright in the densely populated forest. I instantly envy Harry's lithe grace as he purposely charges through the woods like he lives here -- which I guess he does, but that's beside the point.
I take a minute to peer back over my shoulder, and I realize I can no longer see the porch light on the house. In this moment, I come to grips with just how far from civilization we are.
It's just the two of us.
In the middle of nowhere.
Is this a good idea? If someone, like you know, Eleanor, were to wake up and find both of us strategically missing, what would they think? What if they found out that we snuck off to a tree house in the woods at 3am? Would this raise eyebrows, or no?
Yup.
Bad idea.
Definitely.
Suddenly, something catches on my tights that makes me squeal, making me jump as I quickly grab onto Harry's jacket. Concerned, he swiftly turns around and sees my petrified face, moving the flashlight down to my leg where a thorny branch had stuck to the fabric near my calf.
"You alright there, Al? Thought the outdoors was your forte," he chuckles at his own joke before leaning down and grabbing the branch, gently running his fingers along my calf as he pulled it from my leg. I bit my lip in response, too stunned by the feeling of his hands on my leg to mutter a thank you.
I quickly put my hand in front of my face when he shines the flashlight at my eyeballs, scowling at him. He just chuckled, that hearty laugh that gave me butterflies.
"Yes," I mumble, reaching for the light. My hand found his and gently pushed it down, smiling a little when I see he also has his lip bit. We both chuckle at each other after our strangely cute moment.
But maybe I was imagining things. A girl with a crush isn't really a reliable judge of a man's actions.
"Who knew you were such a girly girl," he laughed.
He meant to be cute -- but suddenly my stomach tightened and not in a good way. The memory of all my brothers friends making fun of me and calling me a sissy triggered something deep inside.
"I am not," I huff, swiftly snatching the flashlight from his hands and charging ahead of him with vigor.
"Where you going?" he asked.
I stopped, noticing his voice was still where I left him. I turned around, holding the flashlight up to see him with his arms crossed, a smug smirk on his lips.
"To find your treehouse," I mention, shakily pulling a strand of hair behind my ear with my now very cold fingers.
He chuckles, pointing. "Well, its right there -- but if you want to go traipsing around in the woods for awhile, we can do that too..."
He grins at me as I scowl, looking at me as if my scowl is the most adorable thing in the world.
I pull my eyes away from him reluctantly to look to my left, finding an old wooden ladder leaning against a tall oak tree. I let my light travel up it, noticing a tiny ramshackle hut held by two of the thickest branches of the tree with the ladder disappearing into a crudely cut square hole.
I hear the rustling of leaves behind me and turn in time to see Harry standing next to me, peering up at the tree house with his breath exhaling in curled clouds.
"So are we going up?" I ask.
Harry turns to me, slightly bewildered. "You want to?" he asks, seeming genuinely perplexed. I just laugh.
"Well, yeah -- " I smile, elbowing him playfully. "Did you think I was gonna have you drag me out here in the freezing cold of winter at 3am to just look at the damn thing?"
Harry chuckles and shakes his head as he starts for the ladder, letting his feet and arms check to make sure it was sturdy before making his way up carefully. The old wood creaked and groaned as he pulled his lean frame up the ladder and through the hole. As the wood moaned and settled, he worried about whether or not it could hold our weight, but as he remembered all the things he and his friends had done in this treehouse, he stopped worrying.
After he got inside, he turned around -- waiting for me to climb up. After penetrating the hole, he took the flashlight from me and gave me his hand, his hands feeling warm and sturdy around mine before helping to pull me up next to him.
He scooted back to make room for me, his back hitting up against the wall as I got comfortable by sitting indian style mere inches from him. We both took a deep breath as wood continued to creak in protest of the added occupants, but we both let it out calmly when nothing happened and we realized we were safe.
Once settled, Harry takes the flashlight and spreads it around inside, flashing it along the walls that still hold old posters, ticket stubs, flyers, and photos of years long past.
"This is really cool," I smile, reaching up to touch an old ticket stub to see The Rolling Stones. "You've just always loved music, huh?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, it's just always been a part of me, I dunno." His eyes catch the X Factor audition flyer and he took a deep breath.
"Why'd you quit?" I ask, trying to mask the curiosity in my voice. When I look over at him, I see an uncomfortable look on his face.
He chuckles sardonically as he got lost in thought at the question, shaking his head at me before pressing his lips together. He didn't want to say, so I just nodded, not wanting to push him.
Harry sighs again as he looks around, the memories flooding back and filling his mind. All the nights with his best friends, talking about music and movies and girls and whatever else was on their minds. He hadn't seen some of those guys in years -- some of them moved on, got married -- some, he didn't even know what happened to them. They all just drifted away from each other somehow.
"Me and my friends used to chill up here when we were 10," he started on a new topic, leaning back a little. His fingertips brushed something cold and metallic, quickly realizing it was a beer can. He chuckled as he tossed it, hearing it clatter as it found a new home on the floor. "And Nick and I drank up here when we were 16."
I laugh. "You and Nick have known each other for a long time, huh?"
He nodded, that tight pulling sensation coming over his chest again when he thought of his best friend.
"How'd you meet?"
"Our mom's are good friends," he shrugs dismissively, peering out the window. "He just gets me, ya know?"
Long pause.
"Or he used to, anyway."
He tenses. Why did he say that? His eyes find mine in the darkness, and even though its pitch black, we can see each other pretty well. My cheeks are pink from the cold, my lips red from licking at them, and my green eyes pierce the darkness between us in a way that unbeknownst to me, makes his heart beat faster.
I look at him hesitantly, knowing I have a million questions, but I'm trying to hold myself back. I don't want this to be the Spanish Inquisition, but I've never wanted to know every detail about someone as I do with him.
But Harry knows all this, because even though everyone else in the world is great at masking their intentions, he's always been able to read me like a book. And by now, I know he knows my curiosity is genuine.
"He gets you," I confirm. Harry shifts uncomfortably and nods.
"I dunno," he mutters, shifting again, his foot starting to tingle from his odd sitting position.
He grunts, shifting into an Indian-style spot as well, his knees pushing up against mine in the process. It was almost as if there was a look of surprise on his face when I didn't pull away at the contact like I usually do. Instead, there's a look of comfort.
Does he? Is he -- is he comfortable here with me? Like this? Our bodies touching?
I can see that he's not entirely sure why he feels this way, but somewhere deep down, I think he knows he can trust me.
"He does, Harry..." I reassure him, reminding him of the hanging thought in the air. I see him glance up at me in shock. "Maybe he just needs a little help in this instance. Even best friends can't read your mind."
A smile tugs at his lips. "I just feel like he's...like..." he starts. My knee nudges his reassuringly as he searches for the words.
"What?" I smile warmly. He sighs, running a hand through his curls.
"I just feel like we're not as close as we used to be anymore. I mean...I don't really have any friends besides him, really. Not anymore, anyway." he trails, a bit embarrassed by the admission, but it was true.
He stopped picking at his pant leg to look up at me, catching my eyes, full of understanding and empathy for him. In that moment, he realizes just how pretty he thinks I am. He never realized it before now, this moment. I'm completely unlike Eleanor in every facet, and somewhere in the back of his brain, he knows that's a good thing.
"Why is that?" I ask.
He just blinks slowly, trying to remember what we were talking about. His thoughts had run away from him again.
"I dunno," he trails again. He has an inkling of why it is, but he doesn't want the topic to drift there either. "Nick is just..."
"Your best friend," I finish for him. "Guys like you two don't just drift apart like that. He's like your brother. I barely know the guy, and even I can see that."
Harry smiles, but there's a sad bitterness to it.
"I missed his Dad's funeral," he breathes out, his head falling back against the wall with a thud. His breath is pulled from his lungs at the unexpected pain that statement brings. "I'm his best friend, Livvy. I should have been there."
He groans, fisting his hands together and lightly pounding them on his own knees in frustration, letting them stay there all balled up.
How could he have done something like that? At the time, it didn't seem like such a big deal. He was in LA, which seemed like forever and a day away. In a sense, it is. It's an entirely different world than it is out here. He still called. He sent flowers. But why is it that now that he's home, he sees how glaringly wrong he was about the whole situation.
He jumps as I place my cold hands over his fists in an effort to comfort him, which it oddly does even though he feels he doesn't deserve it.
"You screwed up," I mention, never letting my hands leave his. At my words, I notice he lowers his head like a puppy dog in trouble, ready for the onslaught that he's sure will be coming his way. "But you can't keep beating yourself up over it. You can't go back in time, Har -- all you can do is say you're sorry, mean it, and never let it happen again."
Harry lifts his head at me, blinking back the surprise. So often when he fucked up, he had to listen to a forty minute diatribe from Eleanor on what he had done wrong. It was always his fault -- he should have known better, he should have tried harder, he should have done it differently if he were a better man.
Not this time. Not with his Livvy.
I was so different from Eleanor.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask, chuckling nervously as I feel his intense gaze. I slowly pull my hands from his and lean back against my side of the wall, and I could tell he felt sad at the loss of our touch. He just smiled and shook his head at me.
"I just..." he trails, finally letting himself be completely honest and open for once. "You're so different from her."
"Eleanor?" I chuckle, but it's nervous. I bite my lip as I look back at him again, finally deciding to let go of whatever is holding me back. "Is that a compliment...or?"
"No!" He exclaims quickly, shaking his head so he doesn't see the look of disappointment that scrawls over my face. It was his turn to laugh nervously before continuing. "Just an observation..."
"You two seem so..." I trail. He can tell I'm holding back what I really want to say.
"Different?" He finishes reluctantly. I nod sheepishly, but he adds -- "we didn't use to be."
"So I keep hearing..." I offer. "What happened?"
"You've wanted to ask that for a while, huh?" He laughs. I blush a little, ducking my head sheepishly.
"You don't have to -- "
He holds up a hand. "It's fine..." he offers, his face screwing up in thought as he thinks of how to explain this. "Do you know Eleanor's dad?"
I look back at him puzzled. "No, no -- I don't think so."
Harry chuckles. "Robert is...well," he laughs, pausing here and there as he tries to figure out how to tell this story. "Ok, so Eleanor and I met at this industry party...thrown by her father," he adds, obviously trying to tie his previous thoughts together. "I was there because I had done some production work with Chris Martin, and I was kissing ass trying to get them to put it on the new record," he rolls his eyes, making me smile. "I was standing there...talking to...somebody, and..." a smile tugs at his lips as the memory paints his features. "I look over and there is this...just stunning woman. I mean, trust me Livvy -- I've seen some beautiful women in my life, and she just took my breath away." He peers at me through the darkness, but he's too caught up in the memory to see how tense my smile was. "It helped that she was one of the first ever Instagram models. Anyway -- I milled around, making small talk and asking about her until I finally mustered up enough courage to talk to her -- and she flat out rejected me."
He laughed, a hearty laugh, shaking his head.
"Now, at that point in my career, that wasn't exactly something I was used to," he smirks, giving me his million dollar lady killer of a smirk. I blushed a little and let out a giggle. I see it.
"So I sent her flowers the next day, saying it was a pleasure to have met her and that I hope I got to run into her again one day. Turns out one day wasn't that far away, as she ended up in the studio with me the next afternoon. Her father had assigned her as a test to listen to new songs for a new artist I did a few tracks for because he wanted her to try her hand at the music business. She agreed to listen to my tracks while I was there, which I was nervous as hell for because I really liked her and I didn't want to have to tell her that she didn't know music..."
We both chuckled at that. He's so cocky sometimes.
"But luckily for me, she did know what she was talking about, which made me want her even more," he sighs. "So we argued for a few hours about the tracks, and I'm just about to ask her to dinner when she interrupts me to tell me she has to go to some benefit and asks me to go with her. I agree and get all dressed up, and I'm nervous as hell because I'm sure it's some bourgeois debutant thing, and here I am a frog in a monkey suit trying to pretend he knows how to waltz..."
I tried to stifle a laugh at his colorful explanation, and I look at him puzzled. "Wait -- you didn't know how to waltz?"
"Well, yeah -- but that's beside the point." I can't help but laugh, nudging him again with my knee, eliciting a large grin from him before he continues his story.
"Anyway, we go to this party and it's so fucking annoying because every time we start getting into a meaningful conversation about something, one of her dad's colleagues or mom's friends would whisk us away to have asinine chats about show ponies and art auctions," he huffs, eye rolling his memory. "And just when I think the night is doomed, Eleanor leans into me and asks if I want to get the fuck outta there."
My jaw drops and my eyes widen. "You're lying."
"Swear to God," Harry says as he holds up his right hand.
"I don't believe you," I laugh. "She would never do that."
"Wait, wait -- lemme finish," he laughs, scooting closer to me excitedly as he lays his hands on my calves, forcing me to bite my lip in the process. "It gets better, trust me."
I'm trying so hard to focus with his hands on my legs. I don't even think he knows he did it, given he's so caught up in this story. But I know. And it's sending shivers up my spine.
"So we go outside and get in her limo, and she takes me to this seedy little club in Los Feliz. I'm talking -- hole in the wall, piss on the sidewalk, biker dudes seedy, and here we are in formal wear," he grins wildly at the memory. "We danced on the bar and did body shots off of one another and listened to this amazing band you know today called Kings of--"
"No. Fucking. Way."
"Yeah, I know," he says simply. "She had been getting them gigs all over town for years. After we got together, I told her she should pitch them to her Dad. She finally did, and they blew up - it was insane."
"Wow," I breathe, noticing how his face lights up as he tells the story.
"Yeah," his face suddenly darkens and it's like someone turned out the light. "After that, her Dad started using her more and more for A&R projects and pulling her more away from her modeling career. Ironically, she ended up finding her niche in branding bands and building their images -- you know, the whole modeling / fashion thing. She wanted to be a little mogul in training, and that's certainly what she got," he sighs. "As she got more successful, she had quite a bit of a hard time being taken seriously as a female -- you know, the 'she's a party girl and only here because of dad's money and status' thing. So she kind of became a hardass."
"Kind of?" I ask, snorting with a laugh before I can stop it, resulting in a blush. Harry chuckles.
"This business is hard, Livvy..." Harry lets me know, somewhat chastising me in the process, almost as a justification for why she became who she became for himself. "People take what they can get from you, and you have to put up a strong front to keep the vultures away."
He pauses before adding. "I think a lot of that is because of her father, you know? Those are huge shoes to fill. And I mean, it's what she wants. And Eleanor always gets what she wants."
He pulled his hands away from my legs to run one through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh after letting out this mix bag of emotions onto another human. It felt good. Good to get it out.
I chuckle, biting my bottom lip as I look up at him. Our eyes locked and I could feel the gravity pulling me to him.
"And what do you want?" I asked, timidly.
Harry jerks slightly, the slight smile fading from his features. What does he want? It had been so long since someone even thought to ask him. So often he was told what he was doing, where he was going, what he was getting -- which honestly wasn't much different from his early days in One Direction. His opinion never really mattered -- which is fine, he guesses -- because what really mattered when it comes to paper samples and flower arrangements? But now that someone was finally asking him, he felt some type of indignation over a simple fact that was finally hitting him square in the face.
When had he become such a doormat?
"Harry?" I ask again, my hand reaching out to gently touch his knee. He jumps slightly, realizing a frown had taken over his facial features. He let his hand slide down and cover my own, making my breath catch in my throat.
"I..." he trails, searching for something, anything that could answer my question, but the words die in his throat.
Maybe Nick was right? Maybe he did let Eleanor walk all over him. But no -- that can't be. It was just her personality. Why was he getting upset that she always got her way when he didn't even have an opinion about most things anyway? She was strong willed, and if he had to bend every once in awhile to accommodate that, then that was fine.
But when was the last time she had bent for him? He shook his head, not wanting to think about these things now. He turns his head to glance at the window, and he realizes it's lighter out.
Was the sun really coming up? Had they really been out here for that long?
"Harry...?" I ask again, gently letting my fingers grab at his, playing with them to get his attention. "You ok?"
"Yeah!" He exclaims, plastering a smile on his face, but I wasn't buying it. I gave him a questioning look, our hands still touching.
"You know what I want?" He asks after a long pause, biting his lip as he looks up at me, eyes connecting.
Our green orbs stare intently into one another, the entire world slowing down around us. The joke he had planned on telling was quickly forgotten, both of our heart rates picking up and fingers slightly becoming more and more intertwined with one another. Our knees are still touching, and that magnetic pull from our drunken night together is back, making it feel as if something should be happening between us that isn't.
Our breaths sync, and I can't even muster the nerve to pull our eyes apart. Biting my lip, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, pulling our knees away from each other, and just like that -- the hold of what should be happening was broken. Our hands pulled apart and inches went between our bodies swiftly.
"What?" I ask nervously.
Taking a shaky breath, he shook the thoughts from his mind, forgetting what he had even asked his brain. His thoughts were muddled and his heart was twisting as thoughts of his fucked up life all came crashing back down on him.
"Nothing," he mumbled, moving swiftly to stand and crawl towards the ladder. "It's almost morning, we should get back before anyone notices we're gone."
"Yeah, I can't sleep until noon two days in a row," I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood since I was so unaccustomed to this moody pensive version of Harry, following quickly behind him. "Maybe I can tell your family I have some rare sleep disorder..."
Despite himself, he chuckles. "Good plan," he smiled at me, unable to avoid staring at my ass as I climb down the ladder, his hands moving to my hips to help me down carefully.
"But you can't sleep in tomorrow -- er, today. Not really."
"Why not?" I ask curiously, fixing his hoodie on my frame again, not noticing his eyes taking in every inch of my body as I did so.
"Because it's Christmas Eve," he smirks. "Last one to the house is a rotten egg!" he yells before taking off running for home, leaving me to scramble after him.
We are laughing and hitting each other as we get to the house, giggling as he shushes me as we creep inside. I was honored he walked me to my room after we kicked our boots off. I bit my bottom lip as we stood in front of my -- his -- bedroom door, looking up at him with a crooked smile.
"Goodnight, Harry..." I whisper.
He stared down at me, biting his bottom lip as well, our eyes pooling together intensely.
"Sleep tight," he mutters, slowly wrapping his arms around my body tightly, burying his nose in the crook of my neck and inhaling my mango shampoo with a content sigh. The feeling of his strong arms holding me tight is something I never wanted to let go of.
And just like that, he pulled away with a smile and waved.
Harry made sure I made it into my room okay before completely disappearing, deciding to make a last stop in the kitchen for water. As he sipped the liquid, he stared out the window to his long time home, and the lyrics to a new song pulled at his heart, humming them to himself as he continued thinking about his life more intensely than he has since he went solo.
*~♥️~*
The night, well, she brushed her hands upon my flushed cheek. Smell the childhood remnants from the dusty weeping willow.
This time, like every other time, I believed that I'd never find another sweet little girl with sequined sea foam eyes; her ocean lapping voice, smile just as coy as the brightest quiet span of sky. And I'm all alone again tonight, not again, not again.
Still I'm unable to inhale all the riches, as I'm as awkward as a wound on my bones. Still, I've got cobblestone joints and plate glass points, as I'm all by myself tonight. Not again.
And don't it feel alright?
Well if you should nervous the break down, when its time for the shakedown, will you take it? It's when you cry just a little, but you laugh in the middle, that you've made it.
And don't she feel alright.
Don't she feel so nice.
Lovely.
Say it again.
Lovely.
So lovely.
Do it again
Again.
Loving again.
It's coming again.
She's so lovely.
And as the sun came up and the song sang it's way out of his mouth, he finally felt free enough to head to bed. Tonight, not again.
(Song: Jason Mraz. Tonight, Not Again)