5th August 2015
Eloise wakes with a soft groan. Not at the hushed bleating of her phone alarm on the nightstand, just out of reach. Nor in anticipation of another early start and the busy morning ahead. Not even at the thought of leaving the heavenly comfort of this feather-topped super king bed of literal dreams.
She groans at the realisation that Harry is, somehow, still buried deep.
Spooned tightly behind her, his warm skin is in flush contact from her neck, where she can feel his lips against her nape, right down to her feet, tucked around his ankles. His left arm is straight out in front of her from between her neck and shoulder. His right grips tightly around her hip, snaking up across her chest, hand tucked beneath her left breast and the mattress. The front of his thighs press along the back of hers; hips nestled tight, right against her bum.
They had awoken at 3am to the sound of sirens from the street below penetrating even the multi-glazed windows and heavy blackout curtains.
She felt him stirring behind her in more ways than one; shifting his hips against her, evidently hopeful for round two, snaking his fingers between her legs.
Sleepily, silently, she reached for his hand and held it in hers at her chest, canting her hips back and lifting her top leg over his in invitation. Sliding gently home, he pressed a reverent kiss to the nape of her neck.
Rocking languidly, nothing more than soft sighs and gentle whispers fell from their lips.
When they both came - together, with a little help from his fingers - long after the sirens had passed, they stayed stock still. As their breathing settled, she dropped her leg back down and pulled his arm back over her, finding comfort in the tight embrace and hoping he did too. She felt him start to soften, but with their close proximity and the angle of their positions, he didn't slip from her.
At the cusp of falling asleep, swaddled tightly in his arms, she felt almost overcome at the sense of closeness to him. Their intimate connection - physical and emotional - felt, all at once, intensely erotic, deeply romantic and wonderfully relaxing.
She felt him press his smiling lips into her neck right as she dropped off back to sleep. Thought she might just have heard him murmur a couple of weighty syllables, but couldn't be sure.
>
Coming to her senses, in disbelief that he'd been in her, for hours, she shifts her hips ever so slightly, fluttering around him.
Rousing suddenly with a deep gasp in her ear, he definitely feels it. Pulling slightly back, he stills, just catching himself from slipping as he starts hardening again, making her gasp in return.
"Well, this is new", he groans huskily in her ear, pressing deeper into her as he reaches over to silence her alarm.
As he rolls back, she pulls from him with a whimper and flips over to burrow into his neck.
Brushing her hair over her shoulder, he tilts her head up to press a kiss to her forehead. "You feel okay?", he asks, dropping a tender hand softly between her legs.
She nods, trying to search his eyes in the darkness of the bedroom. "You?", she whispers, dropping hers down to him, stirring against her upper thigh.
Nodding back, "Wow, that was intense", he says, leaning into her lips. "Do we have time?", he mutters around kisses, pressing eagerly into her hand.
With another groan, she reaches back, blindly stretching for her phone. "Shit, no", she clocks the time. "I can't be late, sorry".
After a final press of her lips to his, she tries to wiggle out from his strong arms. "H, stop! My car's due in ten minutes and I need to shower", she whines.
"You smell great", he counters with another flex of his hips.
"I smell of you... And sex".
"Fucking fantastic!", he grins, teeth flashing brightly in the dark. "Name a better combo?".
"Ha! Should be the name of your next fragrance", she jokes, pinching his bum. She makes the most of his distraction, sniggering into her neck, to slip from the bed and step gingerly to the shower.
>
Just five minutes later, hurriedly tugging up her leggings, she pauses in the ensuite doorway to stop and stare once she sees what he's up to.
Legs bent up, right arm moving under the duvet, brow furrowed and biting his lip. She frowns a sympathetic "Oh, poor baby", reaching for her bra.
"Oh, wait, hang on...", he speeds up, smirking lasciviously before she rolls her eyes and pulls it on.
Slipping on a tank top and layering on a denim shirt, she steps into her Birkenstocks and walks up to his side of the bed to lean down for a goodbye kiss.
"So hard done by", he whines into her lips.
"Twice and three hours? Hardly!", she scoffs, standing to leave after a final peck.
"Why do they need you so early?".
"6.15am call time. Wardrobe fitting, hair prep, make-up, pre-light, shooting from 10am", she shrugs, reciting from the call sheet she'd received yesterday. "I'll see you later. Text me when you arrive?".
She squeezes his right bicep and nods to his lap, "Sorry not sorry, about that", she smirks in parting.
>
Sat in the make-up chair, trying not to bop her head unduly to music, she sips her second coffee and flips through the New York Post in her lap. Or tries to, peering around the hands of the hairstylist and make-up artist tending to her.
She snorts a laugh when she gets to Page Six and sees the 'Harry plays the field' splash in the top right corner. Alongside a shot of the boys on stage yesterday, there are two pictures of them. Auburn her, sliding into the taxi at the park with her hand on his arm, face largely obscured by the angle. And blonde her, looking up at him with a hand on his chest, outside the restaurant.
"Oh, shit, that's you!", the hairstylist gasps, peering over her shoulder, interest piqued.
She skims the article - that he was pictured with two different women in one day (ha!), was cryptic about his relationship status when interviewed on GMA, and apparently drunkenly aggressive with paps over it in the evening.
Wow, that's unfair. The pictures aren't perfectly clear, but it's not impossible to see that it's her in both pictures. But column inches need filling, she reasons, and his name sells anything.
Reaching for her phone to snap a picture to send to him, bemoaning their lack of journalistic integrity, she hesitates, recalling his angst over the paps last night. No point poking the bear, she figures.
She focuses instead on how to politely shut down the glam team's eager questions about him. About them.
>
The boys arrived at Milk Studios in Chelsea at 8.30am. Caffeinated, fed, coiffed and dressed, ready to start reshooting the new album artwork from 10am. They'd started as a group before moving on to the individual shots after an hour or so.
Harry's just stepping off set as Louis and Niall come barrelling back into their brick walled studio. "Found her, H!", Niall sing songs.
"And damn! You're going to lose your tiny mind when you see her", Louis winds him up.
"Oh, don't...", Lou pipes up from where she's sculpting Liam's quiff. "I've already got a proper girl crush brewing".
"Excuse me! You can all stop perving on her now, thanks", Harry huffs, failing to hide his eager smile; still disbelieving of the very happy coincidence that her late booking was scheduled at the same studio and time as theirs.
He has to threaten physical violence before Niall relents and reveals she's in Studio 2, downstairs. Will takes pity and says he'll show him the way, ushering him out.
>
They poke their heads around the open studio door to find her stood against the middle of a white backdrop by the far wall.
She's in high heels and a tight deep blue bandage dress, bulldog clipped up the back for a perfect fit.
Her glossy hair is the main attraction of the haircare brand's ad shoot. It looks shorter than normal, coiled into tight tendrils and ringlets from the roots.
Her hair and make-up are being touched up as the crew tinker with the lighting rigged around her. They all wear sunglasses under the harsh glare, whilst her eyes remain tightly closed, even with her back to the lights.
Chatting quietly to the glam team, her hips sway slightly to the irresistible beat of the intro to Last Night by The Strokes pumping through the speakers.
>
Over the noise of the music and with her eyes clamped shut, she hasn't noticed him yet, so they hang back out of the way and watch on as the French photographer claps his hands and calls "D'accord! Set it up again", and the team jump into action.
The studio dims as the lighting on set is cranked up even brighter. Techs check the light and focus pull before the First Assistant yells "Ready". The hairstylist adjusts a final curl before crouching into position below the camera, poised and ready holding a small blower, ready to waft her hair.
"Ready, Eloise?", the photographer calls from behind the camera tripod, his accent elongating all the vowels of her name. "And go! Allez! On beats of five, for as long as you can manage, okay?".
She nods and takes a deep breath. Gracefully raising an arm above her head, she arches her neck in a final stretch and sets a broad smile across her face, then steps and tosses her hair, setting it in motion to dance around her head. At the very last moment, she opens her eyes and looks to camera with a flash of blue.
She adjusts her stance back to her mark on the floor and goes again. Bang on beats of five, as requested.
It feels lightening quick in real time. Harry cuts his eyes to the big monitor previewing the shots, impressed how they've choreographed it to all come together in that split second. He can't believe how good she looks and has never seen eyes such a blazing bright blue.
He's done hundreds of photoshoots, but this feels like a whole other level. The popping and white flashes of the lighting rig has him recoiling and blinking and he's not even looking at it, so how she can bear it he's not sure.
He counts that she somehow manages seven quick takes, before the photographer calls out, "Okay, fantastique! Reset everyone. Take a break, cherie".
Eloise whirls around, bumping into the hairstylist as she blindly stumbles off set, with the heels of her palms pressed against her eyes.
The stylist drapes a dressing gown over her shoulders as Harry worriedly steps out of the shadows and grasps her elbow. "El, are you alright?".
Her head snaps up in surprise and she drops a hand to her aching neck, rapidly blinking her wide, watery eyes at him for just a second. Then she throws her arms around his neck and scrunches them shut again. "Blinding headache, literally", she grits out lowly.
"You look incredible", he whispers into her ear, rubbing soothing circles over her hips.
In the relative darkness off set, they're paid no heed. It's funny, models on shoots are somehow often overlooked amidst the chaos. Just a clothes hanger. Or a face to show off the make-up. Or a neck to wear the perfume.
Whilst he worries, never having seen her so quiet, the loitering brand and agency team flock around the monitor excitedly, pointing and gesturing with the photographer. "We've got it! That's the one. It's perfect!"
When Will, attention fixed on the screen, mutters a "Wow!", Harry looks over and is left speechless.
They're interrupted as the photographer calls out to her. "Eloise? We'll just do some freestyle with bigger hair, okay? Then we're done", he nods, decisively. "D'accord, everyone? Reset, tease, shoot. Five minutes then lunch. Allez!".
She pulls her forehead from where it rests on his shoulder. "I'll come and find you in a bit", she says quietly, blinking rapidly as she squeezes his hand before pasting a smile on her face as she turns back around to the team, strutting past the monitor to the vanity in the corner.
>
"Wow, she's a total pro!", Will gushes as they head back upstairs, genuinely impressed. "How long's she been at it?".
"Left mine at 6am... Oh, you mean-? Since she was eighteen".
"The shots looked beautiful", he shucks Harry's shoulder with a grin. "She's going to be a star, Harry. She has to be".
"She deserves to be. She's incredible", he says adamantly. "Hey, please can we find something for her headache?".
"Sure. No problem", he says already pulling out his phone to text an assistant. "She's good for you, H. I like this one", he smiles warmly.
"Me too", he grins. "Like really, really, really like", he admits bashfully.
"Week off soon... Any plans?", Will asks.
"Just her", Harry replies simply enough but with a sly smirk, elbowing Will cheekily as they round the corner back to their studio.
>
Having washed off her make-up and changed back into her leggings and tank top, denim shirt tied around her waist, she finds them in the studio catering room.
Harry jumps up to greet her before guiding her back to their table, hushing them and swatting the boys' hands away as they try to pull at her wild bouncy curls.
Will squeezes her shoulder in sympathy and hands her a bag with water, headache tablets, eyedrops and a heated eye mask.
Overcome with gratitude, she wells up behind her sunglasses at their sweet gesture.
She's under no illusion; she's very lucky, and it was a very easy morning's work for fifty grand in global photography usages, so she won't complain. Ever. But she just needs those damn blindingly white flashes to stop dancing behind her eyelids.
>
After lunch, the boys review a shortlist of selects with their photographer, much happier this time than the first shoot in early June.
Then they all bundle back to the tour bus parked up in the studio lot. It's nearing mid-afternoon and they need to get to New Jersey to prep for tonight's gig at the MetLife Stadium.
Harry leads Eloise by the hand straight to his dark bunk. As she digs her noise cancelling headphones from her bag, he reads the instructions on the self-heating eye mask. Helping her into the bunk, he tucks her in before slipping it over her head and making sure she has everything she needs.
She pouts her lips for a sweet kiss. "Now I do. Thank you, baby", she murmurs softly.
>
What feels like five minutes later but has actually been almost an hour, she wakes to him gently nudging her, carding his fingers through her curls and kissing her temple. "Babe, we're here", he whispers. "We've got soundcheck, but you stay here and sleep. I'll check back on you in an hour or so. Call me if you need anything".
She nods sleepily and squeezes his hand before rolling over and hugging his pillow, which smells just faintly enough of his Tom Ford cologne. He's always exactly what she needs.
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