Layla
Some time has passed. Some time has passed as we enjoy the beautiful and mesmerizing autumn evening. We walk side by side, occasionally in silence and sometimes simply making small talk as we try to conquer such glaciers in our path. He's as polite and kind as I remember; flaunting a warm smile as I speak about the current movie I'm working on. When I talk, his eyes and attention are all on me as we carry on alongside the sidewalk. For we lose track of time as more than an hour passes, edging far too near midnight. I'd normally never be caught at such time within the depths of the city, but with him, I feel safe. He makes me feel safe, providing a taste of comforting home that I've desperately missed.
There's so much that I want to tell him, so much that I need to tell him as constant thoughts and ideas continue to swarm around my mind. Does he still blame me? Does he still feel the same pain that I endure? When he lays in bed at night, does he think of me? Do his lips crave the sweet kisses that we gifted one another, if only for one more day? With trembling hands, I keep them tucked away hidden within my coat pockets, hoping he can't hear the pounding that is my heart. Unfortunately, spending time with him, just comes so naturally between us. It's effortless, being with him, enjoying the evening by his side. He's still just as warm, kind, candy like, and nurturing than ever. By the smooth selection of words that leave his mouth or the subtle placement of his hand on my waist every instant a ruckus is heard around a bush. He's still the man I fell for so dearly and so badly back in Cannes. He's the essence of summertime happiness in the middle of cold autumn that wishes to transform to New York winter.
"What are you thinking about right now? So quiet," he states, eyes trailing over me.
"Many things, don't know where to begin."
"Then start from the beginning. How have you been? Are you, are you doing good?"
"Yes, I'm alright. How about you? Busier than ever I assume."
He smiles a half smile, not the same smile I adored along the coast of the ocean, but better than nothing entirely. "Things are good, just been touring for a while now. Ever since..."
"Since Cannes?"
"Hmm."
We both don't press on the subject at hand for much longer, wanting to put the past behind us as it continues to haunt our souls, yet in the best possible way. "How much longer do you have on tour?"
"Just a few more days in the city. It wasn't a big one. I just missed it. Traveling here and there, seeing the fans. I felt a bit lonely without it all."
"Why did you want to finish it off in the big apple?"
"No particular reason."
"No?"
His lips curve into a bashful grin as he looks over at me, shaking his head in the process. "You'll laugh. Think I'm crazy."
"Try me."
He wants to pursue such a topic, but hesitation is a great obstacle in the upcoming conversation as he presses his lips together, holding back when I dearly want him to fly. However, it's then that we accidentally come across a small pizza shop near the corner of my building. And despite the current hour, the smell of such savory and wholesome food is inviting and comforting, drawing us both in as we look from outside the window. It's then in which I seem to realize just how much of an appetite I've initiated. He turns to me, asking the obvious question that only comes forth at such a beautiful sight. It's not the question I wanted answered, but I'll take any time with him. I'm not ready to say goodbye, not yet. I do hope that deep down, he feels the same exact way.
"Would you care for a slice?"
Reluctantly, I nod, knowing no harm can actually come out of a bite to eat. He holds the door open for me, allowing us both to step inside. We're greeted as the interior is thankfully not packed with any people at all. But this is the city that never sleeps and I doubt it will remain this calm for much longer. The man of the hour towers above me, chewing on his lower lip, debating on what to order. When he realizes I'm waiting on him, his face nervously flushes like a fresh peach as he glances down at me.
"Any suggestions?"
"The four cheese is my go to."
"Hmm, any gluten free options?"
"Harry, no."
He laughs, ordering two slices with drinks. I proceed to pull out my wallet, far too slow in pace in comparison. I forgot for a moment just how charming and clever he can become. For he immediately shakes his head, handing over his card to prevent such an act. "This was supposed to be my treat, remember?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Not happening."
"But..."
"Nope, not an option."
I grab all the necessary utensils and toppings, following as he claims a table in the far back corner of the shop. He sits, removing his coat as I do the same, shoulders barely brushing as we sit near. His bright eyes are filled with an unknown innocence. Those same eyes that I quickly fell for in the summertime, underneath the sunshine.
"Alright, tell me what to do," he says.
"It's a pizza, Harry. Not a rocket ship."
"Watch it now, I only wish to make the city proud."
"The process is very easy. You bring the slice to your lips."
"Okay..."
"You take a bite..."
"Alright."
"And you chew."
He stops, giving me a threatening and irritated glare as I giggle wholeheartedly in my seat. He sets the pizza back down on the plate, grabbing the straw wrapper, rolling it up before throwing it right at my face. He did the same at the small cafe along the streets of Cannes. I don't think much of it, realizing this is the first time I've shared a genuine laugh in months since his absence. He pretends to be annoyed with me, pouting for a moment before laughing timidly. We both stop, looking at one another honestly and truly, canceling such a memory as the bell of the door indicates another's arrival.
We're joined by a couple who are far too engrossed in one another's lips to pay any attention to us. And so, the musician sitting directly across from me takes his first bite, allowing a string of oily cheese to be pulled as well, dangling from his mouth before he wipes it off.
"Well?" I ask.
"Now I know what all the fuss is about," he replies, taking another eager bite.
We spend some time basking in the glory of each other's company. He listens to me with the upmost attention as we try not to focus on the past, but more so on the present. "Tell me, how did you get dragged out to that awful social?"
"Grace thought it would be good of me to put my face out there and mingle. I apparently keep to myself too much. You?"
"I'm in the city for a few more days for the end of tour. My manager, Jeff, is friends with the event coordinator."
"You didn't have fun?"
He shakes his head, finishing up his slice. "Not really. Didn't care for anyone there."
"Is that why you escaped?"
"Um, yes. But also, I wanted to talk to you. Without all the noise." He makes it all worth it. He's worth all the noise.
My heart flutters foolishly at such a remark, thinking and hoping he could still care for me the same way I still care for him. For I'll never admit this out loud, but I still adore him. I adore his character, his kindness, his heart. I adore the way his eyes hold all the brightness in the world. I adore the way he chooses to spend his evening with me, despite my past actions. I adore him completely and as he finishes his last bite, a small string of cheese dangles from the corner of his mouth. I suppress a tempted laugh, ushering him of such a predicament.
"You have some cheese on your mouth," I say.
He takes hold of the napkin, attempting to wipe it away. When he fails, I point at its location once more as he isn't successful in actually removing it. And so, I grab my own napkin, gently wiping it away from the corner of his mouth as I lean across the small table. He remains absolutely silent, watching my every move as time passes. He meets my eyes, wishing to speak, yet that opportunity never arises as we both hear the snapping of a camera going off. For his eyes fixate on someone behind me, causing my hand to retract back to my lap.
"We should go," he whispers, holding a look of pure concern.
I don't bother arguing or asking any further questions as we clean our trash, stepping into a brewing storm. For our location must have been made known quite quickly if I may add as crowds of eager fans stand outside the door while a few have come inside as well. They surround us both, asking for picture after picture. We agree to some, knowing we don't have much time if we wish to safely and quietly get back home for the night. The flashing lights are inevitable while the shrieking screams is something I will never adjust to. A group of frantic teenage girls place their phones in my face, taking photo after photo, claiming it on their social feed as I remain forced to stand in my place. I keep my head down, stranded in the middle of the city as the lights begin to fog my path.
"Ladies, please, give her some room," Harry kindly says, swimming into a sea of people.
"We love you!"
"We're so excited for your show!"
"Layla, you look so pretty tonight!"
I try not to think far too much on the way he protectively laces his hand with my own, guiding me forward across the street. I motion that my building is right at the corner as we try our best to avoid lingering stares as paparazzi continue to follow and film our every move. This will be on the morning news tomorrow, I'm quite sure of it. Thankfully, we make it inside the lobby as the door is then shut in place, allowing us to exhale properly. We don't remain out in the public eye far too long, catching the next elevator in order to gain some privacy. Once again, we don't say another word until the entrance to my apartment is unlocked, allowing him to step inside first before I shut the door, keeping the cold air out.
He takes small steps in, studying the modern and comforting vibes of the place. For I've lived here mostly my entire time in the city and since it's the one place I truly enjoy, I've spent the most work in making it close to perfection. From every color to each painting, I've chosen it all in order to create the perfect wonderland in the midst of Manhattan. It's been quite the safe haven over the years, away from the hustle and bustle. Away from the flashing lights and speculations. And quite frankly, I've never had a man in here before. I'm traveling far too much to hold a steady relationship and I'm not the kind of girl to allow strangers up considering my fame and the consequences.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask.
He pauses, looking away from the painting of such an enchanting forest I purchased at an auction a couple years back. He clears his throat, sighing heavily before granting an answer. "Some water would be great, thank you." He looks a bit flushed and frightened following our prior aftermath. I fear he may be having regrets, wishing to never spend any time with me this evening.
"Make yourself at home. Do you want me to hang up your coat?"
He accepts the glass of water, choosing his words with the upmost precision. "No, I'm okay. I should be heading back to the hotel."
The once ever growing smile on my face falters as my heart sinks at such a declaration. He's far too smart and instantly realizes what he's said, brushing it off and tossing such a thought to the side. "Maybe in a little then, if you don't mind?"
"Of course not."
"Perfect," he says, placing his coat on the hanger by the door before wandering around the living room.
It's so strange to find him here, sitting on my sofa, studying the one of many books I've delicately laid out on the coffee table. I never thought I'd see him again, let alone spend such a pleasant evening with him after so much time has passed between us. Happily, I remove my heels and coat, treating myself to a comforting glass of water before stepping into the living room as well. He places the book down, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. We keep our physical distance, trying to join in on the once comfortable conversation we had previously created back at the pizza shop.
"Your place is lovely," he says.
"Thank you."
"You have a nice view of the city here."
"Hmm. It's beautiful now in the fall when the park begins to change color."
"Sounds nice. What's your favorite color to see outside your window?"
"Probably orange."
"Why orange?"
"Orange is comforting and it's the perfect combination of red and yellow. It has the energy of red and the hopeful happiness of yellow."
"Someone has asked you this before, I can tell."
"Not at all. I just think about these kind of things sometimes." A pause. He wants to speak, desiring to bring up the past as it threatens to spill out of his mouth. Yet, I fear I may crumble and shatter into a million pieces if I have to witness his anger, his tears, his sadness. If this is a dream, then I don't want to wake up with another brokenly broken heart. "When is your last show of the tour?"
"What?"
"I heard some fans talking about your next show earlier."
He smiles brightly in understanding. "Oh, it's tomorrow night at MSG. It's kind of a big deal with it being the last show of the tour and all."
"Sounds like fun."
"Hmm."
Another pause, he fiddles with his hands in his lap, avoiding my own nervous eyes as I focus outside the window and onto the bright lights of the big apple. "You should come tomorrow. To my show," he answers.
"Harry..."
"It would be loads of fun. I could introduce you to everyone. Let you see what it's like backstage."
"I don't know..."
His smile fades as he gathers up my response with a saddened look. Once again, I despise myself for being the one responsible. But, I don't know if it will do us any good. After all, he leaves in a few days. We will be apart once again, continuing on with our separate lives. And besides, we know deep down where we stand with one another; what's the point on walking on ice?
"I should probably go," he quietly says.
"Okay," I manage to suffice.
It pains me to see him gathering his things, heading off towards the door. My mind is urging me to allow him to leave and for us to finally move on. I was ridiculous to encourage such a night in the first place. But how can I let him go? Not again. For I'm not that strong as everyone believes. For my heart can't take the sight before me as he adjusts his coat, preparing to walk out of my life once more. Because when his eyes meet my own, he witnesses the fallen tears. He witnesses the truth and how I feel as I foolishly stand in the hallway.
"Hey, shh, let's have none of that," he whispers, wiping the tears away as they're soon replaced with new ones.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't act like this," I say, hoping to remove his soft and kind hands from clearing away the awful tears that fall.
He frowns, uncertain as to what I've just admitted to him. "Like what? Layla, please, talk to me."
"Like this, crying at the door, thinking it will make a difference in the world when you actually hate me."
"Layla..."
"No, don't try to spare me the truth. Not after what I did."
He cups my face, thumbs wiping away brand new tears as the mascara stains my skin. He inhales deeply, breathing me in for a moment as I tremble and shake before him. "I could never hate you Layla."
"Please, stop it."
"It's the truth, little darling. I could never hate you. Can't you see? Can't you see that even tonight I didn't last but a few minutes without talking to you?"
"You're only being polite."
"I'm being honest Layla. You broke my heart. You fucking broke my heart. But I'm an idiot for allowing you to leave. For letting someone influence my feelings. For getting so scared. Not when, not when I was falling in love with you."
"Harry..."
"I loved you back in Cannes, do you understand? I loved you then and I'm standing here telling you that I love you now. I never stopped. Not for a fucking second."
And with that, his gentle and candy like lips find home on my own as we make up for lost time. The kiss is small and soft at first, tracing the surface, fearful of what may come out of it in the end. He tastes just as wonderful as I remember, reminding me of the big blue ocean, berries, sunshine, and ginger honey. He feels the same way, smiling grandly, indulging in the blissful sensation. If only for one moment, if only for one more night. Because if this is all a magical dream, I want to live with no regrets. He needs to know the honest truth and as he deepens the kiss, I think he's ready. I think we both are, knowing if we ever wish to face the future, we need to address our sad past. It's the only way we'll be able to find our way to each other. It's the only way to find home.
Okay, I'm sorry for stopping it here.
Not really.
I'll make it up to you all. :D
**I just made a twitter! I'll be sharing art, music, travel, food, fashion and of course anything and everything Cannes/Harry Styles so please make sure to check it out and give it a follow. Here's the link----twitter.com/darlinglumiere
Thoughts on this chapter?
Layla and Harry are now back together, what do you want to see next?
Any ideas on where their relationship will go?
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I need a bit more time for the next one, 50 votes and 50 comments for the next chapter. And believe me, it's going to be a good one. xoxo