"Harry! Harry! Look this way! Please, look this way!"
I flinched as if I was the one being shouted at, as I followed Stella and Ally out of the car. We got out on the opposite side to Harry, and cameras were immediately on him - the three of us bundled off to the side, away from the carpet, and Harry, as if it was mere routine, stopped in front of the car.
I'd never been on a red carpet before - I supposed, I technically wasn't on one now. I stood at the periphery - not that I was complaining - watching Harry stand as casually as if he were waiting in line at a supermarket. I glanced over at Stella, who looked somewhat like she belonged out there with him; she looked beautiful, like a star in her own right. I felt a bit like a child playing dress-up beside her.
When I'd been told a few days ago that I would be accompanying Harry, Ally and Stella to LA for an award show - without Elin, Sarah, Mitch, or Pauli - I'd immediately felt terrified. I knew I was needed to continue documenting Harry's time on tour, but I couldn't help but feel like I was being thrown into the deep end. I'd barely even grown accustomed to the tour, as it was, and that was with spending time with people I'd grown rather close with, and repeating near enough the same routine, day in and day out - this felt like a whole different ballpark. This felt even bigger.
I'd told Grace near enough straight away, and the very first sentence out of her mouth had been - "What are you going to wear?"Â and I'd frozen. I'd been too anxious about every other factor of the situation, that it hadn't even crossed my mind to be anxious about that factor. Surely I wouldn't be expected to wear anything special.
"Of course you will," Elin had told me, swatting playfully at Pauli as he moved past her to take a seat on the armchair in the corner of the room. The pair of us sat on the floor of my hotel room, with an open suitcase sprawled across it in front of us, and I'd sheepishly asked her if I was expected to dress up for this event.
"But I won't even be where people can see me," I frowned.
"You will," she said as if it were obvious. "You're still representing Harry - people will take any opportunity to tear you to shreds over the tiniest thing - including whatever you're wearing."No pressure, then.
"I don't even know why I have to go," I groaned, covering my face with my hands, exasperated.
"I guess Harry just wants you there," Pauli remarked, causing Elin to giggle. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't ignore the thump in my chest. Did he?
"Don't you have your wardrobe budget?" Elin asked me, returning to the original subject, tilting her head to one side. I nodded. Though there were stylists for the tour, predominantly for the band, I'd been given a few items when we started. Otherwise, it never really mattered what I wore - I was only there to capture the others, and so I would dress as casually as I could get away with. But, in my contract, and as Ally had later clarified for me - I was given a budget, separate from my salary, to purchase clothes for the tour with. Truthfully, I hadn't even considered making a dent in that budget yet - I'd had a million other things on my mind, to the point where my outfits were the very last thing I needed to contemplate. But then again, I supposed I hadn't needed to, until now.
"And?" she asked, prompting me to continue.
"I haven't used any of it yet," I confessed, and she rolled her eyes, though I knew she was only playing around.
"What is it for, Izzy, if not to spend?" she threw her hands up. "It's okay, we'll find you something."
I had only a mere few hours until I needed to catch my flight with the others, and I was trying my best not to panic. It had never mattered what I wore - it was never supposed to matter, because the attention wasn't ever supposed to be on me. I was starting to think of as many excuses as possible to give Ally as to why I wouldn't be able to join them in California, and that I'd be much better off heading to the next tour stop a day early with the band.
Shopping was something I avoided at all costs. I didn't like it - I didn't like relentlessly staring my own reflection down in the mirror, in disdain, fruitlessly searching for hours to find something that I found even remotely flattering, or satisfactory - typically, if I ever did muster up the strength to go, leaving without any purchase. I pursed my lips together, as Elin combed through the racks at a store I didn't recognise the name of - nor did I dare to check the prices of.
"Look at your face," she laughed, glancing at me. "Don't stress. You're not going to the Met Gala. Just the Grammys."
My eyes widened, "This is for the Grammys?!"
She laughed, "No. It's way smaller," she waved her hand dismissively, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. "See? Doesn't feel like such a big deal now, does it? You'll be fine."
I blew out a breath, as she began to stack items in her arms - and when her own arms couldn't take anymore, she offloaded the clothes into Pauli's, to make room for more of her own. I only watched apprehensively, as she paraded around the store as if she knew it like the back of her hand.
When I was finally marched into a dressing room, the two threw themselves down into chairs a few feet away. I bit my lip, peering up at the seemingly countless dresses that hung on the dressing room walls around me. Stop stressing.
I took the hem of one of the dresses between my fingers, holding it there for a second. I'd never had to dress up before - not properly. I'd never been to any kind of formal event - I'd never even been to my school prom, or anything of the sort. I'd avoided anything where my appearance was supposed to be a point of attention - that was my worst nightmare. In fact, the closest thing I'd ever been to, requiring any kind of formal attire, was a funeral. But here I was, surrounded by dresses that cost more than a year of rent, picking one to accompany Harry Styles to an award show. What?
"Izzy, we don't have all day!" Elin called, clapping her hands in command from the other side of the curtain. I bit back a laugh, shaking my head, and taking one final deep breath before reaching for the first dress.
By the time I'd reached the fifth, or the sixth, I could feel my anxiety starting to build. What if I couldn't find anything? It would be way, way easier not to go.
"Okay," Pauli leaned back in his chair, noting my anxious expression, "personally, I liked the green one."
Elin scoffed, shaking her head. "There's a reason why we didn't ask you."
Pauli shrugged. "Look, we've traumatised her enough. Izzy, just pick one that you like from the selection, and try it on. And if it's good, let's just go with that," he sent me a reassuring smile. I turned at Elin, and she was nodding in agreement. I blew out a breath, drawing the curtain closed again.
The one I was picking was definitely the most boring - but I wasn't sure I could stomach anything else. It was long, and still incredibly formal, but it was a simple black in colour, free of all the embellishments and sparkles that the others had been adorned with. It was enough to cover me in the formal aspect, but also enough to keep any unwanted attention away, I hoped. I stepped into it, eyeing myself in the mirror. It wasn't good - it was still me, after all. But it was as good as it was going to get.
I drew the curtains open, and was met with the beaming faces of my friends in front of me. Pauli nodded, grinning ear to ear.
"I love it," he said, turning to Elin.
"I do, too," she sighed with dramatic elation. "Maybe fashion is my real calling."
I'd felt a little better by the time I packed it into my suitcase and said goodbye to the others - I felt even better by the time I made it into the lobby and was met with the bright eyes of Harry, watching me.
He was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating whether to speak, before he finally did. "I'm glad you're coming," he'd said, as Ally and Stella walked ahead. I looked up, surprised that he'd said such a thing. We hadn't spoken very much in the past few days, other than small talk, and exchanging frequent glances, and I'd missed the sound of his voice when he directed it at me. I met his eye, trying to ignore the shiver that travelled along my spine when I did so.
"I am, too," I told him, only half lying.
It was strange - as odd as the dynamic between Harry and I could be; he never felt mean, or malicious. It was like he was trying to find the right words to say, but couldn't, and so resorted to silence. Each time we'd go a short while without speaking, or the awkwardness would grow - it didn't feel cruel, or calculated - but rather, unavoidable. He was hot and cold - but the cold wasn't spiteful. At times, it felt panicked. We could spend hours without exchanging a word, but never failing to exchange constant glances, and then he could suddenly invite me for a drink, as he had the other night, or perform a new song that felt like.. something. There was something deeply unspoken between us, and it felt as if we were both realising it, even if we didn't truly know what it was. It was like he'd go to speak, and then think better of it, or change his mind. But when he would speak; when he would find the words to say, it felt so easy - it felt like there'd never been an ounce of tension. It was too easy - that seemed that was what caused the silence, at times. It was too easy, like in how I'd told him about elements of my upbringing; something I'd sworn to never talk about with anybody. I knew that when it felt too easy, my mind would begin to race, and try and find every reason to destroy that simplicity - and sometimes, when I caught him drawing back in the very same way - I wondered if his mind did the same.
It felt a little weird to be travelling without the others. At moments, it felt like it was just him and me; when Stella and Ally would be immersed in phone calls, or talking to each other about something we had nothing to do with - we were left alone, just us two. I couldn't help but watch him, his black nail polish freshly touched up, a coffee cup grasped between his fingers, as he stared mindlessly ahead. I wondered if he knew how he looked, doing that - I wondered if he was aware of how hypnotic he was, even doing something so trivial.
I thought back to his performance the other night, and tried to ignore the goosebumps that arose on my skin, looking at him, then. It was odd to see somebody in the grandest spectacle - on a stage, at a show crafted entirely for him, with thousands in attendance - only to see him hours or days later, seated comfortably in an airplane seat, sipping coffee like the most normal of people. Even doing the simplest of things, somehow, Harry was anything but simple. He was beyond words.
I'd never been to California, either, but I was hit with immediate warmth the second we stepped off the plane. Harry had stood back to let me go first, and I'd tried to ignore the flutter in my chest at his never-ceasing mindfulness. I stepped past him, as his eyes followed me.
I wondered what it was like - just to travel with him, for the sake of it. Not for work, or for an appearance - just to be with him. I'd now travelled between multiple cities by his side, but in the absence of the others, everything felt heightened. Everything felt like it was just for us - like, maybe, it could be that way.
I, perhaps, could've fooled myself into thinking that, until we arrived at the award show. He'd felt like Harry - just Harry - until we'd met up in the hotel lobby to head to the award show. Clad in a suit far plainer than anything I'd usually see him in, he still managed to look so beautiful. For once, he was there first, when I arrived - stood with his hands pushed into his pockets, and I could've melted. How did he look like that?
"Hi," he breathed, as I stepped out of the elevator. The moment I'd pulled my dress on in my hotel room, I'd begun to feel overwhelmed again - like suddenly, it didn't fit right - I didn't fit right. Like I should've really stayed back with the others, and not come here. But the moment his eyes fell over me, that seemed to evaporate. His eyes travelled from my face, down to the remainder of my body, before returning to lock onto my own eyes - I could've shuddered under his gaze. And immediately, I was transported back to the night I'd met him, at Johnny's; how our eyes had fallen over one another, both without speaking, only looking, taking it all in. But in his eyes, this time - there was more. I didn't know what it was, but there was more.
"Hi," I returned, stepping out to stand in front of him. My fingers rose to awkwardly toy with the strap of my camera bag, hanging from its place upon my shoulder, and I caught the tiniest of smiles beginning to pull on his lips. God, things would be so much easier if he never looked at me like that again.
"Come on, we're waiting," Stella's voice cut through our sudden silence, and I looked up. She stood in the hotel doorway, scowling at the pair of us. She huffed, before turning on her heel to walk away. Her dress was adorned in the very type of sparkles and extravagance I'd achingly and anxiously tried to avoid - and she looked absolutely incredible.
Harry stood back, to let me go ahead of him, again, and I could feel his eyes on me as I stepped ahead. Ally and Stella had both been waiting outside of the hotel - only Harry had waited inside. I could feel a chill running over my bare arms as I headed outside, though there wasn't an ounce of cold in the air.
The drive to the venue was short, but the streets were rammed. People with their phones out, clearly hoping to catch a glimpse of somebody like Harry, staring ahead hopefully, scanning the car as it drove past, clambering for the briefest look through the window. Harry wasn't phased, as always, watching the traffic go by without even the bat of an eyelid.
The red carpet felt like a blur - Harry moved through it so seamlessly, directing smiles and waves and perfectly-timed movements. The paparazzi continued to practically scream his name, his head turning occasionally from one direction to another, with incessant flashes from the cameras that I'm sure could've been blinding. I glanced at the row of paparazzi, clambering for a shot of Harry - although I had photography in common with them, I couldn't help but feel glad that our jobs were nothing alike.
We were allowed to join Harry back at the other end of the carpet, and were met with the flashes of a few more cameras - I paused, only praying that I wasn't captured in any of those photos. I caught Stella looking at me, for a moment, and I bit my lip back into my mouth, trying to ignore her.
I felt sick. This was the opposite of me - this was everything I wasn't. I felt like I was sticking out like a sore thumb, here, and everybody could tell. I felt like everybody was laughing at me, somehow, without me seeing it, and I felt incredibly over-exposed beneath the harsh lighting of the red carpet and the thousands of watchful eyes.
"Are you okay?" Harry murmured as he surfaced beside me, jolting me from my trance. Ally was talking to somebody with a lanyard around their neck, and I assumed they worked here, and my suspicion was confirmed when Stella went over to join them, shaking their hand. Had my panic been that obvious?
"Yeah," I nodded, not sure if it sounded convincing. Truthfully, I was feeling deeply overwhelmed by the relentless flashes and screams and chatter around me. I met his eye, catching the furrow of his eyebrow. "Are you?"
"Mhm," he only hummed, as if it didn't really matter. He seemed far more focused on me, and I suddenly felt his palm press briefly against the small of my back. He looked down at me for another second, before he removed his hand and moved over to Ally, leaving me behind. A flash of panic twisted in my stomach at his momentary absence, and I tried to quickly compose myself. He said something into her ear that I couldn't comprehend, and she nodded. Harry then returned to his position beside me, only for somebody to appear in a similar lanyard, which I figured was their form of staff identification, here.
"Harry, we're so happy to have you!" the man exclaimed happily, as Harry reached out and shook his hand, with his signature smile on full display.
"Thank you," he returned, warmly, before gesturing to me, "this is Isabella Blake. She's my photographer," he said, glancing over at me, as his lips twitched with the smallest of smiles. I caught myself watching his lips as they moved to speak my name, and I forced myself to blink, turning to the man ahead of us who had now extended his hand to me. I took it, doing my best to smile.
"So, I'll take you over to your dressing room, now - you have about an hour before you'll need to take your seat inside," the man explained, gesturing for Harry to follow him. Harry took one step in his direction, before he noticed I'd remained still, and he turned to me.
"Come on," he stood backwards to prompt me to walk ahead of him. I frowned. I thought they'd have only wanted Harry, before I quickly realised Harry must have meant that I was needed to take some photos of him before the show. I nodded, following him inside. I glanced back to see Ally and Stella remained where they were, but Harry didn't turn back for them.
"Someone will be here in a little while to run you through everything for tonight," the man said, as we stopped outside a sleek, polished wooden door. He stepped back, gesturing for Harry and I to enter. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to let us know."
Harry shook his hand again, as he gripped the door handle to push the door open, only to stand back against it, letting me enter the room before him. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief to be away from all of the noise outside, even if it meant being alone with the very person who managed to make my heart race the most. Somehow, it was even more extravagant than the dressing rooms that had been kitted out for Harry by the venues of each individual tour stop - this seemed even more luxurious, with bottles of champagne in ice buckets, and vases of flowers perched upon near enough every otherwise bare surface. I glanced back at him, as he closed the door. How could he ever have gotten used to this?
I got my camera out of its bag, and I took a seat on one of the three leather couches situated in the dressing room. I watched as Harry followed me into the room, and it was then that I noticed a garment bag hanging on the back of the door. He unhooked it, taking it in his hands. I raised my camera, snapping a photo, before setting it back down.
"Is that yours?" I frowned, "you're telling me there are costume changes?"
He chuckled, unzipping the bag and pulling out another suit. "I have five more planned."
I rolled my eyes at his joke, as he kicked off his leather shoes - like they weren't worth more than a small house - and he slipped off his suit jacket. I quickly realised that he was undressing, and I quickly set my camera in my lap, opting to stare at the screen of it, as if I hadn't even noticed the incredibly attractive being in very little clothes before me. I swallowed, hearing the rustle of clothing as he got changed. Photos were on my screen before me, but I couldn't really take in any of them in. Everything else seemed to blur, all out of focus as I desperately tried to keep my eyes away from him. I heard the rattle of a belt buckle, and a few seconds later, I figured the coast must have been clear. I dared to look up, and he was now clad in the same suit that had been hanging from the door, only without the jacket, for now.
Harry faced a full-length mirror, and I could catch my own reflection in the corner, behind his. He stood there, pulling the buttons of his shirt through, eyes fixated on his own face, in the mirror, for a moment, before I saw them shift to me. I bit my lip back into my mouth, feeling that familiar shiver travel along the length of my spine. He looked incredible.
He took long, slow strides over to the table, where he seemed to have placed a couple of things, down - I figured, from emptying the pockets of his previous suit. I caught sight of items such as his phone, and wallet, before I watched his hands resurface with a tie caught between them. I was sure he could see me looking, but I wasn't quite sure I cared, as he returned to stand in front of the mirror, and he brought the tie around his neck. I raised my camera again, daring to snap another photo, though I was sure my eyes were now doing the very same job; that image could've been burned into my mind forever, as he got himself ready, watching his own reflection.
He crossed the fabric of the tie a couple of times, before I caught his features twisting into a frown. I peered, quizzically, at his reflection, before I realised - he didn't know how to tie his own tie.
"You can laugh," his voice sounded, suddenly, and he caught my eye in the mirror, again. I felt my chest flutter at the rasp of his voice cutting through our silence, and I tilted my head slightly to the side.
"I'm just watching," I said, innocently, watching the corner of his lip turn upwards to form a tormenting smirk. I pressed my lips firmly together, obviously stifling a laugh.
"You're cruel," Harry didn't turn around, instead just watching me through the mirror, as a breathy laugh of his own left his lips. "I thought you were many things, Iz, but cruel wasn't one of them."
I laughed, "It's just... how does Harry Styles not know how to tie a tie?"
He turned around, now, and somehow, now that he was looking at me directly, the green of his eyes appeared even sharper, and I had to do my best not to suck in a breath. He let the fabric hang loosely over his neck, his eyes boring into mine, even across the room. "Put me out of my misery?"
I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment, before I stood up from my chair and set my camera down in my place. "Here," I spoke softly, drawing a short breath before taking a tentative step towards Harry, who had yet to tear his eyes from me. He was watching me so intently, as the gap closed between us, and I stood directly in front of him now. My hands drew over his chest to capture his tie between my fingers, drawing the two ends together. He'd yet to speak, as my eyes focused on my own hands, willing them not to shake. I could feel his eyes watching my face, and I could've cursed myself for the goosebumps rising upon my skin just by the feel of his gaze. I tried to coax myself, inwardly, to calm the racing of my heart, but our proximity didn't allow such.
I didn't dare look up at him, as I looped the silken fabric between my fingers to begin to tie the knot. I didn't dare face the still slightly damp waves of hair upon his head, the few strands I could anticipate had fallen to rest against his forehead. I didn't dare face the glowing tan of his skin, or the delicate purse of his flushed lips. I didn't dare face the green of his eyes, in fear that I'd crumble under the weight of them from this short distance.
My fingers looped through the second knot, and it was then I realised I'd been holding my breath this entire time. I forced a slow exhale through my lips, pulling the tie through and securing it as I needed to. I brought my lip between my teeth, now, fastening the tie into position before I went to hook my fingers around his collar. I couldn't ignore the shiver that travelled along the length of my spine as my fingertips brushed over the heated skin of his neck, and I had to force myself not to jump away at the sensation.
"You look beautiful," his voice sounded suddenly from in front of me, drawing my eyes upwards from where I'd fixed them upon his collar. I stopped, letting our eyes meet for the first time, and I could've melted. I'd never heard those words before - not from anybody, not directed towards me, but I never could've predicted how they'd sound falling from his mouth. He looked at me, neglecting to say anything else. I felt a shudder along the length of my spine, peering up at the sight in front of me. It was almost ironic that the most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on could be saying such a thing to me.
"Shut up," I mumbled, taking his collar between my fingertips to pull it back down. Part of me actually never wanted to hear that sentence from his lips again, so that I could forget the flutter in my stomach that it caused, but another part - a much larger, much harder-to-ignore part - wanted to hear him say it again, and again.
"Why?" Harry returned, much to my surprise. I didn't dare to meet his eye again - not when doing so only moments before had made my knees so weak. Instead, I pursed my lips together, flattening his collar down and straightening it with my fingers - if I focused on that, I wouldn't have to focus on him. It was only when I went to move my hand from its place upon its collar that his rose upwards to close over my own, holding my touch in place. My breath hitched in my throat, but I still refused to meet his eye. My heart began to race at the feeling of his hand over mine, and I could feel my skin beginning to heat at his mere touch.
His other hand then reached out to capture my chin gently between his fingers, drawing my face upwards and forcing our eyes to meet. I was practically putty in his hands, lifting my head as he prompted it, but I was unable to do much else. His thumb drew slowly over my chin, causing my lips to part, before it dragged gently over my lips, lightly pulling at the bottom one. He was watching me, his eyes almost glazed over, as if deeply analytical of my reactions to each of his movements - it was like he liked to see how receptive I was to him; no matter my mindset, my body had zero hesitations when it came to him.
"Harry," I said, quietly, my voice barely a whisper, though I wasn't sure what I could follow it with. I didn't know if I was trying to warn him, or myself, but I wasn't sure either of us cared. His eyes searched my own, with his hand shifting to rest on my cheek, and it suddenly felt like there was nothing else around us - we weren't in a building full of people, backstage at an event packed with thousands of attendees; fans, and celebrities. It was just him and I, here, in this room. My mind was screaming at me to push him, and his touch, away, but with each line of his thumb, I was aching to hold on to that feeling. His touch wasn't forceful, holding me in place, but it was enough to prevent my movements away from him, and ground me in front of him. I'd never seen such an intense look in his eye, as they were fixed on my own, before they fell to my lips. We stayed that way for a second, his features full of contemplation as I felt almost exposed under his gaze. I wanted to reach inside his head and truly understand what was on his mind - what he was thinking, why he was thinking it.
"Iz," he returned, his voice barely intelligible, breaking the momentary silence between us and sending a sharp shiver along my spine. His voice was low; incredibly quiet, as if fearful of his own words, to the point where I could've questioned if he'd even meant to speak. His thumb drew slowly over my cheek, still, and I could feel my skin heating beneath his touch. I wondered if he could feel it, too. He let out a gentle breath, his eyes falling repeatedly between my eyes and my lips. "I don't think I can keep doing this." I don't think I can, either.
Part of me knew exactly what he was talking about, and another part refused to believe it. I could feel it, when he looked at me, now, that he was thinking the exact same as I was; that he was talking about the very same thing that my mind had relentlessly battled with for the past few weeks, and he was saying exactly what I was scared to.
"We shouldn't," I mustered up the strength to whisper - any higher of a volume would've felt startling or inappropriate in our proximity, his face only inches from my own - but the sentence sounded weak, and unconvincing, even to me. I was right - we should do anything, anything but this. I didn't even know he felt this way - he hadn't explicitly confirmed a thing, and I'd rejected every sign - these past days, weeks, I'd kept my eyes squeezed shut, so tightly, that the position we stood in now wholly bewildered me. I didn't know what he felt - it was he who had sought to set these boundaries between us, initially - but even though I didn't know how he felt, I knew that I, more than anything, needed to keep them, as much as I felt like I couldn't.
"Tell me why," his voice came back in a gentle whisper - it wasn't demanding, or overly assertive; it was almost pleading. His eyes shifted from my own, again, to land on my lips, and at that moment, I couldn't even remember why. When he looked at me like that, and touched me in such a way - all was forgotten; none of it mattered. My mind was screaming at me to remember why this was no good; to remember exactly why this was what I needed to avoid. But that was fruitless, now, because we were here, and I could feel my eyes fluttering closed, my chin desperate to tilt upward in his grip to meet his lips with my own.
A knock sounded on the door, suddenly, and I tore myself away from him quicker than either of us could truly realise it. Brief irritation appeared to flash over his features, as he drew his hand back to his side, sending me a glance I couldn't quite read as we now suddenly stood with several feet between us.
He sighed, "Yeah?" he called out, facing the door, now. That was it. That was the closest we'd come - even beyond the night at the hotel; there wasn't a doubt in my mind, now. He wanted more, just as I did. The moment his eyes were away from me, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, desperately trying to calm the racing of my heart. And it wasn't because I didn't want to; didn't want him, or to kiss him or just be as honest as he was trying to be - in fact, I was aching to. My entire body was so incredibly drawn to him, feeling oddly cold now that my hand and face weren't grasped in his own, and each moment in his presence practically beckoned me to forget all of the implications; all of the consequences that would come with giving into him. If it hadn't been for the knock upon the door, I wasn't sure I'd have been able to do anything else but kiss him.
He doesn't want you. He'll never want you.
"Harry," a thick American accent sounded as the door now opened, revealing a young woman with a bright smile, clad in a lanyard that told me she worked for the hosting company of tonight - somebody to welcome Harry, and run him through the night, as promised. She sent me a tiny wave, which I did my best to return, seeking to mask the spiralling of my mind at that moment. I blew out a breath as she turned back to Harry, pacing to the other side of the room, allowing the woman to speak just to him. "We're so excited to have you here tonight, it's a real honour."
"I appreciate that, thank you for having me," was all I could make out from Harry, before I tuned them both out. I grabbed my camera back from where I'd set it down, urgently and anxiously beginning to toy with the buttons, moving it about in my hands. I could feel his eyes repeatedly landing on me, but I didn't dare to look up. Get it together, Izzy.
I brought my lip between my teeth. I hated this. I hated the power my past had over me, even now. I had somebody in front of me - somebody who hadn't done anything to hurt me; somebody who seemed just as conflicted as I did - someone new, someone amazing. Harry embodied everything I wanted - this new life, this new way of living - this way of maybe, just maybe, being happy. And that was what scared me so much.
I heard the door close, and I knew we were alone again. My breath hitched in my throat, still facing the wall, away from Harry.
"Come here, Iz," he requested, quietly. His voice did something to me like no other; the tone he used, like he just understood - it was so gentle, and almost tentative.
I turned around, leaning back against the table, but made no attempt to move closer to him. He stood before me, no different from how he always did - his hair raked between his ring-clad fingers, the green of his eyes piercing through me even from the other side of the room; his height seeming to tower over me even though he was nowhere near.
"Please," he added, equally gentle. As if I could ever really say no to him. I watched as he lay out his invitation - it was like he knew not to corner me; to instead, ask me to come to him, rather than invading my space. My legs responded before my head could, and suddenly I was in front of him. His eyes flickered down to my own, and I felt my heart rate begin to quicken again. I'd never wanted anybody so badly in my life.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
Where would I even begin? I didn't even know what I was thinking, or what to do, or say. The silence among us was practically deafening, and I couldn't ignore the yearning I felt to reach out and touch him, as he had touched me. I'd thought, perhaps foolishly, that the moment of relief provided by the intrusion would've given me the chance to calm my thoughts, and ground myself once more, but it hadn't.
When I'd watched him perform his newest song the other night, it had felt so certain that I couldn't go on this way - I'd felt oddly enabled to change it, to admit to myself, at least, that I wanted more from him; I couldn't just be his friend, or his colleague. But here, now, when it came to actually taking the leap, it felt impossible. I felt powerless, yet again. I couldn't understand how, somehow, under his gaze, I felt like I could do anything, but at the same time, that made me question everything. To have somebody empower me; to comfort me, even, was the most foreign feeling there was. The fact that somebody could build on me, rather than tear me down, was simultaneously impossible to believe, and incredibly terrifying. It wasn't like I hadn't kissed anybody else before, or I'd never been involved with somebody romantically - but this wasn't quite the same. I wasn't sure why, but it simply wasn't - Harry felt like so, so much more, in every single way. And if I gave him this; if I gave him a part of me that I'd never given to anybody else - if I trusted him, what could he do with that? How would he be able to use that against me? How would I be better equipping him to hurt me?
"Can I tell you what I'm thinking?" he asked me, peering down at me, and I blinked. That was all I'd been trying to figure out. This man - this very man who had been so withholding, himself, recently - who had said one thing, and done another - who had gotten close, only to draw away, and who had seemed caught up in a relentless dichotomy lately, was offering to be open; to say what he felt, and what he was thinking. It was like he could see straight into the battle I was having inside of my own head, and knew just how to coax it through.
"Remember what I said to you, the other night?" he asked, and I almost could've laughed at the irony. I'd thought of nothing else since then. "When I told you I'd been torturing myself, trying to do what's right?" I nodded. He bit his lip, and though he'd yet to get any words out, in that moment, I couldn't help but admire him. He'd seemed just as conflicted as I had, but was far stronger in being able to push through it. I wished I could do that.
"I thought the right thing to do was to stay away from you," he said, and I felt my heart begin to thump. "And I knew I couldn't do that, so I said we should just be friends," he murmured, and I recalled how he'd pulled me aside, that morning, and told me that. I bit my lip, hanging onto every word. "But I'm tired of pretending that I don't want to be more than just your friend." I almost shuddered at his words. Oh god.
Everything felt so different now. The first time Harry and I had been involved, we hadn't a string attached; we were two strangers, without a care in the world. The second time, we'd caved - but that was only after a day of attempted distance, and wretched misunderstandings. There wasn't a misunderstanding, now. This was defiance; Harry and I had sworn to be friends, and coworkers - to remove all feelings we'd originally had, and move on. But in the absence of intimacy between us - my pull to him had only grown stronger. I wanted him so badly, and it wasn't merely physical, anymore. And that was my worst nightmare.
Here he was, telling me that he wanted more. He wanted exactly what I wanted, and though I felt that fearful apprehension in my gut, I couldn't hide the smile aching to tug on my lips. Because though I feared the outcome, and I'd feared this - it was still what I wanted; he wanted me. It was such a foreign feeling - this weird, unparalleled rush of feeling wanted - and I wasn't quite sure how he'd done it; how he'd managed to make me feel like no one else ever had, in a matter of weeks. Everything felt light - everything felt okay. He made it feel okay.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice equally as quiet as his. I knew what he was saying, but I wasn't sure I quite believed it. I was waiting for him to pinch at my arm and jolt me awake, and remind me I was being entirely delusional - he'd never want me, or value me above anything but a colleague. Except this time, I wasn't being delusional. He looked down at me, as I brought my lip between my teeth in an attempt to stifle the smile I could feel threatening to pull on my lips, and he appeared to catch the gesture. And then, I saw him smile - and it was that smile, and it lit me on fire. The one I loved so much - the one I'd been unable to label; so lost in its warmth and captivating nature, and how it felt so special - like it was just for me, somehow. And this time, it was.
Finally, his hands rose back up to push his fingertips into my hair, bringing it back from my face, before they lowered to rest upon the sides of my face. His touch was everything - I wasn't sure how I'd lived so many years without knowing what it felt like. "Iz, I don't quite know what you're doing to me," the faintest, breathiest of laughs fell from his lips, but it was enough to captivate me entirely, "but I want you to keep doing it."
I couldn't explain how it felt, looking up at him, there. It was like he'd somehow managed to capture so many of the thoughts in my head - and the ones that he hadn't, didn't seem to matter. Not here, not now.
My hands wound slowly around his wrists, where they were positioned by my face. His eyes scanned over my face, as he pressed his lips together as if to prevent beaming down at me.
"What do you want?" he returned my question to me. That beautiful glint in his eye was present, as ever, and I wondered if he already knew the answer. My stomach was doing backflips, my heart racing as my mind tried desperately to keep up. My reservations weren't gone, by any means, but I knew what I wanted; I knew what he wanted. And we wanted the same thing.
I couldn't lie anymore - not about this. I couldn't lie to him; I couldn't lie to myself. I was tired of it. I was tired of telling myself, repeatedly, that I didn't want him; that I had feelings for him far beyond what I'd intended to. I couldn't hold back any longer.
My fingers found his collar again, though I barely had to tug him toward me - with the mere movement of my hands, he was there, his lips a mere inch from my own, his eyes fluttering closed. I could've taken a second to admire the wisps of his eyelashes before me, tracing over his cheekbones, or the way his lips parted ever so slightly to beckon mine - but I didn't. Instead, I tilted my chin upwards, finally, to connect my lips with his own.
With my face grasped in his hands, his lips finally pressed against my own - and for the first time, I couldn't blame alcohol, or exhaustion, or a sudden moment of weakness. I wanted this. He wanted this. It wasn't purely sexual, or without strings - this had every string attached; this had every deeper meaning; every significance. And I loved it. I loved being able to push my fingers into his hair, and actually relish in the feel of it; to be able to feel his tongue swipe against my lower lip as he deepened the kiss, and to be able to taste the mint on his tongue; to be able to coax my fingertips over the nape of his neck, and feel the heat of the skin, there. Never in my life had I ever kissed somebody with so much meaning; with so much there; with everything just melting away.
My entire body was practically on fire when his lips finally separated from my own, and I could sense his grin as his forehead pressed to mine. His fingers shifted to tuck my hair behind my ear, and his hand stayed there, upon my skin, holding my face to his own.
He spoke, finally, his breath fanning over my lips, with him being a mere couple of inches away. His voice was barely a whisper, but it needn't have been any louder in our proximity.
"I'm actually really good at tying a tie."