I brought my hand over my face with an internal groan. A defeated, exhausted huff of air forced itself between my lips as I narrowed my eyes at my own reflection. I dragged the nail of my thumb across the outline of my lower lip, clearing away the slight smear of lipstick there. I pushed my fingers up into the roots of my hair, looking to revive the traces of volume it had begun to lose throughout the progression of the evening.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
I made my way out of the bathroom, my heels suddenly feeling heavy on my feet. I made my way back over to the desolate bar, and returned to my seat at the counter.
"Are you sure you don't want another drink?"
"I'm sure, Johnny, thank you. I need to at least have some sense if I'm going to finish this by the morning," I returned with a small smile, pulling my phone back out of my bag, and opening up my emails.
Johnny sighed, flipping a dish towel to rest it on his shoulder. "They're working you too hard, Izzy. You came out to have a drink with your friends - how is it that you've ended up here, on your own, working?"
I bit my lip back into my mouth, hesitating for a moment. He wasn't wrong. It was a Friday night - or it had been. It was now creeping into the early hours of Saturday morning. I had finished my shift in the firm at 6pm, and met up with two of my colleagues a couple of hours later for a drink. I was only just on my third drink, when my phone had buzzed with another email, requiring finalisations on multiple documents before 9:30am on Saturday - a day that I wasn't contracted to be working. My colleagues had peeled away hours previous, and now I was stuck, in the bar, forced to submit the necessary files and complete the work assigned for me. "M'just doing my job, Johnny."
He raised an eyebrow, but his face was sympathetic. "I know. You just deserve a bit of time for yourself, too."
Johnny was the owner of the bar I often inhabited. On my very first night in London, three years ago, I had stumbled across his establishment, and since then, Johnny had progressed into a father figure of sorts. He'd offered me bar work on my first year of uni in order to make my rent, and he had looked out for me in a way I was beyond grateful for. He'd lost his wife ten years ago, and since then, had put everything into running the bar - it was often quiet, never truly full or buzzing with noise, but he had a flow of regular, loyal customers who kept him afloat.
And he was right - again. Alongside my studies, I had been awarded with the opportunity to gain experience at a local law firm, working around my university schedule, often late into the evening. It did, often, feel never-ending; relentless. But this was certainly the nature of the game - if I were to become a successful lawyer, I would have to pave my way through hardship. And hardship, there undoubtedly was. Sleepless nights, constant work from the firm in addition to the university work. My relationships were arguably.. strained. I had a couple of close friends, but romance was absent, most notably as of late. My relationship with my former boyfriend had ended a mere weeks ago, him crediting it to my lack of attentiveness and true involvement in our relationship. I couldn't argue. I had time for little else other than working towards my career in law.
"Have you looked any more at that class?" Johnny asked me gently, most likely already knowing the answer. I shook my head, resting my chin in my hand. "I think you should. Away from the experience you'd gain, it would at least give you something you enjoy to focus on; a bit of a break from the rest of that rubbish."
I forced a small smile onto my lips. I didn't bother to argue, he already knew I was exhausted with my degree in every sense of the word. The class he was referencing was a photography one, taking place local to the area that I'd shown him multiple times before. It was a six-week program that took place a few times a year - I'd missed the first deadline to apply, due to being overwhelmed with the remainder of my work. But now, university was ending for the summer, and I would have a chance to take it up. It would've cost more or less every penny from my salary that wasn't spent on rent, and it would be a struggle, still, to fit in with the extra hours the firm was expecting me to take. But I wanted it - Johnny knew that as well as I did.
If it wasn't law, it would've been photography. And it wasn't really law. It was a constant, ceaseless inner turmoil. I hated it. Part of me wanted to just drop out of Uni, move away and start over. Law was a cut-throat profession, its potential to harm only heightened by the fact that, truly, my heart wasn't in it. And it never would be. It was mere stubbornness; my desire to prove a point, not only to them, but to myself - I could do it. I could be more than they made me out to be. That, and that I didn't feel I had much choice. I'd pursued it, now - I had to follow through. For me.
Photography was what I wanted to do - all I'd ever really enjoyed. I took pride in the cameras I'd managed to collect, in snapping photos whenever I could. I wished things had been different - that maybe I'd been able to embrace that. But they weren't, and I hadn't.
"I'll think about it," I told Johnny quietly, hoping to shift onwards from the topic. He sighed a little, before nodding, deciding it was better not to push me on it.
"I'm just going to clean up some things in the back, okay? I won't be long."
I sent Johnny a small smile and a nod as I watched him disappear through the door, stationed between his shelves of liquor. I turned back to my phone, opening the final file I needed to complete that evening. I knew it wasn't fair, that they were sending me work after-hours; but I wasn't exactly in a position to argue. I needed them more than they needed me.
A few minutes passed in silence, before the bell signalling the opening of the bar door sounded behind me. I didn't react - it wasn't abnormal for somebody to enter a bar, late, towards the end of the week. My head still didn't rear, even when I sensed a silhouette to my left, settling into the stool beside me. It was only upon the incessant drumming of fingertips upon the surface of the bar that I was finally torn from my phone, with a frown. I set it down on the counter.
I looked up, but his eyes weren't even on me. They were peering around the room, eyeing the empty tables and chairs - the old, wooden decor, the flickering lamps mounted upon the walls. Finally, they landed on me, and I felt my chest thump a little at the gesture.
His eyes were a deep, enthralling green, framed by long, thick eyelashes. They appeared to burn into my own, before he tore them away to scan the remainder of my face, before dropping down to scan my body. I might have scolded him, if I could help but do the same. I drew my eyes over him; dark, slightly damp and messy hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead; his lips were plump, a deep shade of pink, with an unbelievably sharp jaw framed by traces of stubble. My eyes fell to his chest, which peered through a long-sleeve black button-up, loose, and only buttoned the bare minimum, a chain adorning his neck with a cross pendant resting upon his chest. I forced my eyes back upwards, only to find he had done the same, his eyes now burning back into mine.
He pushed his hand through his hair, the corner of his lip turning upwards at our brief, silent interaction. Just from our mere wordless encounter, my body felt like it was on fire. I bit my lip back into my mouth, yearning for my composure to return. Who the hell was this?
His eyes then shifted to my phone upon the counter, with a spreadsheet open, his dark brows furrowing slightly. It was then that I first heard him speak.
"Are you... working?" His voice was so deep and raspy; almost hoarse, that it almost travelled straight through me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach immediately. I was instantly attracted to this man.
"Unfortunately," I returned, watching how his eyes landed on my lips to almost coax my response, before he brought them back up to meet my own.
"I am too." He tore his eyes from me, returning them to the shelves of drinks in front of us, before adding, "Technically."
I raised an eyebrow, "What do you do?" After all, it was rare to waltz into a bar, looking like an off-duty rockstar, and call it work.
He glanced at me, appearing to hesitate for a moment. The silence between us caused me to tilt my head to the side, slightly, beckoning his response.
"I make music," he said, finally, his eyes appearing to search mine, almost nervously. He added, "I sing, a bit." Oh - so he was an off-duty rockstar. They were fixated on mine to the point where I felt my stomach shift once more. His eyes didn't leave my own - he was almost expecting something in response, but I wasn't sure what it was.
"That's-"
"Oh, Izzy, I thought I heard you talking out here." Johnny suddenly resurfaced through the door, peering around it, before his eyes landed on the man seated beside me. "Oh, I'm sorry, mate, I didn't hear you come in. These ears don't work like they used to," he chuckled warmly, and I turned to my left to see my company returning a smile. "What can I get you?"
"I'll just have a whiskey, please. Neat."
"Of course," Johnny nodded, heading over to the correct shelf to grab the bottle he required. It was then I realised I didn't even know my company's name, as he turned to me with an expectant look upon his face, silently offering me a drink of my own. Only moments previous, I had been certain that the most I'd be drinking was a pint of water before calling it a night. I'd had a few drinks earlier on in the night - before work had struck - but they were certainly wearing off by this point. However, with his eyes on me, I swiped upwards on my phone, closing it on the final document I was still supposed to complete.
"Make that two, please, Johnny," I turned to face him, catching a small, knowing smile spreading across his face. He, too, hadn't forgotten that I'd rejected any more drinks only a little while earlier.
Johnny poured our drinks and slid them across the counter towards us. I reached for my purse to cover them both, but a hand wrapped around my own, preventing me from doing so. Ring-clad fingers pressed against my knuckle, and I saw him, instead, pull his own wallet from his pocket, laying some cash on the counter. I couldn't even part my lips to protest, the warmth radiating from his fingers upon my skin, paired with the cool steel of the rings upon them, were clouding every thought in my head. I didn't understand the physical effect this man was having on me - this nameless, stranger of a man ought to have nowhere near the impact he did on me; but in a matter of moments, each time his eyes met my own, or they fell to my lips, I was practically at his mercy.
Johnny left the bottle on the table, free for us to refill our glasses when we desired, so that he could head into the back and continue the tasks he needed to complete. I knew that he trusted me to cover our drinks. We both thanked him, watching the back of his head disappear behind the closed door.
There was a strange familiarity in the man beside me. I felt as if I'd seen him before - I certainly hadn't met him, because there was no way I would've forgotten such a presence. There was this aura surrounding him, where it felt near impossible not to be captivated. I noticed how he occasionally dragged his hand over his chin, over the sharp line of his jaw between words, or how he pushed his hair backwards with his fingers, and turned his lips upwards.
Now we were alone again, he spoke, "Izzy." I glanced upwards from my drink, realising he had heard Johnny say my name when he had resurfaced.
"Isabella," I returned, setting my drink down, watching him take in my words. "Only Johnny really calls me Izzy."
"Isabella.." he spoke, slowly, now, almost testing the word on his tongue. My eyes almost fluttered shut at the sound of it. I'd never heard my name sound so sexy falling from somebody's lips. I wondered if, perhaps, the alcohol was still very much in my system, or perhaps it was the over-exhaustion that was drawing these feelings from me.
"Can I get your name?" I dared to ask him, now, watching him take a sip of his whiskey, before setting his glass down. I could've sworn I saw him breathe a sigh of relief at the fact I was asking.
"Harry," he spoke, watching my face carefully again. I nodded, taking another sip of my drink. It was when I set it back down that a pang of realisation hit me, and I paired the name to the face. He made music. Harry, the singer. I knew I'd known him from somewhere.
I dared to peer back over at him. He was Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who I knew, full-well, due to the presence of hundreds of posters and billboards around the city, had just played a third, consecutive, sold-out show at the O2 arena, only a number of tube stops away from here.
He was still watching me carefully, but I deliberately didn't give a reaction. The heat that was igniting my entire body due to his presence beside me, meant that I decided I didn't care who he was. Instead, he was an incredibly attractive stranger who was sharing a drink with me at a bar - an incredibly attractive stranger who was undoubtedly about to change the entire trajectory of my night.
Instead, I leaned forward to top up my drink, and I did the same for him. He watched me, almost in awe. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I'd been doing the same to him. I wondered if he was feeling this same heat, this same intensity, as I was.
I watched him bring his glass to his lips, his eyes, again, refusing to leave my own.
"You're staring," I decided to point out, a small smirk playing on my lips, as I watched his eyebrows raise, firstly resembling a subtle shock that I'd addressed his actions, before turning to a more playful movement. I knew I was guilty of doing the same - but I found myself wanting to test him; I wanted to see if he'd admit to feeling the same attraction as I was.
"So are you," he stated matter-of-factly, sipping his drink once more. He caught the smile playing on my lips, and spoke again, "I can't help it." I felt my stomach flutter with excitement at his statement. I'd never felt such a magnetic pull to somebody I didn't know.
My mind - for a mere second - flickered back to my ex-boyfriend, with whom things had ended only weeks ago. His name was Calvin, and we'd dated for around a year and a half - and I wasn't particularly sure why. I'd liked him a lot, yes, and he was fun. But that was all. We didn't have a lot in common, and I was already realising that the attraction couldn't have been hugely strong, because sitting across from Harry, now, I'd never felt anything like it.
"I can't either," I admitted. I watched his eyes fall over me again, almost darkening a little. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and I wondered what he was contemplating. His eyes didn't leave mine, still, and I felt like I was going to explode. At this point, I almost had to blame it on the drink, because this was absurd, for me. Even an hour ago, this would've been beyond comprehension. I was usually so level-headed - I thought things through, I controlled them. It was a habit I'd thought I'd made since moving to London. But the man across from me was igniting something in me I was incredibly unfamiliar with.
His fingers curled around his glass, and I couldn't help but wonder how they'd feel on the rest of my body. I almost shuddered at the thought. I needed him closer than these bar stools allowed.
It was almost as if the same thought crossed his own mind, as he leant from his chair towards me. My breath hitched in my throat as I watched his slow, methodical movement, before his lips met the shell of my ear, sending a shiver rocketing through my spine. I tilted my chin a little, seeking to maintain any sense of composure.
"Do you want to get out of here?" He asked me, and I could've melted. His voice was low, and his words were deliberate, sending a shiver along the length of my spine.
I had never met somebody at a bar and gone straight home with them, let alone had I been in their company for less than a mere hour before doing so. I had never been that type of person - I wanted stability, assurance, control. But this was different.
I was tired of how things were; of work, of university, of my romantic failures. This dull, ceaseless, meaningless path I was following. I didn't want any of it anymore. Johnny was right - I needed to start doing things for me, I needed time for me. And, all of a sudden, relinquishing control felt beyond fine if I was giving it to Harry.
His face drew backwards, only inches from my own, now. His eyes were dark with something I could only identify as resembling lust as they burned back into my own, before they fell to my lips, beckoning my response. I didn't trust myself to speak, but my body was responding to him before my head could, and I nodded ferociously.
Harry didn't hesitate, grabbing my hand in his own and rising from his seat. I barely managed to grab my things, before he was leading me towards the exit of Johnny's, and pulling me out onto the street.