Over the next few days, I almost managed to forget everything that had happened with my mother - almost.
Particularly in the day that followed, I feared I'd have to walk on eggshells around Harry. Though he didn't mention things with my mother again, I got the feeling that he was waiting for me to bring it up. I could sense a shift in his eyes, for that day - it wasn't severe, or even overly concerning, but when he looked at me, it was like he was trying to figure me out. And until that point, it had felt like he hadn't had to try, but now, it didn't seem to be coming so easily.
I hadn't expected to feel guilty. I'd spent years hiding details and hardships from anybody who ever dared to ask about them, knowing that it was my only real option. Sharing was dangerous - I couldn't share it all; that's why I'd been so quick to hide it from Harry. For what may have been the first time in my life, I'd met somebody, and I'd almost caved. I was bewildered by the fact I'd even told him that my mum had reached out, but I'd have been foolish to think that I could've taken that any further. I felt like I'd have to be strong enough to deal with it alone - but that to deal with it with him; to share it with him, would somehow require even more strength, that I didn't have.
But he didn't push me; not even an inch. Though his looks seemed to hold more behind them that day, his presence seemed to only grow more gentle; his arm clinging gently onto my waist, or his lips brushing lightly over my cheek. He appeared to drop it. I'd feared that I may have inadvertently pushed him away from me, but the night we'd shared before only seemed to pull us closer. His confiding in me; his vulnerability - two things that I'd have always associated with some kind of downfall, but it felt like it had done the opposite.
Grace had called that morning, a few days after I'd made the dreaded phone call. My phone rang, just as I'd been about to make my way down from my hotel room for breakfast with the others. My hotel room; my own bed, which felt rather large when I wasn't sharing it with a certain somebody else. Only once had we slept in the same bed, but it felt like I'd never known any different - it somehow felt foreign, now, to sleep without him. It felt like I wasn't able to sleep properly in his absence.
I hadn't seen Harry so much, in the evenings, since. Three shows had taken place in the past few days, each in a different city - and after each one, he'd dragged Mitch away with him to go and write. He'd run backstage, his skin glistening with sweat and a wide grin on his lips, practically panting after the amount of energy he'd just exerted. He'd check if I was okay, first, and then when satisfied that I was, he'd kiss me, briefly, and tell me he had to go and work on some songs with Mitch, sometimes joined by Pauli. Both nights, I'd just about been asleep in my hotel room before he'd finished working - I'd discovered a text the following morning saying when he'd finished; usually around three or four AM. Each morning, upon seeing the texts, I'd felt a slight thump in my chest as the endless late nights - he'd do anything for his career, he'd said. And though he seemed eager to be working on the music, it seemed like his own rest would never take priority over it.
Grace and I had exchanged texts over the previous few days, but we hadn't spoken about the elephant in the room - not yet. But when I picked up the phone, I knew she was wanting to see if I'd ended up reaching out. Though I was sure she'd have expected the least possible option to be what had actually happened - that I had, indeed, reached out.
"I called her," I said, after we'd been speaking for a moment. Grace fell silent, and I bit my lip. "My mum. I spoke to her."
"Oh my god..." Grace trailed off, clear shock in her tone. "What did she say?"
I swallowed thickly, feeling the same tug in my chest that I had done when I'd actually spoken to my mother. "Nothing redeemable," I told her, biting my lip. trying to mask my emotion. "She wanted money."
The line went quiet for a moment, before I heard Grace scoff at the other end of it. "God, every time I think that evil bitch can't get any worse, she finds a way to outdo herself." I brought my thumb upwards, chewing mindlessly on my nail. It was sort of funny. Even after everything my mother had done, I'd never really been able to say a bad word against her, like Grace did. There was a part of me that had always sought to justify her actions somehow; like maybe I deserved it, maybe I was the problem. I hadn't quite triumphed in fully believing that I wasn't, but Grace had never seemed to have that same idea.
I knew that if Grace hadn't been so involved up to this point, I'd have never told her a thing either. The very same way I hesitated to share these parts of myself with Harry, I was sure that if Grace hadn't been such a direct witness to them my entire life, I would've withheld in the same manner - because I wasn't sure I'd have even known where to start. If Grace hadn't been there to pick me up; or offer me the other side of her bed to sleep in when my parents would force me out onto the street, or help me layer concealer over the marks on my skin so that I could go to school, unquestioned by my peers, then she'd have been none the wiser. I hated anybody knowing what had happened - I was humiliated, tormented by it with every day that passed - but as much as I wished there was, there was no erasing it.
Grace didn't have much to say - there wasn't much she could say. She wasn't going to call me stupid or foolish for trusting my mother for even a second, as much as she'd have been justified - and so she just stayed silent, for a minute, after throwing just about every insult.
"Are you okay?" she asked, then. I chewed on my nail.
"I will be."
"Is there anything I can do?"
I blew out a breath. I could do it on my own. "No. Thank you, though."
I made my way downstairs to meet the others for breakfast. Part of me hadn't expected Harry to be there so early, with his text informing me of his arrival back to his hotel room coming in so late - but there he was, clad in a big hoodie and leant back in his chair, a coffee cup on the table in front of him. Though I could only see their backs, it looked like it was Sarah and Mitch seated across from him.
His eyes shifted to meet mine the moment I walked into the room, a gentle smile pulling on his lips that immediately made my stomach flip. He was just, so...
"I'm guessing that adoring smile isn't for me," a voice sounded from beside me, and I turned my head to see Elin, having surfaced from her own room. She raised an eyebrow, turning her focus away from Harry across the room to grin over at me, before we both moved toward the table that was laid out with an array of breakfast food and drinks.
"It might be," I joked in response, reaching for a plate to start filling it up with pastries. Elin began to do the same, before she lightly nudged my arm with her own.
"So, how do you feel? You're officially a month in," she said, and I frowned, confused. She scoffed, then, playfully rolling her eyes. "A month into the tour," she said, causing my eyes to widen momentarily. I wasn't sure if that was longer, or shorter than it felt like I'd been here. Somehow, it felt like I'd never known any different from this, but it simultaneously felt like I could wake up and be back in London at any given moment.
I didn't speak for a moment, reaching for a cup to fill it with coffee. A month. Four whole weeks, I'd been doing this. Four whole weeks ago, I'd stood at the airport, resentment in my eyes as I'd watched Harry, and I could've sworn I hated him. Overwhelmed, and out of my depth - and though I felt like I still sometimes teetered on those feelings; everything had changed. It felt like I had somewhat of a place here - just a little bit - with friends, with a job I liked doing; with fun, and enjoyment, and with things that were good.
Elin continued after I didn't respond. "The next few weeks are gonna be insane - huge venues," she told me.
"New York is after Chicago, right?" I asked, and she nodded, grabbing some food for her plate. "I've always wanted to go there," I mused.
"We'll be there for a while, we'll get the full tourist experience," she said, brightly. "Five shows, there... and then Jersey, then LA..." she trailed off, grinning excitedly. "God, I'm so excited. So many more cities. And then we go to Australia..."
We were due to fly to Chicago that day, and as she listed off what was to come, I began to realise how quickly the time seemed to be passing. We weren't even halfway through the US leg - not quite yet - but it still felt like the weeks were absolutely flying by. The mention of Australia was enough to make my stomach turn, because I knew I wasn't going to be a part of that - by then, I'd have been forced back home, into reality. I had six weeks left - that was all. I feared I'd wasted valuable time, battling with myself - I didn't want to waste any more.
I glanced over at Harry, then, who appeared to be listening intently to Sarah speak. What happened, then? Six weeks from now, where would we be? What would happen when I left, back to my world, rather than his?
"Where's Pauli?" I asked Elin, changing the subject as we walked alongside one another, over to the table with the others.
"Oh, still asleep, probably," she rolled her eyes. "He's not as good at the all-nighters as Harry and Mitch seem to be. I don't know how they do it, seriously."
I took the empty seat beside Harry, immediately feeling his hand wrap around my knee as he continued listening to Sarah speak. When the moment was finally right, and he wouldn't be cutting her off, he turned to me, his voice dropping in volume as Elin took off talking about something to the other two.
"Hi," he murmured, our eyes locking in a way that made my body feel warm. I couldn't resist letting one of my hands snake upwards to rest at the nape of his neck, as he leaned in to press a light kiss to my temple.
"Hi," I returned, bringing my knee upwards to enable me to turn to face him in my seat. It rested against his thigh as I did so, and I felt his hand shift to accommodate it, lightly running his hand over me. He made me feel like my stomach was permanently doing backflips. "You can't have slept more than four hours," I pointed out, remembering the time of his text last night - or rather, early this morning - and he closed his eyes for a second.
"Not even that," he blew out a breath, "I couldn't even sleep once I was back. I haven't slept well in days," he admitted, then, as I remembered that since spending the night sleeping beside him; neither had I. He took a sip of his coffee. "I was gonna come and find you, but I didn't want to wake you."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "You can always come and wake me," I said, resting my hand upon the side of his face, now, feeling him lean his cheek gently into my palm. He let out a short, breathy laugh at that, but I meant it. "I haven't slept that well, either, honestly. You probably wouldn't have woken me at all."
"Noted," he returned, drumming his fingers lightly against my inner leg, a tiny smile on his lips.
"Has it been worth it, though?" I asked, reaching for my own coffee. "Writing-wise?"
He nodded, "Oh, yeah. I'm really happy with what we've done." He pursed his lips, then, as if stifling a wide grin, and I narrowed my eyes.
"What?" I laughed.
"There's a new song," he said, and I raised my eyebrows. "Another one, I mean. We've been working on several, but there's one in particular - I think we're going to try something different, and release it as a single, whilst we're still on this leg. I'm not sure if it's an album track, but I think I want it out there."
I raised my eyebrows. "That's great, isn't it?" I asked, watching him nod. "What's it called?"
"Well, I don't want to spoil anything..." he said, a teasing grin on his lips.
"Come on!" I exclaimed, dramatically clinging onto the arm he'd extended across my leg. "You can't just tell me there's a new song and leave it at that."
"You're right, Iz, I should've kept that fun little dynamic we had going where I just performed them without warning," he said, his tone light.
"Please don't. I was on edge all the time," I returned, watching how the smile on his face was somehow visible in his eyes, as well.
"I know. I quite liked it," he said, then, gently swiping his thumb across my chin in a playful motion. I found myself toying with the baggy sleeve of his hoodie, my fingertips hooking around it and grazing over the back of his hand.
"That's not fair," I mumbled, watching him mockingly pout back at me, the smile on his face still not wavering.
"I need to clear it with all the relative people, first," he said, leaning back casually in his seat, his hand still curled around my leg as he reached for his coffee, sipping it.
"Like who?" I asked, curiously.
"A load of people," he exhaled.
"Can I be one of them?" I joked, leaning my face closer to his and watching his expression, his smile so achingly bright in our proximity.
"Mm, I wish," he hummed, squeezing gently at my leg as I leaned in to allow my head to find his shoulder, resting gently against it. I felt his lips press to my hair, and I exhaled, content. He didn't say anything for a moment, and my eyes landed on the others in front of us, chatting away. He spoke again, then, "I'll play it for you, anyway. Even if they don't clear it."
My heart thumped. "When?"
"At some point," he laughed, "if you don't like it, now..."
I scoffed, dismissing his comment. "What's it about?" I asked, turning my head to meet his eye. He furrowed his eyebrows teasingly at me.
"If I'm not telling you the name, what makes you think I'm telling you what it's about?"
"It was worth a try."
"Mhm," he returned, before reaching over to steal one of the pastries from my plate, adding, "I admire the effort, darling."
By the time Pauli finally surfaced from his room, it was time for us all to leave for the airport. I went back and retrieved my bags, and Harry met me outside of my room for us to head down to the lobby again.
The flight was only a couple of hours, and by mid-afternoon, we'd landed in Chicago in time for the show, that evening. I'd noticed on the flight, Stella had been clicking away on her laptop, her eyes focused intently on the screen. Ally, beside her, had repeatedly switched between watching Stella's screen and eyeing her own phone screen, the pair seeming to be equally preoccupied, working. It reminded me that I really ought to be doing some work of my own, editing some more photos. Harry was now up to date on posts, but I needed to be compiling some more photos to be used as promotion, and even merchandise, as Ally had requested. The idea of seeing a photo I'd taken on merchandise felt rather surreal - even seeing them posted to Harry's millions of followers after each show was unbelievable - but if I were to get to that point, I needed to get my head down. I tried to edit whenever I had a chance, and Ally had never been anything but satisfied with what I'd given her; but I couldn't help but scrutinise, and wonder if there was more I could be doing.
"They're working on promotion," Harry had said into my ear, noticing my eyes on Stella, a couple of rows over. "For the new song." I'd ended up seated beside him for this flight, and I certainly wasn't complaining.
I widened my eyes, "So it's approved?"
"By those two, at least. Well - Ally likes it," he clarified, and I narrowed my eyes.
"And Stella?" I asked.
He pursed his lips. "She'll warm to it. I think she thinks it'll be received well, though, so she's working on it. She'll do her bit to get some good publicity on it."
"If she can get good publicity for it, why does it matter how everyone else receives it?" I knew I was oversimplifying it a little, and that it was more intricate than I was expressing, but I'd still yet to fully wrap my head around how it all worked.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter to them, as long as it makes money," he said. "But I want my fans to like it - genuinely like it. That matters most to me." I couldn't help but wonder why Stella didn't like it.
"I still just want to know what it's called," I pouted, and he shook his head.
"I bet you do."
I peered around for a moment, mindlessly, on the others around us in first class. In our immediate proximity, it was only the other band members, and some of the crew, with Harry and I tucked away into a corner. Pauli was in the aisle across from me, beside Elin, both of them completely knocked out, asleep.
"Will it be my new favourite?"
"You haven't even told me your current favourite," Harry pointed out, and I chewed on my lip.
I contemplated for a moment, before sighing, "I don't think I can choose. I feel like it changes all the time."
"That's a rubbish answer," Harry countered, and I parted my lips in mock offence. "And you can't pick one of the ones about you."
"Fine," I huffed, feeling my cheeks warm at the casualness of his latter statement, as I ran my hand over my arm, contemplating some more. "Only Angel. Final answer." There was something about the way he felt that song so much, with it being the very first one he'd play each night - it was like every single ounce of energy went into it. It was such a performance, it was almost unfathomable that the man I saw prancing about, clad in glitter and bright colours, singing it with such vigour every night, was the same reserved, cheeky one that I sat beside now. My best pictures always seemed to come from his performance of 'Only Angel'.
"Wow," Harry raised his eyebrows, "I really thought you were gonna go for Sign of the Times."
I groaned. I loved seeing him perform that one, too. "Okay, wait, maybe-"
He raised his hands, "You said final answer!"
"At least let me pick a few," I argued.
"That wasn't the deal," he shrugged, with a soft laugh. "Whilst we're at it, you never answered me when I asked you before; about your favourite One Direction song." My mind flickered back to that night when he'd texted me, early on, having deep-dived into Grace's social media. I bit back a grin.
I blew out a breath, meeting his eye. "Oh, that's serious," I deadpanned, and he tilted his head back, laughing.
"Cards on the table," he returned, and I shook my head, pressing my lips together.
"That simply isn't fair," I joked, and he only laughed as I continued, "it's just cruel. I have different ones for different reasons."
He raised his eyebrows, "Okay, humour me." I brought my hand upwards to gently brush his hair from his face, a lazy grin overtaking his features.
"That time I went to the show, it must've been your second or third album. The third, especially. I adored it," I told him, thinking back to the picture he'd seen of Grace and I.
"Oh, fuck the first album then?" he shot back, teasingly, his tone laced with sarcasm. I laughed. "That was pure lyricism, Iz. I only wish I could've taken credit for the lyrics on that record."
"Don't ridicule it," I defended it, playfully. "'What Makes You Beautiful' had Grace and I in an insane chokehold, for ages. I think it was her alarm in the morning," I told him, watching his lips part in a shocked grin.
"No way," he laughed, tilting his head back to lean it against his seat. "Not your alarm, too?"
"Oh, stop - it would've been. I didn't have my own phone or anything like that, like she did. I'm sure it would've been a top contender if I had the means."
He stared at me for a moment, as if taking in what I'd just said. "I haven't played a One Direction song, since..." he trailed off, musing for a moment, "One Direction."
"Time to dust off the old repertoire, I think," I joked.
As soon as we'd made it to the arena, Ally had grabbed me in the hallway. I'd been on my way to join the others for their soundcheck, and to capture some photos of it, but her hand on my arm had halted me.
"Izzy, do you want to be my favourite person in the world? Like, ever?" she asked. I narrowed my eyes, confused.
"Maybe," I returned, suspicious. "What's up?"
"Did Harry tell you about his new single?"
"Very vaguely," I said, honestly. "What about it?"
"Well, then you'll know it's pretty last minute," she said, squeezing at my arm, "and, we don't really have time to get him a photoshoot for cover art - do you think you have anything?" she asked, gazing at me, hopefully.
I paused, slightly taken aback. "Um... I don't know. What kind of thing do you want?"
"Honestly, anything you think might work," she said, sighing. "Well, within reason. I want Harry to get the final say, and I guess Stella will want to approve it, too, but - I think something in black and white. It'll really match the vibe of the song."
"He won't even let me hear the song," I said, causing Ally to chuckle. It struck me, then, that I didn't realise how much she knew about Harry and I. We weren't exactly hiding it, and she'd arguably been the first witness to the tension between us at her office, the night she'd hired me, but she was technically my boss, as well. I didn't know where the line was.
I thought for a moment about all the photos I'd taken with my black and white film in LA, but figured just as quickly that I didn't really want to share them - they weren't really public photos; but rather ones for me, or him; us. I bit my lip.
"I'll have a look at what I've got. When do you need it by?"
"If everything stays running smoothly, we could get it out this Friday, so we'll need it in the next couple of days," she said, bringing her hands together excitedly. A photo that I took, being used as cover art for a single? "I was gonna try and get a photoshoot done last minute, but Harry insisted you could do it."
He did? That was undoubtedly, unbelievably out of my depth - to shoot for something so big; so public. Why wouldn't he ask me first? Why would he volunteer me for something I'd probably be awful at? He knew my background wasn't in photography; though I hadn't disclosed that to him initially, it had become pretty evident that he knew that, after our conversations about how I was not working in, or studying photography back home; he knew this was the first time I'd done it in a professional capacity - why would he push me for something so significant, instead of letting real professionals handle it?
I didn't have anything for cover art - I didn't even know where to begin in selecting something for that. What type of thing even worked as cover art? Was it supposed to be a full picture of him, or something relating to him? Was it meant to be a shot of him onstage, or offstage? This wasn't my forté, by any stretch of the imagination. Immediately, I was panicked, feeling scarily underqualified and underskilled. Why did he volunteer me?
"Oh, I was wondering where you'd got to," Harry said, as he walked into his dressing room to find me sitting on the couch, my laptop open in front of me with dozens of sheets of paper surrounding me, mapping out photos and layouts and edits I could make to different shots. I was practically drowning in a thousand different angles of the man in front of me, who had thrown me right in at the deep end.
"I'm not talking to you," I huffed, rifling through a couple of sheets, exasperated. He paused, a few feet away from me, the smile wiping off his features.
"Why? What did I do?" he frowned, genuinely puzzled as I didn't answer, only blowing out another breath. I sensed him taking another step toward me, and then another. "Oh," he said, then, "did Ally tell you?"
I shot him a glare, watching a grin break out onto his face again as he realised that he was right. "So she did?" he asked, and I set my laptop down beside me, burying my face in my hands.
"Why would you do this to me?" I groaned, unsure if I was actually annoyed at him. "I can't do something this big."
"Of course, you can," he returned, without skipping a beat, closing the distance between us and lowering himself to kneel on the floor, his eyes now level with mine. "You're not actually angry at me, come on."
"I might be, if you don't come and help me," I sighed, looking up at him, pleading with him. He softened his eyes.
"What do you need?" he asked, his lips turned upwards in the faintest of smirks.
"I don't have the first idea on how to do anything like this, Harry," I told him, pursing my lips, "you know I don't. I can barely do the job I have, now."
"That's exactly why I told her you could do it," he countered, shaking his head. "You're amazing at your job, and you'll be amazing at this. Don't be silly."
"I'm unqualified."
"And this is how you become qualified."
"Harry-" I went to protest again, but he reached over, taking my face in his hands.
"Listen to me," he said, his tone even as he drew his thumb over my cheek. "If I thought you couldn't do it, I'd never have told Ally that you could. I knew you'd never put yourself forward for it, so I did it for you. You're more than capable, Iz, it's no different from what you do every day, okay? It's just a photo of me. That's it." He was right - I'd never, in a million years, have pushed myself to do this. It was too big; it was too much. And so he'd done it on my behalf.
"Stop it," he murmured, then, leaning in to press his lips to my own. I hadn't even spoken, yet he was seeing right through me, I knew he was; sensing the spiralling of my mind. I leant into his touch, as he kissed me, briefly, once - and then again, and again. My heart was racing - this felt terrifying. Each day I spent doing this job, I doubted the standard to which I was working; never would I have considered I could do something on this scale, to be so widely distributed. Working as his tour photographer, it still somehow felt contained; I did my best to disassociate from the way Harry would post my photos to millions - and so, really, it felt like my active work stayed mostly between me and the others. There'd be none of that, with this - this would be everywhere.
"I don't think I have anything I can use," I told him, watching his lips twist into a grin at the fact I'd basically just agreed to go forward with it.
"Okay," he returned, simply, pinching lightly at my pursed lips, before him. "Then we'll come up with something. We'll do it together." I closed my eyes for a second, sighing. Maybe I didn't have to stress, all on my own; figure out a solution, all on my own. Maybe I'd have a partner in it all. We'll come up with something; we'll do it together.
Harry's hands shifted to rest on my shoulders, steadying me in front of him as my eyes drew over his face. I sighed.
"I hate you," I murmured, as his hands then drew to rest on the sides of my neck.
"Don't lie," he murmured in return, tilting his chin to beckon my lips to his own.
By the time I finally felt like I'd mapped out some kind of potential plan for a single cover, it was time for the show to start. Though a lot of my nerves were undoubtedly eased by Harry, and his words, a lot were still lingering. What if I fucked it up?
I could tell Harry knew it was playing on my mind as we were about to go out for the show. He'd wound his arm around my waist, kissing my forehead as I'd tried to calm the racing of my mind. It just felt like such a big deal. I knew it was a huge opportunity, that most people with an interest in photography like mine would only dream of having, but it felt like I didn't deserve it; like I wasn't worthy. It had just been handed to me, and even then, I wouldn't be able to do a good job of it.
"Thank you," I told him, then, as he held his arms around me. I bit my lip. "For the opportunity, I mean. I really should've said that earlier."
"You were too busy shooting daggers at me, I think," he returned, his tone laced with wit. His voice then dropped in volume, his lips pressing to the side of my head, again, "Don't thank me. You deserve it."
I tilted my head to meet his eye. Did he really believe that? Could someone really believe that?
"I mean it," he said, then, and it was somehow simultaneously humorous and horrifying that he'd read my mind with such ease.
The show had progressed as normal, with Harry somehow seeming even more joyful than usual. That thrill I had, seeing him perform - especially now - felt like it would simply never extinguish; he was so happy, as was every single person around him. As was I.
He was well over halfway through the show when he'd fixed his mic to its stand, and taken a few steps back, raking his fingers through his hair. I watched him, almost too lost in his simple mannerisms to notice how the band had begun to play a beat - one I hadn't heard them play on stage before, and for a moment I wondered if Harry was about to play his new song, instead of releasing it first, as planned. I frowned, confused, but Harry had yet to meet my eye. The melody somehow sounded so intertwined with the type of music Harry made - it was new, but it had his specific sound to it, but somehow, simultaneously; it sounded vaguely familiar. Like I'd heard it before, perhaps in a different form.
Harry finally met my eye, then, that beautiful grin of his tugging on his lips. I narrowed my eyes, and caught him playfully narrowing his back.
"What are you doing?" I mouthed at him, and I knew he'd have picked up on my question. But he didn't verbalise a response - instead, he stepped up to the microphone, wrapping his hands around it and bringing it to his lips, the smirk already overtaking his features as he began to sing, then.
"You're insecure... don't know what for..."
My jaw dropped. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard the crowd erupt so loudly. I covered my mouth immediately; I'd have recognised that first line absolutely anywhere. He'd slowed it down; he'd altered the instrumental, but I knew it. Undoubtedly, I knew exactly what he was singing. Just as I'd told him earlier that Grace and I had loved this song; the first song he'd ever come out with, in his previous band - this achingly cheesy, poppy, guilty pleasure of a song, that he'd now spun into a modern rendition to match his current sound. He was playing 'What Makes You Beautiful.'
I almost couldn't stop myself from laughing as he continued. The lyrics were so far removed from anything he'd ever dare to release, now, but here he was, singing it. Singing the song I'd confessed had been a religion for Grace and I, with a knowing grin upon his lips, his eyes repeatedly shifting between me, and the remainder of the crowd.
He held his mic up to allow the crowd to sing the pre-chorus - the voices bellowing from behind me at a volume like I'd never heard. There was so much joy radiating throughout the room, it was unbelievable; his fans were equally bewildered that he'd chosen to bring this song back. I was stunned, watching him. Grace would've lost her mind.
I raised my camera, then, suddenly remembering that I had a job to be doing. I couldn't believe him; how elated he made me feel, just like he seemed to make every other person in this room feel. But I'd have argued for me, I had it slightly better; I couldn't even verbalise what he was doing to me - how light, how blissful it all felt, as he strode over to where I was positioned, stopping in front of me as he reached the end of the first chorus.
He brought his hand over his chest, clutching it playfully and throwing his head back, his voice almost entirely drowned out by the crowd behind me. His eyes were squeezed shut, the grin on his face completely unwavering as practically every single person in the arena screamed the very same sentence, laced with nostalgia and pure delight, buying into the cheesiness of it all.
"That's what makes you beautiful."