I could feel Harry's touch on me from the moment that I woke up. His arm was thrown over my side, and one of his legs was pushed between both of mine, connecting us. I was facing him, our faces inches apart on the edges of our own pillows. He was watching me, silently, a focused glint in his eye that made me wonder if he'd been doing the very same thing I always caught myself doing, when he was ever asleep beside me; taking in every detail, fixating on each intricacy of his face and admiring them.
The moment our eyes met, I watched a smile tug on his lips that made me melt, even despite barely being awake. I exhaled, as his hand met the side of my face in a gentle movement, only for the pounding in my head to settle in.
"Ouch," I mumbled, then, shuffling towards him with a silent wince at the way it caused the pressure in my head to amplify. His hand moved to rest upon the back of my neck, his fingers pushing gently under my hair to somehow alleviate some of the pinching pressure I could feel, there, as I leaned into him.
A wine hangover somehow felt even more torturous than any other kind. I was prone to a headache after I'd had a few too many drinks, but when it was due to wine, I found myself feeling so much more sluggish.
"Rough night," Harry remarked teasingly, as I buried my face into his neck. His hand drew over my back, between my shoulders, and in that moment, I was just happy that he didn't have anywhere to be. In recent days, he'd had to shoot off with somewhere to be, before I could even properly wake up; but he didn't have any press today - it was only soundcheck, later on, and then, obviously, the show. He was here, otherwise.
I couldn't remember much of what had happened after leaving the restaurant; it had all sort of blurred into one. I had a vague memory of us leaving, and being in the car, and then I vaguely remembered Harry tucking the covers around me to put me to sleep; and that was it, really. There were blank spots in my memory, where the only thing I could be sure of was Harry's company.
"You should probably eat something," he said, as I leaned my head back against the pillow again, and his hands moved forward to push my hair from my face, lingering there for a moment. I heard my phone vibrate from the table behind me, and I groaned, leaning back to enable me to grab it.
I'd been added to a new group chat; this time, just myself, Elin, and Sarah.
Elin: Is anybody alive?
'Barely', I responded, before my phone buzzed again.
Elin: The wine must've been laced, because WTF.
I set it back down on the bedside table without replying, a short laugh leaving my lips as I nestled back into Harry's arms.
"I don't think I can handle food," I admitted, with a sigh. The idea of eating right now made me feel nauseous. I brought my hand to my forehead, wincing a little at the intensity of my headache. "I could do coffee, though."
"Do you want me to try to go get some?" he offered. "There are some cafes around here that look good."
"No," I sighed, "if you go, you'll need a whole security detail. We could just go downstairs?" I suggested. It definitely wasn't early enough in the morning for Harry to sneak through New York City undetected, and I'd feel bad if he got bombarded with people, just because I'd asked him to get me some coffee. I sat up in bed, attempting to ignore the way my head pounded as I continued, "If I don't get up now, I'll rot in here all day."
"Look at you, soldiering on," Harry remarked, causing me to attempt to push his head away from me, playfully, with my hand as he, too, sat up to throw his arms around me.
"Get off," I huffed, giggling as he squeezed his arms around my torso and drew me back against his chest, and he trailed a line of repeated kisses from my ear to my neck, causing me to squirm with laughter. I finally relented, collapsing back into his arms with a sigh. I brought my arm up, bending it to enable my hand to gently cup his jaw, behind me. "Thanks for looking after me last night," I said.
"Mm," he hummed, kissing my temple briefly. "Just fulfilling my boyfriend duties."
I raised my eyebrows, craning my neck around to meet his eye, only to find a knowing grin on his lips. He hadn't needed any sort of label; it wouldn't have changed how we were. But when we'd first decided to be with one another, we'd stressed 'no labels', for the sake of our own sanity. I knew he wouldn't have just randomly thrown it around. My own lips were definitely parted in surprise; it wasn't a word I'd expected to hear fall from his lips, at all, and it caused a twist in my gut, though definitely not the bad kind.
"Who gave you that title?" I asked, butterflies arising in my stomach.
"You did, last night," he said, a teasing smirk on his lips as he caught the widening of my eyes. "I dunno, you came on pretty strong. I thought we were just doing a whole 'friends' thing, and suddenly I have a girlfriend-" he began, completely and mercilessly teasing me, but unable to stifle the grin overtaking his features. I turned around properly, shoving my hand against his chest, in a mixture of embarrassment and laughter.
"Oh my god, I bet you couldn't wait to get that out!" I exclaimed, as he caught the hand that I'd shoved at his chest with, bursting into laughter. He caught my other hand, then, bringing them both over his shoulders to close the distance between us and connect our lips with a grin. I couldn't even be annoyed at myself, or properly embarrassed, because I adored him far too much. I'd always feared labels, but with this one, it didn't feel quite so bad - I'd clearly been wanting it.
I knew it didn't matter. We were already together; it didn't change anything, but somehow, now, it felt so much more official. It was further reassurance that this was real, to both of us. And, god, did it terrify me, but at that moment, I was far too wrapped up in how good I felt with him.
"You're horrible," I murmured against his lips, though we both knew I didn't mean it in the slightest. He laughed, then, taking my face in his hands - gently - still mindful, even whilst messing around, that it was hurting.
"I'm not," he returned, scanning his eyes over my face, "but I'll always look after you. You just have to let me."
We finally went downstairs, after showering, and after I'd pulled myself together a little more, only to find the others sat down there, too. I was enveloped in one of Harry's oversized tour hoodies, rather than my own, and I was feeling far better than before, after taking some painkillers, with the banging in my head slowly beginning to subside. The privacy of the hotel also meant that I got to keep his hand in mine as we made it into the hotel breakfast area, which was a definite bonus.
We went over to join the others at the breakfast table, and Harry squeezed my shoulder, telling me that he'd go and retrieve some coffee for us. I kissed his cheek before he walked away, and I sat down beside Elin, who had her head buried in her hands.
"Sleep well?" I joked, gently nudging her side as Pauli laughed across the table. She did, however, seem to be faring better than Sarah, who seemed to be entirely asleep against Mitch's shoulder, at the table. I raised my eyebrows, looking at Mitch.
"She doesn't handle alcohol well," he said, a subtle, humoured look on his face that caused me to laugh.
"In her defence, that wine had more of an effect than I'd expected," I said, glancing back over at Elin. "Have you eaten anything?" I asked her.
"Do you want me to throw up on this table?" she lifted her head from her hands to shoot back, with a groan, before she slumped back onto the table.
"I feel great," Pauli announced, a bright grin on his face as he looked between Elin, Sarah, and me, all of who undoubtedly looked exactly how we felt.
"Don't rub it in," I huffed, just as Harry returned with two cups of coffee grasped between his fingers on one hand, that he'd made up, and a plate in his other. He set it down directly between us, full of fruit and pastries, as he took his seat next to me, passing me the darker of the two coffees. I leaned my arm on his shoulder, raking my fingers once through his hair, by his ear, still slightly damp from the shower.
"I know you said you didn't want food, but," he nodded to the plate, as he picked up his coffee and sipped it, his other hand resting on my leg.
"Can I just say-" Elin interjected, then, lifting her head to shoot a glare around the table, "at least you two had somebody looking after you," she pointed at Sarah and I, "do you know what I had? Him," she huffed, angrily pointing at Pauli, who was already laughing at her, "knocking on my door at seven AM to wake me up."
"That's cruel," Harry said to him in playful disapproval, but reached over to bump his fist, nonetheless. I shook my head, as Elin dramatically lay her head against my arm.
"Don't be mean to her, both of you," I rolled my eyes, supporting Elin as she leaned on me. I held out mine and Harry's plate to her, offering her some food, to which she pretended to gag, pushing it away.
"Oh," Harry said, then, as if he'd just remembered something. "Do either of you have plans after the show?" he asked, turning to Pauli, and then Mitch, who both shook their heads. "I had some ideas that we could work on. There's a studio nearby that I've seen, and they have a slot for us on Monday if we want it."
"Sounds good," Mitch said, and Pauli nodded in agreement.
Harry turned to me, then, "I'm thinking of recording 'Cinema', and 'Medicine'," he said, "y'know, like, turn them into proper songs."
"Oh," I raised my eyebrows, interested, as I sipped my coffee, "and releasing them?"
"Well, that's not completely up to me," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but I want to finish them, properly, regardless. Then I'll see if I think they'd be good to release, afterwards. You should come."
"To the studio?" I asked, excited at the prospect, "can I?" It was probably the one side of Harry's process, now, that I hadn't gotten to witness; his writing, and his recording. I knew he had the mind for it, and I would've loved to see how he constructed his songs.
"On Monday, yeah, of course. It's to record songs that you already know," he grinned.
"So are you going to write, tonight?" I asked, and he nodded. I gasped, "Have you been working on more songs?"
"Maybe."
"Why won't you tell me?" I whined, as he breathed out a laugh, eating a pastry from our plate.
"Because there isn't anything proper, yet," he said, holding the pastry out to me to offer me a bite. I didn't take it, and he playfully rolled his eyes, "There's nothing to tell, yet. I don't think I'm going to be releasing anything else until the album, now, unless I release the other songs. And the album is nowhere near done, so," he shrugged, holding out the pastry to me, again, and I took a bite, more satisfied with his answer.
I was glad he'd invited me to the studio. Not only did I know I'd like to see him at work, personally, but I knew it would be good for photography, as well.
I was admittedly feeling a lot better by the time we made it back upstairs. I was still feeling pretty tired, but I was sure it would be no match for how tired Harry must've been feeling, with how much he'd been working, paired with the fact he'd been forced to babysit me for the previous evening.
Soon enough, it was time to head to the arena for the band to do their soundcheck. As we all piled into the back of the car, I noticed how a huge crowd was formed across the street, but blocked off by tape. It was a Saturday, and so I supposed people had more time to hang around outside the hotel in hopes of catching a glimpse of Harry. There was a line of security guards in front of the tape, keeping the huge crowd in line. I glanced at Harry, who, of course, didn't seem particularly bewildered by it. He was used to it all, now; rolling down his window and sending smiles and waves to the crowd as the car pulled away.
He rolled it back up, and sighed. "It's the one thing that I really can't stand; when they wait outside my hotel, or my house," he said, biting his lip. "I know they're only being supportive, but - it just doesn't feel great."
"I can't even imagine," I told him. It was always something that had shocked me; how numb he seemed to have grown to the fact that wherever he went, there always seemed to be a crowd of people waiting for him. He'd become pretty strategic with where he went, and when - as I'd seen in LA - but it must've grown pretty tiresome, to have to be so calculated. If it wasn't the early morning, or the late evening, he wasn't able to just get up and wander about, alone, especially not in the city where he was playing his shows. I knew he was used to it, because he hadn't really ever had it any other way. He didn't talk a lot about that aspect of it, but I could tell it got to him, sometimes.
Harry was entirely quiet for the remainder of the journey, opting to stare out of the window. He held my hand in his own, resting it in my lap. It was unlike him, not to be murmuring conversation or jokes into my ear, but I figured he was just lost in thought, or tired.
We made it to the arena, and it was becoming pretty familiar to me, at this point. This was now our fourth, and penultimate night here, and it was the most shows that we'd had take place in a single venue. It meant that Harry's dressing room stayed stocked with his things, and it meant some of my photography equipment could stay there. It made things much more convenient; being able to stay in one place.
"Should we do 'Cinema', tonight?" Harry asked, suddenly. He was standing in the centre of the stage, with everybody else positioned around him, and I was on a chair that I'd pulled up, just in front of the barricade. He looked around at the others, waiting to see their response. He added, "I fancy doing it. Mitch?"
"Why don't we do 'Medicine', instead?" he replied. Harry contemplated for a moment.
"Let's just do both," Harry said, with a casual shrug, but his expression was blank. It almost made me laugh, how he was casually reintroducing these songs to his set, when he'd been so previously adamant about their removal, to the point where the crowd had to bombard him to force him to play them. I wasn't sure how I'd survive the performance of all three songs that made my knees weak, but I knew I'd love every moment of it, regardless.
The group of them played a couple of songs, messing around a little whilst I snapped some photos. I spent some time editing them before the show started, just in an attempt to get ahead of things, whilst Harry sat across from me, my legs in his lap as he rested a notebook on top of them, scribbling into it.
"Are you writing?" I asked, and he nodded.
"I have too many ideas. I need to get some of them out," he said, and I raised my eyebrows.
"You can have too many?"
"Yeah. That's where bad songs come from," he said, bluntly, continuing to write. He didn't look at me, biting his lip, and tapping the pen against the page before blowing out a deflated breath. I'd caught him like that a couple of times, since we'd been in here; he'd stop, and stare into space, as if troubled by something - and it seemed to have been amplified by his writing, now. He hadn't stopped scribbling since he'd picked up the pen - his mind clearly preoccupied with something, as he pursed his lips, peering down, focused, at the page. It seemed like something was being rehashed, now, as he spilled his thoughts into the paper.
"Are you okay?" I asked him, setting my laptop down. I wasn't sure how, or why, but I felt like I could sense a shift in his demeanour since we'd left the hotel. I wasn't even sure what I'd noticed, but he seemed slightly spaced.
"Mm?" he looked up from the pages on his lap, to meet my eye. His lips were pressed together, in what almost resembled a frustrated line.
"I asked if you were okay," I replied, gently.
"I'm just tired," he said, his tone still rather unreadable. He had a very particular look remaining in his eyes as they lingered on me that was beginning to make me feel sort of uneasy. He wasn't by any means being aggressive, or harsh, but there was something off, in his demeanour.
"Are you gonna be okay to work after the show?" I asked him, suggesting, "maybe you should save it for tomorrow, instead?"
"Maybe," he replied, patting my knee gently with his hand. He appeared to force a barely traceable smile onto his lips, before he tilted his head back against the couch. "I think I'm just gonna start getting ready for the show. 'Wake myself up a bit."
I couldn't help but feel sceptical. "Okay," was all I said, drawing my legs back to enable him to stand up. He still kissed my forehead before he walked into the bathroom to get himself ready, but I couldn't help but feel like there was more going on than he was saying.
I feared I was overthinking things; but the other, louder half of me, told me that I definitely wasn't. I bit my nail, staring at the closed bathroom door. Something felt wrong, and I didn't know what. He was a healthier communicator than I was; it was odd that he was staying so quiet - but the thing that worried me the most, was the way he'd looked. The look on his face; it had brought me back to the day before, when he'd told me he thought that I was brave.
Very rarely, if ever, did Harry look unable to read me. There were a number of occasions where I'd seen it;Â that glint in his eye where he looked like he was trying to understand, or figure something out from me, but like he wasn't even sure what that was. It was that look - the one he'd only really granted on a couple of occasions, as of late; when we'd gotten onto topics that were uncomfortable for me, and he'd seemed to recognise that there was something I wasn't telling him - like he was able to know about everything I didn't say, without even hearing any of it.
Please don't be that. Please. I was praying that I really was placing too much emphasis on his demeanour, and really, he was just tired. But he was thoughtful, just like I was; he was contemplative. It wasn't crazy to think that, perhaps, it had lingered on his mind that he could sense there were things I wasn't sharing - and I knew that he often liked to write his feelings down; it wasn't unthinkable that he was perhaps focusing on the events of the previous few days - writing something in relation to them - and that he had been bothered in recalling it. It felt like, the other night, that we'd officially neared a topic I'd been seeking to avoid one too many times; I kept having near misses, where I'd managed to draw the conversation away, or make him drop it - but this was exactly what I'd been afraid of. I just didn't want it to be troublesome for us. I didn't want him to grow bothered by something I wasn't sure I'd be able to fix.
This was the risk. I'd known it from the start, and this was why I'd feared the progression of our relationship, so greatly. Things were more official between us than they ever had been, and I'd begun to wonder if he'd be able to let the things he was sensing, go. And though he hadn't mentioned it, and I had a feeling that he wouldn't; I was beginning to realise that, perhaps, I'd been right to fear what I had.