I wasn't sure it was possible to ever grow tired of the sound of Harry's voice.
I'd lost count of how many times I'd watched him perform on stage, now, but watching him sing off stage felt like a whole other thing to uncover the intricacies of. It was almost disorientating sometimes, to see them come together; Harry Styles, and the Harry I knew. The celebrity, with a name known by millions of people, and the person I got to share a bed with every night - sometimes it was hard to actually see the overlap between who he was, privately, and who he was, performatively. It was a time like this, watching him sing into a studio microphone, surrounded by what was likely tens of thousands of dollars worth of recording equipment, that would serve as a reminder.
It was weirdly intriguing; sort of funny. When Harry was singing, he was clad in the most extravagant outfits I'd ever seen; he was larger than life, as he pranced about the stage with a wide grin on his lips, catering to the pleasures of thousands of people. Now, he was singing just the same - the very same passion in his expression when he closed his eyes, with the gentle crease forming between his eyebrows when he was lost, concentrating - but instead, he wore a baggy pair of jeans, with an equally baggy cardigan drawn over a white t-shirt, and a pair of headphones brought over his curls. There was the same purse of his lips as he seemed to grow lost in thought from singing one line, waiting to sing the next; there was the same, gentle, subtle nod of his head in time with the music - but he wasn't performing at all. This was real, and this was intimate; this was him, and his music. This was him and everything he loved.
I bit my nail, mindlessly, unable to do much of anything other than watch him, fascinated. We must've been in the studio, downtown in New York, as he'd planned a few days ago, for no longer than an hour or two, but he'd spent a while plotting with Pauli and Mitch, and a producer and engineer that I'd been introduced to upon our arrival.
It was also in times like these that I wasn't sure how I was supposed to be with Harry - not that I'd had any plans to climb all over him, but it was among other individuals that I didn't know, myself, or their proximity to Harry, that I wasn't sure what was allowed. I knew a huge priority, of equal importance to us both, was that our relationship didn't leave our close tour circle. Even at new venues, it was rare to interact with anybody who wasn't a permanent member of Harry's team; the odd security guard, or venue staff, yes, but everybody else travelled as part of the crew - and each of them, Harry had explained to me, had signed a confidentiality agreement, just as I had. That meant that Harry and I didn't have to fear any of them disclosing anything about us.
I hadn't paid it much mind since Harry and I's first conversation about potentially dating. I'd been preoccupied with a lot more - plus, it was so easy to forget it all sometimes. I was a worrier, without a doubt, but being with Harry made it feel like we were the only two people in the world. Being his photographer meant it wasn't weird if we were seen together; but we were never out in public, sparing one or two occasions, without a whole other group with us - and with touring, there appeared to be some kind of protocol that took place far above my head. These hotels that hosted us; the staff that transferred us from place to place - nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at us, and I supposed that was their job.
It was only ever if we'd stepped outside of the group, in public, that Harry would have to drop my hand from his, or I'd have to unwind my arm from his own. And I'd have been lying to say it didn't make my chest ache, but I knew it was the right thing. I could barely cope with my own head, with how things were; with my own opinions, and inabilities to rationalise our situation - if I had to deal with a million other people finding out who I was, and that Harry and I were together, I wasn't sure how I'd survive it in the slightest. It felt like my worst nightmare, and at first, I'd feared it was something I'd have to battle with, in only a matter of time - but it wasn't, and I hadn't. It hadn't felt as difficult as I'd envisioned it being, because with every aspect of our lives on tour being intertwined, it meant that Harry and I could spend so much time together, undisturbed, with him only torn away from me for a day, or a random evening at most, because we'd always end up coming together for the show, regardless.
It was ours; just as we'd wanted it to be. I felt uncertain in a situation like this, but I never found myself doubting his affection - even if I couldn't have it, there and then. He'd still send a subtle wink across the room, or a knowing tilt of his head, or he'd let our eyes lock for an extra moment - everything I'd found myself clinging onto so desperately before I'd known what it was like to be with him, properly. It felt just as invigorating, now, as it had whenever he'd done it before.
"Can I add another layer to that?" Harry asked a technician, now, his hands still holding his headphones over his ears. He was several feet away, behind thick panes of glass that I assumed brought some kind of advantage to the recording that I wouldn't be able to grasp. His eyes narrowed in focus, as the technician responded with a silent raise of his hand, putting his thumb up.
The parts of 'Cinema' that Harry had already recorded that afternoon began to sound throughout the room, and he began to harmonise with his own voice, then, singing slightly lower than he had before. It was almost astounding how naturally it came to him; he had an ear for it, and he had instinct. Though he worked and practised hard, a lot of his talent felt inherent; he had the sense for these sorts of things. He made some sort of signal to the technician, and the track was played in a short loop, as we heard what Harry had just done played back to us. He pursed his lips, nodding, but already fixated on his next move.
"Okay - let me do the pre-chorus again," he said, then, raking his fingers through his hair as his eyes narrowed in on the microphone in front of him. Pauli had been folding and tossing paper airplanes around the room, as Mitch sat up at the booth with the other people, working. I wasn't sure what Pauli was planning on doing, here - he'd helped with writing, and he'd helped map out ideas at the beginning of the session, but it appeared, now, he knew when to step back and let Harry work, as all the others did. Everybody seemed equally attentive; responding to him only when spoken to - simply doing as he would so politely ask, and sharing approving looks at the ease with which he'd orchestrate these songs.
Harry cleared his throat then, just as the beat drew in, his voice that he'd already recorded began to sound. His hands held over his headphones, and he sang the highest I'd ever heard from him, far above the original pitch of the song. I'd never heard his voice this high, or delicately handled. His eyes were shut, intensely focused on the harmony he was crafting, and the music eventually stopped just before the chorus that I was becoming increasingly familiar with, could approach. He leaned back from the microphone, eyeing it for a second.
"Can I hear that back, please?" he asked, bringing one of the sides of his headphones away from his ear, preparing to listen. The song began to sound out again; this time, with Harry's added harmony.
I couldn't stop my lips from parting in surprise - not because I'd have ever doubted he was capable of making something so beautiful, but more because I was shocked at how smoothly he'd managed to pull it together. He bit back a beautiful grin attempting to fight its way onto his face, as he drew his eyes slowly up from the ground, to peer around the room; everybody seemed just as captivated by I was. He was so good.
"Harry, that's fucking awesome," Mitch said, with the most expression I was sure I'd ever seen from him. Harry was pulling the face he did whenever he was shyly trying to stifle his expression; his lips scrunched up as they fought against the grin wanting to break out onto his features, his eyes bright like a child's as he peered around.
"I like it," was all he said, and I could sense the flush trying to fight its way onto his cheeks. He looked adorable; so in his element, and aware of it - yet somehow, simultaneously, shy about his talent. He glanced at me, that shy grin on his lips as he awaited a reaction from me.
"I love it," I mouthed, sincerely, watching him press his lips together as his smile threatened to grow even bigger, looking away from me. I didn't feel as if I wanted to physically speak across the room, in a place I was so unfamiliar with - nobody else seemed to have noticed how his eyes had been so fixed on me, waiting for me to respond to his work. It was amazing to watch him bring these things, slowly, and carefully, to life.
There was something so captivating in watching him fixate on something he cared for so deeply. For the entirety of the afternoon, I could only think about how lucky I was to get paid to do this; to be able to watch, and photograph, as Harry crafted his pride and joy, so diligently, and so passionately. The focused purse of his lips as he'd narrow his eyes at every snippet that was played back to him; the way his eyes would light up momentarily at a new idea or when he conversed with Pauli, or Mitch about another potential change they could make. He loved this, so much, he was never complacent about it. He valued every second that he got to spend in that booth, and I could tell.
He'd been on a high since the final show in Madison Square Garden, the night before. The buzz in the air was impossible to ignore; somehow it felt a step above all the other shows that had taken place so far - he seemed so unbelievably happy, that it would cause him to grow equally contemplative in moments of silence. I'd notice how he seemed so content, whether he was on stage, or with me, or with the group of us; and then he'd grow lost in thought, just like he had before, his eyes often on me. Trying to figure out something neither of us would be able to.
I'd opened up social media that morning to be greeted with a video a fan had taken from the audience. It was whilst Harry had been mid-performance, during one of the slower songs of his set, and the spotlight above him had been blaring down onto the stage. The light was rather misplaced, and it was making it difficult for me to take the photos I'd needed, and so, out of what seemed like instinct, he'd noticed my struggling and had reached up with his hand to block out the light from my view.
I wasn't so much shocked by Harry's thoughtfulness anymore, but it still created a warmth in the pit of my stomach, and a flutter in my chest, nonetheless. He was so thoughtful, and caring - constantly - that it almost hadn't phased me; before I could ever dwell on an action like that, he'd already replaced it with another one of equal diligence. But seeing a video somebody had taken, subconsciously capturing an interaction that transcended simply Harry helping out his photographer, reminded me of how much I felt for him.
I'd seen it whilst he was still asleep, peacefully, beside me, his face buried into my neck. I was deliberately careful not to wake him, gently raking my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, unbelievably content as his body leant entirely against mine. In his sleep, he lacked the awareness he did whenever he was awake, to draw some of his weight off me; now, he'd basically trapped me beneath him, but I'd never dream of objecting to it.
We were drawing scarily close to a time when we wouldn't get to do this; our days were undoubtedly numbered. In a matter of weeks, I'd be going back to London, whilst he moved on to Australia - and I hadn't a clue about how it would work. I couldn't contemplate it, because I didn't have a single answer - all I knew, was that it would happen.
He'd hinted once, or twice - as jokes - about me staying on tour with them. And as much as I'd like for this life to be permanent, I knew that it wasn't. Even if given the opportunity to stay, I couldn't. I had to go back, and I had to get my degree and work my job; that was, at the very least, what I had to do. I needed to keep my word.
My life in London couldn't stay on pause forever. I had a very short period of time before my permitted eight weeks of absence from the firm would conclude, and I could only hope I was granted the final two weeks I needed to stay on tour. Even beyond that, I knew I couldn't keep everything I had here. But, somehow, though I wasn't sure how it would work - I wanted to keep him.
Harry's lips were on my neck before I'd even registered that he was out of the recording booth, pressing a couple of short, repeated kisses to my skin. I'd been propped up against the arm of a couch, leaning against it as I'd been taking some photos. His body was pressed entirely to mine, and I only exhaled, relishing in the comforting weight of him as he leaned on me and brought his arms around my waist. I supposed that answered any questions about how I was to act, here.
I didn't speak, letting my fingers gently push into the curls on the back of his head as he simply leaned his body to mine in a lazy embrace. I didn't want to know a time when we couldn't do this.
"Can I take you out tonight?" he mumbled against my ear. I bit back a grin, running my hand over his bicep.
"Depends where," I teased, as if I'd ever decline his offer. He pinched lightly at my hip, then, as if he knew the very same thing.
"Anywhere," he leaned back to meet my eye, a beautiful smirk on his lips as he shrugged, his hands still on my waist. "Dinner?"
I'd barely even nodded, before he leaned back in to kiss my lips, only briefly, but he let one of his hands raise to enable his fingers to curl gently around my throat to pull me to him. The moment he'd done so, my stomach jolted, and my jaw dropped the moment that our kiss was broken and our eyes met again.
"Don't," I warned, my voice barely intelligible as I let my eyes flicker past him to see that, despite my nerves, absolutely nobody was paying an ounce of attention to us. He drew his hand away, but my heart was racing from the moment of contact. He tilted his head as he caught how I was unable to hide the smile fighting its way onto my lips.
"Oh, but when you react like that, how can I not?" he dragged out his response, a torturous pout on his lips as he goaded me. His eyes flickered from my own eyes to my lips, clear amusement in his expression as his hand found my throat again, his fingers grasping gently at my jaw, this time. He dropped the volume of his voice, "You're not going to give me a kiss before I go back?"
I knew it wasn't that simple, with a chill running along the length of my spine at his prolonged touch on me. I leant forward to press my lips to his own, only for him to part his lips a little, leaning back. I raised an eyebrow, able to meet his eye, now, before he tilted his chin to lean back in, only to repeat the action and draw back from me once more, refusing my kiss.
"You're so annoying," I murmured, unable to stifle my grin as my fingers drew over his arms and a short, breathy laugh left his lips. My skin felt hot, when he finally leaned forward to press a kiss to my mouth.
"Just keeping you on your toes, Iz," he returned, a grin twisting onto his features as he leant forward to press his lips to mine, again - first, in a brief encounter, before he then leant back in to kiss me again, this time, deepening it as he lightly increased the pressure on my throat in a gentle, playful acknowledgement that caused my lips to part against his own. He was so invigorating, and it felt like he knew it.
"Go away," I urged, eventually, an exasperated laugh leaving my lips as I pushed lightly at his chest with my hands. Though I'd have loved to linger there like that, I wasn't sure I could take any more of his teasing. He relented, drawing away from me with a satisfied grin on his face as he returned to the group of them, standing by all the equipment, deep in conversation.
We stayed there for what was likely another four hours, but felt like far less. Harry was deeply immersed in recording, barely leaving the booth again after that point. It was dark by the time we finally left, and with the amount of time Harry had spent confined in that room, entirely zoned in on constructing the two songs, I'd have expected him to be exhausted by the time we left. Instead, he seemed energised; on somewhat of a high after finishing up his songs. I'd naively thought it would be a quick process, with everything already being written, but it was clear how seriously he took this side of things; every detail had to be perfect.
After we'd dropped Pauli and Mitch back at the hotel, we remained closely trailed by Harry's security as our own car took off in the opposite direction. I wasn't sure where we were going, but in his company, I wasn't sure I cared. It was after eleven in the evening, now, and I wasn't sure how, or when he'd pulled the strings to get us in somewhere for dinner, but he'd done so successfully. It felt like it had been forever ago that we'd last been able to be together, just the two of us, outside of the seclusion of a hotel room or a private space. I knew that even if our entire day hadn't been spent in the studio, we'd have likely had to wait until this time of night to go out, together, for the sake of avoiding being seen.
The security still swarmed around us as we exited the car, even in the blatant desertion of the street. We were shielded, entirely, as the door to the restaurant was held open, and the pair of us made it inside.
"We do have some outdoor seating," we were told, before we could be shown to a table, "if you'd prefer it. It's upstairs; covered by a roof, and we have heaters set up."
Harry glanced at me, his beautiful gaze on me, awaiting my response and leaving it up to me. I met his eye, before turning to the host.
"That would be great."
The place was entirely deserted, inside and out, as I supposed was the intention. I wasn't bothered by it; in fact, I was reaching the stage where I preferred it. I hadn't known much else, now, I suppose - though I'd never been with anybody else who required so many strings to be pulled simply for them to be able to go out in public, it wasn't like I'd ever been with somebody who'd wanted to spend time with me like this, either. I'd been barely surviving, I knew that, but it was only being with Harry, now, that I could see how wrong it had all been.
I watched him, my chin in my hand as he took his own seat after I had. He was speaking to the waiter, as kindly as he always did whenever we encountered strangers; with genuine interest, and engagement. I was broken from my thoughts when he turned to me, across the table, a soft grin on his lips.
"Drink?" he mouthed at me, his gaze burning into my own as the smile never left his lips. I realised I'd probably missed the question when it had been originally posed, as a result of my mindless staring at him.
I blinked, "What are you having?"
"Whatever you want," he returned. Harry didn't drink much whilst on tour - he could handle his drink well, regardless, but it was frequent that he'd opt only for water, whilst everybody else drank alcohol. He tilted his head at me, expectantly.
I finally ordered my drink, and Harry ordered the same, as he'd said he would. The waiter turned to go and retrieve them, leaving the pair of us alone. It was funny; before us was the most beautiful skyline, overlooking New York City, on our final night there - but all I could truly focus on was the man across the table from me. I was besotted with him.
His hand reached across the table, allowing me to take it in both of mine. I'd been so lost in watching him that I knew he'd noticed. His thumb drew over my hand, and I exhaled. There was the low hum of some music that I could hear upon our silence, playing throughout the patio area, which only contributed to the intimacy of our situation.
"You look so beautiful," he remarked, suddenly, his tone as gentle as his eyes were. I squeezed his hand in mine, tracing my fingers over the countless rings he wore as I felt my chest flutter at his words.
"So do you," I told him, feeling my skin heat as he watched me. I'd never get used to this - not properly. I brought his knuckle upwards briefly to press my lips there. It almost made me emotional, at times - how easy this had become, to be with him like this. Though there were a million and one complications in the back of my mind, something that had never been complicated, was the dynamic we'd always had. Even though we'd denied it, it was there, and it was instinctive. I'd never have thought I could have this - and I'd definitely never be able to believe that I deserved it.
Our drinks arrived, and we ordered our food, and we were left alone, again, in our own little bubble. Even with how late it was, the city was still entirely illuminated with the flashes of car headlights, and the bright, glittering lights from various buildings and billboards - likely the very same ones that Harry's face was plastered onto for the advertisements of his shows and song release that had taken place. The past few days had flown by at a tremendous pace, and it was becoming a little scary; how quickly things were moving. Each show now felt like a blur, with this whole routine somehow remaining so chaotic, but becoming so familiar and comforting at the same time.
I stood up, with my drink in my hand, and moved over to the edge of the balcony. This was the last night I'd be spending here; it was my last chance to take it all in. I peered over the edge, and the street that we were positioned on was entirely desolate - but, in the elevated position, I could see beyond our street, onto some others. It was a Monday night, but you'd never have known by the number of people about - there were still rows of traffic on the streets, further along, with the occasional sound of a car horn serving as a stark reminder of where we were. It was easy to grow lost in being with Harry - so much so, that I could forget where I was; that the world didn't actually stop, the moment my eyes locked onto his. Everything kept moving; the world kept turning.
I felt his arm wind around my waist from behind me, and his lips press to my temple and I instantly leaned back into his shoulder. I tilted my head back, his hand coaxing over my side as our eyes met, and he leaned down to press his lips to my own. His hand then moved to wrap gently around my neck, as it had earlier, holding me to him and causing my breath to hitch in my throat.
"I can't even think when you do that," I admitted, breathless as he drew a gentle circle with his thumb, the back of my head pressed to his shoulder.
"I can't even think when you do most things," he returned, his voice low as his lips ghosted back over my own. I turned around to wind my arms around his neck, his free hand that wasn't holding his drink, dropping back to rest on my lower back. My heart was racing, and I thought back to how he'd brought my hand to his chest, once before, to show me how his would race just the same. I found so much comfort in that, in a moment like this.
"Harry!" a voice sounded from the street below us, all of a sudden, and I felt Harry's body tense. The arm that was wound around me now quickly tugged me back toward the entrance back into the restaurant. He let go of me, and I stood there, confused and as startled as he was, as he moved back to the edge of the balcony to peer over it.
"Harry, we just want a couple of shots, man," I heard, suddenly blinded by the flash of a camera, overtaking the previously warm lighting of the balcony. Paparazzi. I definitely wasn't in view, but I immediately felt on edge at seeing Harry grow so tense.
"Not tonight, guys. I appreciate it," he called back down, his voice so calm and polite that you'd have never known how bothered he was.
"We'll let you get back to your date, Harry, we just need a few shots," the man's voice replied, accompanied by various more camera flashes. "One of the pair of you, and we'll be good to go."
Harry didn't turn away from them for a second, keeping his composure. "It's just dinner with an old friend, it won't be anything new," he tried to convince them, without skipping a beat. He seemed pretty well versed in this by now, and though I knew he would've hated this - the continuous, never-ending camera shots that had been taking place from the moment his name was first called - he was doing an expert job of staying calm, and amicable. He wasn't stupid - he knew if he responded with even the slightest bit of hostility, it would've been a headline within an hour. He had a reputation - a polished one. We both knew that our relationship wasn't a part of it.
Finally, Harry retreated from the balcony edge, and a few more flashes from the camera went off. There was something about a paparazzi camera that seemed to feel so much more intense than any other; the lighting was harsh, and the flashes felt loud and invasive. His expression caused my heart to drop, as I finally saw it, his lip brought between his teeth as his eyes narrowed down at the floor.
"Baby," I murmured, reaching for his hand as he stepped through, back into the restaurant beside me. I didn't know what to say to him, or how to comfort him. I didn't know how long he'd been at this breaking point, but I knew he'd never actually snap. He knew that this was part of it; for him to have everything he wanted, this was the price he'd pay.
"I need to be more careful," he said, then, blowing out a gentle breath, "we do." I knew we'd been pretty lucky, and he'd always said that the times he'd gone unnoticed by paparazzi, certainly weren't the ones when he'd been out and about in the busiest cities, where he was touring, like we were tonight. I brought my hand to his cheek, my eyes tracing over the purse of his lips.
Somehow, growing lost in him, I'd forgotten that my inability to be open wasn't our only problem. It was one, small wave in a sea of complications - he had a million and one things to consider, just as I had. His career was absolutely everything to him - and just as I found myself in danger of dropping everything I'd ever known, or built, solely for the sake of us - it seemed like he did, too. Both of us had guards that we didn't want to let down, but we could feel them slipping.
And I think it scared him, just as much as it scared me.