Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Taking pictures of someone is easy, but capturing someone is not. Taking a picture is a simple click of a shutter. Capturing someone is the way the lighting hits them, their facial expressions, their clothes, the setting. Closing your finger down on the shutter when someone is at their most vulnerable, most comfortable, most personal state. Truly capturing someone is something so special, but it’s so difficult.

The pictures blown up on the computer in front of me haven’t captured anything. The baby is cute, but the pictures themselves aren’t anything special. Just a lot of studio shots of a blonde, blue eyed little boy tearing apart a blue cake decorated for his first birthday. It’s interesting what people will pay for these days, to say the least. Not that I mind; not at all. I need to pay my way through college somehow.

“Anna!”

I don’t need to get up to know who shouted my name. I can picture the way she throws her jacket onto one of the kitchen chairs and clumsily takes her shoes off, holding the wall for support.

“Anna!” She calls again. I hear her quick, heavy footfall coming closer to my room. I swivel around in my chair to face her.

“Hey, Rita,” I say as she appears in my doorway.

“Did you not hear me?” She’s breathless, cheeks rosy, nose bright. She’s excited about something, though what it is I have no idea. I have a feeling she’ll tell me, though.

“I heard you,” I tell her, “I figured if it was important you’d come find me.”

“Cute baby.” She nods toward my computer as she sits at the edge of my bed, catching her breath. I shut my laptop and stare at her expectantly.

“Well?”

“Okay, you’re either gonna really love me or hate me very much,” She tells me. My stomach drops and I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly anxious.

“What did you do?”

“Well, remember when my brother’s friend got you that gig shooting that concert for 5SOS?” She asks. I nod, vividly remembering one of the best nights of my life. I’d gotten to be right up front, in front of the barriers, backstage, and at sound check for the whole concert, then after the concert the boys all took pictures with me and we hung out backstage. About a week later, I went onto Instagram and almost cried at the sight of my work on all of their pages, all tagging me. I gained a lot of followers after that, probably fans expecting more band pictures.

“How could I forget?”

“Uh, well, he’s got some other connections, and one of his friends was desperately looking for a photographer, so he told him that he’s got just the person and then he asked me and I told him you’d do it.”

“Who is it?”

She hesitates. I stare at her, waiting.

“Don’t be mad.”

“Rita!”

“Okay, okay,” She says, “Harry Styles.”

“What?!” I cry out. She flinches, waiting to see if it’s an angry shout or a happy shout. My head drops to my hands for a minute, rubbing my eyes furiously with the heels of my hands.

Harry. Fucking. Styles. Wants me to take pictures of him. For what? For a shoot? For life? Does he just want me to become his nameless tagalong friend who never shares the spotlight? Because as demeaning as that may seem, it sounds extremely fine to me. Almost as fine as he is…

Shut up Anna.

I lift my head out of my hands and stare at Rita. “What does he want?”

“Well,” She smiles, “He’s starting a new album and wants someone to, like, document it. I’m not quite sure about all of the details, but he gave me a number to call and stuff if you want it.”

“His number?”

Rita gives me a mischievous look and lifts up her phone. “Wanna find out?”

Before I can take it in I’ve put the number into my phone and held it up to my ear. I wait, listening to it ring. “He’s not gonna answer,” I mouth to her. She smiled excitedly and shakes her head, telling me to wait a little more. Four rings. Five—

“Hello?”

Holy shit. My eyes widen as my mouth falls open, looking at Rita. She jumps up.

“Is it him?”

I shove her away and grip the phone with two hands.

“Uh, hi, is this Harry Styles?”

There’s scuffling from the other end of the phone. I sit there, face burning, waiting. It feels like I’ve been listening for an excruciatingly long time, but it’s probably been a few seconds.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” He asks. I suck in a breath, glad he can't see me. I’m practically scarlet.

“Anna Townes, I was given this number to call?” My voice is shaky and I want to hang up and hide. I sound so stupid.

“Oh my—hi, I’m so sorry, I forgot I told Mike to give you this number how—“

“—No it’s totally fin—oops sorry…”

I want to scream. I just cut off Harry Styles. I literally just cut off Harry Sty—

“It’s okay,” He laughs, “How are you?”

We stay on the phone for a few minutes, making small talk and upholding pleasantries. He thanks me for accepting the job multiple times, each time making me blush more. Finally, we agree to meet up for coffee at a small cafe that he knows, and then say goodbye. I set my phone down gently beside me, trembling.

Rita’s staring at me.

“What?” I ask. She smiles.

“Well, do you have anything to say?” She chides. I roll my eyes and shake my head, not giving into her.

“Help me pick out an outfit.”

Two hours later I’m laying on the couch, my work done, thai food in my lap. Georgie, my fat grey cat, is laying at my feet, belly up. He’s staring at me for scraps.

“Dude you’re already obese, chill,” I tell him. He stares at me for a second, then flips over and throws himself off of the couch in a huff, waddling away. I roll my eyes at him, then turn back to the TV. Allie and Noah are just about to kiss in the rain as I take a large bite of my food and sit up.

Eating thai food and watching romantic comedies the night before you’re going to meet Harry Styles--for a job, no less. Very cool, Anna. Vey rock-star-photographer of you. Harry sure would love this.

Chapter Text

I walk up to the store front with my phone out in front of me, making sure I’m at the right place. Beachwood Cafe , the sign reads. I take one shaky breath, then step up to the bright blue door. 

As I grab the handle, I notice a sign that says “Please Seat Yourself”. Great, so I really won’t be able to find him. I pull the door open accompanied by the jangle of a bell, then step inside quickly. 

It’s...colorful. The floor is a bright geometric pattern of yellow and white, the walls all different types of wallpaper. The sun streams in from all angles, making everything soft and cohesive. I can see why Harry likes it here. It’s...inspiring. 

I open my phone and snap a quick picture before walking up to the woman waiting at the counter. 

“Hi, how are you today?” She asks in a cheery voice. I smile.

“I’m good, how are you?” 

“Good. What can I get for ya?” She pulls back her black curly hair as she talks, showing me more of her face. She’s got a dimple on one side of her face when she smiles, something I’ve always found fascinatingly beautiful. I want to ask her to let me take a picture, but I know I can’t right now. 

“I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone,” I tell her, “Have you seen a man, I guess he’s tall, brown hair, Briti—“

She cuts me off by lifting her eyes sharply and nodding towards something behind my shoulder. I feel my stomach clench up as I turn around slowly, knowing what I’ll see. 

He’s standing in the doorway, pushing his sunglasses on the top of his head. He’s wearing a black, short sleeve button down and loose khaki pants with black boots. Simple outfit. Probably cost more than I’m worth. 

His eyes meet mine from across the room and I tense up. I’m not sure he recognizes me until I wave slightly, and his eyes light up a bit. He walks over to me; a confident, swaggering walk. I feel small.

“Anna?” He asks. I nod, and find myself smiling at him. He has a kind face and a soft presence, much different than I expected. I can feel the red in my cheeks, and I wish it would go away. 

“Hi, Harry,” I say. It feels weird. 

He turns to the cashier and smiles. “I’ll just take the usual table?” He tells her. She nods and motions toward the back of the cafe. Harry motions for me to follow him. 

We weave through brightly-colored tables and chairs, some full of people, some empty. Some people are working on computers, and some are just meeting up with friends for coffee. None of them give us a second glance. 

Harry seems at ease here. He grabs a table—his usual spot I’m guessing—and pulls out one of the chairs, motioning for me to sit. I smile up at him as I pull my bag into my lap and he sits across from me. 

“I’m glad to finally meet you in person,” He says. I cock my head to the side lightly. 

“Finally?” I ask. He smiles almost in an embarrassed way. Harry, embarrassed in front of me? Couldn’t be. 

“I’ve been uh...stalking…”

For some reason, this comment is what breaks the ice for me. I start to genuinely laugh, then I smile teasingly at him. 

“You’ve been stalking me, Mr. Styles?” I ask. He shakes his head, laughing softly. 

“I went to look at your pictures and then I found your instagram and…”

“And you stalked it!”

He goes to answer, then closes his mouth and thinks. As he starts to speak again, the girl from the counter comes over with two drinks and a plate with a piece of the darkest chocolate cake I’ve ever seen. 

“Oh I didn’t—“

“I’m the iced black, she’s the chai,” Harry says, “You can just put the cake in the middle. Thanks, Maria.”

I stare at him as Maria walks away. 

“I knew you would try to pay for your own stuff, so I ordered ahead,” He says, “Is chai okay?”

I shake my head and smile, trying to figure him out. 

“Chai and chocolate cake?” I ask. 

“I told you I wanted to know you before I knew you,” He says. 

I smile to myself as I take a sip of my drink. Harry wanted to impress me, so he dug into my social media and found things I liked before he even knew if he liked me. I barely know anything about him in return, other than what he’s said in interviews. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to me that you’re comfortable,” He tells me, “Is there anything you wanna know about me?”

I think for a minute. There’s so much I wanna know about him. That’s the problem: I don’t know where to start. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

He looks straight into my eyes. “Blue.”

“Okay, what’s something you wanna know about me?” I ask, trying not to shy away from his gaze.

“What’s your favorite song?” He asks immediately. 

I have to think again. There’s so many things I could say to make me seem like a certain person, to appeal to him. He’s so certain in everything he’s saying to me, and I’m so not . 

“Faith,” I finally say, “By George Michael.”

We continue on like that, asking each other questions about each other, both mentally filing the answers away for a later date. Across from me, Harry’s face glows with a calm happiness. It radiates over to me, and I feel at ease the more and more in depth we go. 

“Where’re you from?” Harry asks me, taking a bite of the cake. I sip my drink and sit back in my chair, wondering how exactly to tackle the question. 

Where am I from? Not sure, to be honest. My mom was a teenager when she had me, and she got rid of me the first chance she got. I don’t blame her, though. I wouldn’t want that responsibility either. I lived in South Carolina, but I moved from place to place. I never had a solid home, really. 

“Carolina,” I decide to tell him. 

“Carolina? Which one?”

“Both, kinda,” I say, “I was born in North, then the foster system moved me to South.”

I see him processing what I’m saying. His lips move subtly in the form of the words “foster system” as I  watch and wait for him to ask the same questions everyone else asks: “Do you know who your parents are?” “Are you adopted?” Blah, blah, blah. 

“So why’d you come to California?”

Not what I was expecting. 

“There was this woman who was basically my grandma, who worked at the bakery that gave me my first job, and she’d always tell me I had to go make something of myself. She’d always say, ‘Townes, you need to swim before you drown.’ Never really thought of myself as a west coaster, to be honest.”

“She called you by your last name?”

“Yeah, she always said it ‘connected me to my roots’ or something,” I say, “not really sure what my roots are, but, she was a little traditional Polish woman and it wasn’t really any use to argue with her. It made the name special, though. Gave it meaning.”

“Is that why you use a different name on social media?”

I nod. Harry finishes off his coffee, then reaches for his phone. 

“Well, I guess I better get to the business part of this meeting,” Harry says, “My manager is usually supposed to do this, but he’s away, and I wanted to meet you anyway.”

Harry starts explaining the job to me. We talk about how I’ll photograph the making of the album, the trip to Jamaica they’re planning on taking, then he makes sure I’m okay with there being a film crew there. 

“They probably won’t get too much of you in there, and you can set any boundaries you need to with them. Sarah—my drummer— has already told them she’d rather just be in the background.” 

I nod in acknowledgment and begin to process everything as we keep talking. 

I’ll be traveling everywhere, seeing so many places, meeting so many people. I’ll be charged with the mammoth task of photographing Harry Styles ; seeing every part of him, figuring him out, capturing him. 

It’s time to go. We stand, he shakes my hand, he walks me out. 

“See you soon?” I ask. He nods, smiling. 

“I’ll call soon,” He tells me, “Take care...Townes.”

Chapter Text

I stay home for the next few days, finishing up projects for class and some leftover commissions. The weather outside is persistently sunny and warm, sending golden light throughout the apartment. I so desperately want to abandon all of my work, stress, and anxiety and drive down to the coast. A vacation would do very nicely right about now. 

“So, you’re asking me to make an exception for you?” My professor asks calmly. I look away from the window and nod nervously. 

“I’d still be doing the work—actually a lot more work—that I would do in the other internship, plus I get more hours and better pay,” I tell him, “And a lot more exposure professionally.”

He’s silent for a minute, as he stares at the portfolio and papers I had given him. I hope with all my heart that Harry worded everything well. 

“You’re graduating in May, correct?”

“Yes,” I answer stoutly. He nods slowly, still looking at the papers. He shuffles them gently, then sets them on the table and slides them back over to me. 

“I have only two requests,” He says finally. I feel as though I’ll stop breathing at any moment. 

“You will keep up with any projects I assign while you are away as well as being diligent with attending class when you are home...” He says, “...and you will get an autograph for me from Harry.”

I stare at him, mouth turning up at the edges. “Sir?”

“My daughter is a big ‘One D’ gal.” He waves his hand dismissively, mouth turned in a slight smile, then he suddenly leans forward seriously. “You’re a talented young woman, Anna. I’m very proud of you.”

By now, I’m beaming. He offers me his hand, and I grab it, shaking lightly. He squeezes for a moment, then lets go. 

“Thank you!” I exclaim, standing up. 

“It’s my pleasure,” He says, “But remember, I want to see your work.”

“Of course.” I start to walk away, reaching for the door. 

“And, Anna?” I turn toward him. “Good luck.”

I smile gratefully in response, then I break out into the fresh air, jogging down the steps, my heart soaring. The sun beats down warmly on my skin, the fresh air lifting me up even higher. Nothing could bring me down right now; I’m going to Jamaica in a week, I’ve got the best job in the world, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been for as long as I can remember. 

My phone starts to ring. Harry?

“Hello?” I answer quickly.

“Townes!” He exclaims from the other end, making me blush slightly. “How’d it go?”

How did he have the timing so perfect? I’d told him this meeting would be about ten minutes, though I wasn’t sure why he remembered such a small detail, or why he took time out of his day to call me about it. 

“He said yes,” I tell him breathlessly.

“What does that mean?” 

“Yes!” I exclaim excitedly, “I can take the job, and come to Jamaica, and everything is worked out and I—“

“Tell me about it at lunch today,” He says, cutting me off. 

“Huh?”

“I’m taking you out, I’ll pick you up at noon.”

I don’t really know what to say. I feel bad making him pay for me—again—and I’m not even really sure why he wants to hang out with me. 

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice back to normal now. I hear him chuckle at the other end of the line. 

“No, Townes, I despise you,” He jokes, “It’s a celebratory lunch, and since I’m your boss, you can’t say no.” He’s got a cheeky smile on his face that I can hear through the phone, and it makes me smile. 

“Okay, see you at noon,” I say. He hangs up and suddenly I’m standing alone in the middle of campus, alone, realizing I’m going out to lunch with Harry Styles in a little over an hour and I have no idea what I’m going to wear. 

***

“Georgie, does this look stupid?” I ask, turning to see a different angle in the mirror. He stares at my reflection in response, then licks his paw and looks away. 

I look at myself straight on. I don’t mind it. It’s simple; baggy jeans, a small white, cropped shirt, some sneakers, my hair down, and a lot of jewelry. More my style than Harry’s but I guess if we’re gonna spend all that time together I’ll have to show him my true self sooner or later. 

“Why am I nervous?” I wonder aloud. Georgie meows loudly in response and I roll my eyes. “It’s not a date, he’s just taking me out to lunch.” Another meow. “No I—I’m talking to my cat.”

I throw my head into my hands and rub my eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s all gonna be okay, it’s just Harry. 

Harry...and me...alone…

“Not a date.”

“What’s not?” Rita asks, appearing in the doorway. I jump, and she laughs. 

“I’m going out with Harry in…now!” I exclaim, seeing suddenly that it’s noon. “I gotta go, I'll tell you everything when I get back!”

I grab my bag and rush past her, hurrying out the door, down the stairs, and out into the bright California sunshine. I scan the street for a second, then I see him. His sunglasses are on his head again, but this time he’s wearing a yellow tee shirt and black pants. 

“Townes!” Harry shouts with the same excited tone as before. I smile and wave, then hurry over to him. 

He’s standing next to a blue convertible that has the top down so I can clearly see the clean white leather seats. Harry pulls me into a short hug that makes my heart race. He smells faintly like peppermint and tobacco. 

“So,” I say as he pulls away, “Where are we going?” 

He reaches around me smoothly and opens the passenger door for me, and I ignore the way my cheeks heat up. 

“You’ll have to wait and see, love.” 

I playfully roll my eyes at his cheeky smile and wait for him to get into the car, fingers tapping lightly on the outside of the door. 

“Any suggestions?” He asks, motioning toward the radio. I shake my head and he nods, then turns his phone on and clicks play on a playlist. I don’t see the name before he turns off the phone, but “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac immediately starts playing. 

“I love this song!” I exclaim as Harry pulls out into the road and starts toward the highway, the wind tossing our hair around, whistling past our ears, sending blush to our cheeks. 

I have no idea where we’re going. All I know is that the sun is very warm on my face, the sky is clear, and my heart is light. If I could stay in this moment forever, I would. Without a doubt. 

“The city disappears as we drive farther and suddenly I realize. “We’re going to the coast.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. I smile. He doesn’t know—how could he?

Chapter Text

“You know,” Harry says, setting down the water he had just taken a sip of. “I used to work at a bakery too.”

I pick at the basket of fries set between us, raising an eyebrow slightly at his announcement. 

“Really?” I reply, leaning forward onto my hand. “Would you say that’s the secret to your success?”

He smiles and leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Stop acting like a reporter or something,” He says, “We’re friends.”

“You’re my boss, actually,” I point out, but secretly I’m beaming. Friends. 

“I make it a point to actually like the people I work with ,” He says, making a point to emphasize that we’re equals. Except I know we’re not, because his net worth is in the millions and mine is approximately $12.75. 

“Okay, fine. Ask me something then.”

“Why’d you come to California?”

I tilt my head. “I told you.”

“No, you told me who told you to come here, I wanna know why you came. I wanna know why you stayed.”

He’s infuriatingly good at digging into people, that’s for sure. I feel the air around us thicken and settle, as my heart settles heavy in my chest. I sigh and set down my fork. 

“I met this girl in middle school and all she ever wanted to do was go to college in California. Like, she had it all planned out, and she was working so hard all through high school to just get here. At the same time she was like, the sweetest person ever—like if the sun was a person. She was my best friend.”

“Where did she end up studying?”

“She died senior year,” I tell him. 

His mouth forms a small O. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know—“

“It’s okay, really,” I reassure rapidly. It’s really no big deal to me anymore, at least not if I don’t think about it too much. “I guess, the mix of her and Noni and wanting something bigger led me here.”

He nods knowingly.

“And I stayed because I felt like I had something waiting here for me.

“What was it?” 

I leaned into the table, leaning on my elbow. “Hopefully you,” I say with a cheeky wink. He laughs and I lean back. “Tell me more about Jamaica.”

***

We finish our  very late lunch and Harry pays, but not without a lot of protest on my part. Finally, he ended up having to shove his credit card into the bill and pull it onto his lap so I couldn’t sneak my own in. 

After we pay, we step out into a late afternoon breeze blowing through my hair lightly. I pull it into one of my hands and twist it off of my neck. Harry’s behind me as I pull my hair into a clip.

“You have a tattoo,” He says. I turn to him.

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly.

He peers at the back of my neck again. I know what he’s looking at—a now slightly-faded tiny constellation of stars. 

“Do you have any more?” He asks. I nod, surprised he didn’t see them before. I turn over my arm and he holds it as we walk slowly down the street. He peers at the tattoo on the back of my arm, just above my elbow. It depicts two hands stretching out toward each other, but not quite touching. 

“And then one here,” I say, holding out my middle finger towards him. On the inside is a tiny smiley face, also faded. “It’s kinda fucking stupid. I got it from some upperclassman in high school.”

Harry smiles. “I love them,” he says. 

We continue our walk down the busy sidewalk, toward the beach right ahead. Now we’re having a very in-depth conversation about tattoos. Harry shows me the visible ones, speaking excitedly about where he got them, when, and why. It’s interesting to see him light up this way, especially when he tells the stories most important to him. I like the way his eyes light up and his smile becomes bright. When he smiles, there’s a dimple on only one side. 

He leads me onto a beach as he talks about a tattoo he got with Liam Payne, and suddenly I’m hit with a weird, floating feeling. My chest seizes up and I step forward but lose my footing on the sand and stumble. Harry grabs my arm to stop me from tripping. His hand is soft and warm. 

“Shit, sorry,” I say, pulling away from him. He shakes his head. 

“You’re fine, you wanna sit?” 

I nod, thankful that he didn’t ask anything or press into what made me go silent. He just motions for me to sit on a tall stone wall overlooking the ocean and pushes his hair back out of habit. We look out over the waves crashing down onto the beach. I feel his presence next to me, and it’s somehow comforting. I don’t know him well, and he’s light years out of my league in every way, but for some reason he’s right here and he cares enough to just sit and be silent. 

I place my hands behind me and lean back on them, fishing through my memory for a specific moment. Not even a memory anymore, really—more like a feeling. A content, excited, happy feeling. I close my eyes, feeling the sleepy sun on my skin and the breeze kissing my cheeks. I imagine a girl next to me, gabbing excitedly, beaming widely. I imagine myself four years younger, shoes tossed on the wall next to me, hair long and braided down my back. 

I open my eyes again and turn to see Harry looking at me. I smile softly at him and he turns away, then stands. 

“I know a good spot for a sunset,” He tells me. 

Chapter Text

I get home after dark, but not too late. Tomorrow I start working for real. I have to pack for London tonight, meet with Harry at the studio tomorrow to see the band, then catch a flight later that night. 

All my things are spread out across the living room floor, and I'm sitting criss-crossed in the middle of it. Rita is on the couch, listening to my detailed recount of the day with Harry. Georgie keeps rubbing up against me and trying to shove his way into my arms, almost like he knows I’m leaving for a while. 

“I know, Georgie, I’m sorry,” I mumble, packing up the pieces of one of my cameras into its respective bag. He lets out a small meow then finally settles between a pile of shirts. 

“So you told him about Mai?” Rita asks, leaning over to pet Georgie between the ears, just how he likes it. He purrs and closes his eyes. 

“I mean, I didn’t get into the whole sob story. I just told him the answer to his question.”

“Why though? You didn’t have to,” She presses. I push the camera bags into my big black backpack and zip it up, then sigh. 

“I don’t know,” I say, turning to her. “He just has this thing where like, I feel comfortable with him. Like I can tell him stuff and he doesn’t seem to care—not in a bad way. He’s just…nice.”

Rita looks at me with her familiar, knowing look. I shake my head.

“No.”

She just chuckles and stands up. 

“I’m gonna get dinner started, you hungry?”

I smile. “Ravenous.”

***

The next morning is an early one. I wake up and slam my alarm off, then roll out of bed and push my hair out of my eyes. 

“Today’s a big day,” I say, turning toward the cat lying in the windowsill. He looks at me with utter disinterest, then turns back to waiting for the sun to rise. I guess the sadness about me leaving faded pretty quickly. 

I reluctantly pull my pajamas off—if you call a giant tee shirt pajamas. I inspect (another) hole in the stitching, then throw it into the trash instead of the hamper. I pull on my clothes for the day—an old pair of broken-in pants and my favorite sneakers—and try to style my hair and makeup as quickly as possible. My stomach has been churning for hours on end just thinking about meeting the band, and the producers, and the managers, and the assistants—fully entering Harry’s world is a lot different than a lunch date. 

I roll all of my luggage—a single suitcase and my camera bag—into the living room, trying to be careful not to wake Rita. Harry told me someone was coming to pick me up, a driver. Because millionaires have drivers.

I try to shake the nerves out of my hands and turn the coffee maker on, then sit at the counter watching it heat up. My chin rests in my hand, and my eyes keep fluttering closed.

“Fuck,” I murmur. “Wake up.”

The coffee maker finally kicks on and I quickly make my daily coffee—oat milk and a little sugar—in my favorite travel mug. The one Rita got me freshman year as a moving in gift. I put the cover on the mug, then juggle my bags, trying to stay quiet on my way to the door. The driver will be here any minute and I’m so anxious I might explode. 

“You gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

I turn and see Rita standing in the doorway to her room, arms crossed, but a smile on her face. For the first time, I feel my chest clench with sadness. We’d been together since freshman year—neither of us had lived with anyone else. She knows everything about my life, all the ups and all the downs. Leaving her is like leaving the other half of myself. 

I rush over to her and wrap her into a tight hug. She grips the back of my shirt and sniffles. 

“Don’t forget about me, ‘kay?”

I shake my head and pull away. “I could never forget about you, you’re too annoying,” I reply. She scoffs and moves to help me with the big suitcase. 

“I’ll walk you down,” She says. 

We bring the bags downstairs and wait on the sidewalk while I sip my coffee and obsessively crack my knuckles and neck and back and every other joint that could possibly crack. Finally, Rita’s had enough. 

“What’s making you so nervous?” She asks calmly. I sigh and sip coffee. 

“I don’t know any of these people and I want them to like me.”

She smiles softly. “Trust me, babe, they’re gonna like you. It’s impossible not to.” 

I shrug, feeling more and more sick and tired. “I’m just really scared. What if it doesn’t work out?”

As I finish speaking, a big black Range Rover pulls up and the driver waves to me. He’s young, about Harry and I’s age, and has a friendly smile. He takes my bags and packs them in the trunk, then lets Rita and I say our goodbyes. 

I sit in the car and I sit in a weird, anxious feeling. The driver, Dan, tries to make conversation, and I try to keep conversation, but my voice trails off and my eyes stray towards the window. 

“Nervous?” He asks finally. I chuckle.

“Understatement of the year,” I reply. He smiles over at me, a kind, warm smile.

“Trust me, they’re all nice people, even when they’re drunk. And I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve driven them home drunk.” 

I laugh softly again, a kind of polite laugh. 

“Plus Harry told me to drive safe ‘cause you’re important, so I think he’s already thinkin’ pretty highly of you.”

The rest of the ride is a little better, and I start to feel more at ease. Harry thinks highly of me? I hope I can only live up to whatever standards he has for me. 

The studio comes into view, and like the well-paid companion he is, Dan helps me carry my bags inside and shows me to where the band is recording. I thank him, try to tip him, am refused, then left alone.

I take a deep breath and steel myself, then raise my hand to knock on the studio door. 

Chapter Text

Someone opens up the door—a tall blonde man with a dark moustache and a lot of tattoos—and motions for me to be quiet. He points to where to put my bags, then shows me where I can sit on the couch. Everyone is lounging around the room, some smoking, some drinking, some sober. The lights are low and most eyes are on Harry. 

I sit next to a dark haired woman, who’s sitting close to a man with dark hair and a brooding facial expression.

Both of them glance my way, but seem preoccupied. I turn back towards the center of the room, where Harry’s got a mic.

Music starts up, and a soft metronome. Harry’s eyes are closed, and his face is soft, almost as if he’s about to sing a love song or something. I pull out my smaller camera just in case.

“ I’m here to take my medicine, take my medicine. Treat you like a gentleman.”

I glance around at the others around me as Harry starts to sing a song that’s definitely not about love. I click a few pictures, in part to get into a groove, and in part to distract myself from the imagery of the song. 

“ Rested on your fingertips, and up to your mouth, droolin’ it out…”

I look around for approval before slowly slipping off of the couch and moving across the room to a mirror, where I can see Harry from the back. His eyes are still closed, his hips moving to the song, hands out, lyrics incredibly graphic. 

“ I’m comin’ down I figured out I kinda like it.”

I snap a picture of his head tilted back slightly, as if he’s in ecstasy.

“ And when I sleep I’m gonna dream of how you ride it.”

I feel my face visibly heat up as his head falls back while a track of a guitar shreds on, hands on his hips, acting as if someone has just given him the most pleasure he’s ever experienced. I snap a photo then listen until the end of the song, then right as the lights come up, snap another photo while Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

There’s a bit of quiet murmurs. The blonde guy and the dark haired guy from the couch speak with Harry for a few seconds, then Harry shakes his head. He looks up as if realizing something, then asks something ending in “she here yet.” 

Suddenly, he turns, face lighting up. “Townes!” He cries. I lower my camera and smile, then wave. I feel awkward, and I’m not sure how to act after the song we just heard. Everyone else is normal, as if this is usual for them. I’m not a rockstar. I’m a girl with a camera who’s way out of her league. 

Harry walks over to me, with all his rock swagger, and pulls me into a hug. A hug. I breathe in deeply, to slow my pounding heart which I know he feels against his own chest. I pull away first. 

“Cool song,” I say. I’m not sure what else to say. He shakes his head and runs both hands through his hair—same old habit. It’s too short now, though, so his hands seem to run through air before he brings them down. He cut his hair a few months ago, I remember. For a movie. 

“Cool shoes,” He jokes, tapping my foot with his own. I suddenly feel self-conscious.

“They’re my luck—“

I look down and see the foot he tapped mine with, resting right next to my shoe. He’s wearing dirty, worn-out white Vans sneakers. I chuckle. 

“Great minds,” He says simply, then winks. I’m still processing the song. 

***

There are no more songs for the rest of the studio time. It’s mainly just people playing things on random instruments, lots of notebooks, and lots of smoking. I’m offered a joint, but I push it away. 

“Makes me anxious,” I explain. The woman who handed it to me nods. 

“Fuckers make me shake. I only smoke when they start to do this.” 

I look over at Harry, who’s snuggling close to Mitch, obviously a little woozy from the smoke and the darkness and the singing. He’s shouting or singing or laughing—they all mix together in here. I’m starting to feel lightheaded, though I’m not sure if it’s from the smoking or from the neglected anxiety attack. Either way, I start to sway in my seat. Nobody pays me any attention. 

Someone stands up. Everything’s moving in slow motion but then everyone is standing up, someone is pulling my arm, someone’s saying something about London, I’m carrying my bag, Harry’s following me, we find a car and walk to it with our heads tucked, the world spins. 

I suck in a deep breath.

“You okay?” Harry asks. Mitch and Sarah are here—I learned their names from someone or another. 

I nod but it’s a lie. He can tell. 

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s clear now,” Sarah says from beside me. I look over at her and see her clearly in the light. She’s got a serious face, but it’s softened now, and she looks almost motherly. I try to smile at her. She rolls down a window. 

I end up in an airport, then on a plane. It’s not a private one like I’m expecting, but it’s first class. I vaguely am aware of Harry next to me, but I’m more aware of how bumpy the ride is and how sick I feel. I take three trips to the bathroom then promptly throw up on the fourth. 

I sit back down, groaning. 

“Townes,” He says simply, with an almost disapproving look. I feel like I’ve fucked up, but I’m in doubled-up pain and I can’t seem to muster any other emotion. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, I just, I feel so sick right now and—“

“Townes.” He shuts me up. I feel my face redden more than it already is. 

“I think it’s the smoking,” I say in a hushed voice. He tilts his head. 

“The weed?”

“Yeah.” I’m embarrassed. “I was really anxious and then I think I got like—I don’t know I sound dumb. I feel like I’m high and it’s really bad right now.”

“Why were you anxious?” He’s genuinely concerned and for some reason that’s more embarrassing.

“To see you in the studio. To come into your world.”

“Oh Townes,” He says, “You had nothing to worry about. Everyone thinks you’re cool—you are cool.”

I shake my head. “I feel so sick.”

Harry pulls a water bottle from his cup holder and makes me drink it. Then asks for an extra pillow and forces me to lay down. Then, he talks to me softly about the music he’s already made, answers questions about the movie he made, and just drones on until I fall asleep. 

***

I wake up to Harry pulling a blanket off of my shoulders (when did I have a blanket??) and shaking me slightly. I open my eyes, seeing his face and hearing his voice clearly again. 

“Welcome to London,” He jokes. 

Chapter Text

London feels like a blur. We spend most of the time in the studio, but it doesn’t feel like active songwriting. Instead, it’s a sort of preparation for Jamaica. Picking out the best ideas, scrambling last minute for samples, playing old songs for each other. I slink behind the scenes, camera at the ready, snapping pictures of Harry in his element. 

I become more comfortable in the studio, especially with less people—different people. These people are driven and serious, and somehow Harry molds to whatever is around him. Here, he’s all work. There’s no weed and the only drinks are a lot of water and black coffee. I feel energized here, and I think it helps that Sarah and Mitch and Harry have all silently accepted me into whatever small friendship they all share.

I take pictures, I sit around, I cheer when we find a good combo, I’m silent when they scrap a piece. There’s a board with a bunch of song names on it scrawled on sticky notes. There’s even more songs in Harry’s leather notebook. 

“Jamaica tomorrow,” Harry says, sitting next to me. He takes a sip of water. 

“Excited?” I ask. He nods.

“It'll be nice to get away—go off the grid.”

I give a little “hmm” in agreement and lean back into the couch. Harry’s very close to me right now, thigh resting against mine. 

“Are you excited?” He asks. I smile softly over at him. 

“Yeah.”

We sit there, staring at each other for a moment. Then, Harry jumps up suddenly.

“We should go out!”

“Now?” I ask.

Mitch nods toward me. “Yeah, what Curly said.”

Harry shrugs. “Why not?” 

For some reason, we all agree. We pile into a car with a driver—not Dan, unfortunately—and drive through the dark, crowded streets of London to some bar that’s lit up with a bunch of neon signs. 

There’s a steep, skinny staircase that leads us down toward where music is playing and people are milling about, drinking, laughing, singing. No one even turns to look at us when we walk in. 

Well, no one turns to look at Harry when we walk in, which is less surprising than how many people are looking at me. Actually, no it’s not. 

I know I look good, because I had tried to look good earlier. I had put on leather pants that hug my butt and gradually flare out, because Harry wants to write a rock album. I found a black lacy top that shows off my chest because being surrounded by artists makes me want to feel confident. I want to look like I belong with them. 

Harry turns to me. “All eyes on you, now, huh?” He asks. At first, I think he’s mad, but he smiles and I realize he’s being cheeky. I flick my hair behind my shoulder and shrug. 

“You should be more careful about who you hire,” I tell him as we sit. He waves over a waiter of some sort. 

“Hm? Why’s that?”

I smirk. “Well you don’t want your photographer to be hotter than you, do you?” I ask. Harry visibly hesitates, then glances around the small table at the rest of the people—the band, producers, Jeff, his manager. No one is listening to us. 

“That has to mean you find me attractive,” He says. Jeff ordered drinks for us, which make their way around the table now. I take a sip of a vodka cran and shrug. 

“Are you surprised?” 

If Harry’s jaw could drop right now it absolutely would. His tongue swirls around his mouth and he glances down. A split second, but I see it. I turn away before he sees my cheeks turn red. 

What am I doing right now? Flirting with my boss? Not just my boss, but Harry Styles ? Am I insane? 

I have two more drinks, and slowly the group trickles away from the table. Some of them are going to Jamaica tomorrow, like us. We all have different flights, for what reason I don’t know, but a lot of them have to get up early. 

Harry and I are on the same flight, but not until the afternoon. We’re flying with Jeff and the band, well; we’re flying with Sarah, Mitch, and Charlotte. I’m not sure when the rest of the band is coming, and right now I’m not sober enough to care. 

I don’t really know how to explain my behavior other than inappropriate and incredibly irresponsible and above all, embarrassing. 

I turn to Harry and throw him a smile. 

“I know you wanna kiss me,” I tell him. At this point in the night he’s too drunk to be surprised by my comments, and he leans in. 

“You know me well, then, Townes,” He says. 

He kisses me, and I kiss him back. It’s messy and warm and I hate how much I like it but I also hate how fuzzy my head is and how blurry everything seems.  I hate how unprofessional I’m being, but I don’t want to stop because his hands are sliding over my bare chest and he’s wrapping one of them gently around my neck as he closes the door to the car that we somehow ended up in. 

“Harry,” I mumble. He kisses my neck up to my ear. 

“Mhm?” 

“Shouldn’t;t we wait?” It’s hard to breathe with him this close, lips tickling my ear. He shakes his head. 

“‘S soundproof,” He says, voice low and raspy. A rush runs through me as he goes back to kissing every inch of my skin that he can get to, fingers fumbling with the button of my pants. I reach down and nimbly get my hands to exactly where I know he wants them. 

“Fuck, Townes,” He groans. I smile at him and he kisses me hard. 

“What, Harry?” I ask.

“You feel so good,” He sighs. 

Chapter Text

I wake up in my own hotel room, alone in my bed. What happened last night…

What happened last night was a mistake. A glorious, insanely good mistake. But, what happened in the car stayed in the car, and he walked me back to my hotel room and made sure I was safe, then said goodnight. No *third* round, no extra kisses, just a sleepy hug and a “see you soon”. 

I turn over to check my phone, knowing nothing will be there. I stare at the screen, tempted to call Rita. I know she would go insane, and I don’t think I can handle that right now. I’ve got a flight to catch, anyway. 

How, I don’t know. I slept for about three hours and now I have a splitting headache and I feel like my stomach is doing flips. Thank God I didn’t bother unpacking anything, or else I would be an even bigger mess right now. 

I wish I could just throw on sweats and my biggest tee shirt, but I know there are going to be cameras and we have an image to maintain. 

No, I put on a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized, second-hand leather jacket. Underneath that is some graphic tee shirt I found in my bag. I’m not sure where it came from, but it’s kind of funny. “But Daddy, I love Him.” Little mermaid homage, maybe? It’s probably Rita’s and I’ve accidentally taken it. I hope she won’t notice. 

I gather my bags together and place them outside my door as I run back into my room to check for a charger. When I come back out to the hallway, I find them gone. Harry is in their place. 

“Where—Oh hi, Harry.”

He smiles. “G’morning. I had Tris take your stuff to the car.” 

I nod in acknowledgment and push my jacket aside to get my phone from my back pocket. Harry’s staring at me, a smirk growing on his face.

“What?” I ask. He smiles so that his dimple shows—like he’s holding in a laugh.

I lean into my hip and throw a hand out. “What?” I sigh. Harry chuckles.

“Nice shirt.” He reaches forward and tugs on it cheekily. I slap his hand away, face reddening. Wanna take it off?

Well this is mortifying. 

“Looks good on you,” He says simply, then begins to walk to the elevator. I follow him, partly because I need to and partly because I’m hoping those doors will close and no one else will walk in.

The elevator is all mirrors. The walls and ceilings are gild glinting reflections of us on every side when we walk in, surrounding us. I look over at Harry as the doors close, allowing myself to stare at him through the mirror. He catches my eye, and I look down.

He reaches over again to grab my shirt, pushing the jacket gently off of my shoulders. 

“What if I told you I want this back?” He asks softly, closing the distance between us. I look up at him, eyes soft.

I have the urge to let my lips meet his, to finish what we started last night, but I can’t. Instead, I drop my eyes to our shoes—our two pairs of dirty white Vans—and shake my head slightly. He immediately steps back and drops his hands from my shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, “I’ll give it back—“

“No,” Harry says shortly. “No, it’s fine. Keep it.”

I keep my eyes cast downward, the air between us tense and thick. I’m not sure what just happened, or what could have just happened, but I feel the familiar clench of anxiety creep up through my chest. I glance over at him, staring at the closed doors. 

Finally, he reaches forward and presses the lobby button. 

***

I sit in my plane seat across from Harry, legs curled up underneath me. He’s scrolling through his phone, occasionally starting conversation or asking if I want anything. You , I want to say. Yet, I don’t.

I had tried to edit some pictures, but I couldn’t focus with the regret wracking my body. Anxiety, I recognize it as—the knot in my chest and the churning in my stomach. I want to sit still but I can’t. Harry watches my fingers fiddle with my rings over and over again until I drop one. He reaches down before I can get to it and hands it back to me, his fingers lingering in my palm. 

“Sorry,” I mumble. He looks at me oddly, then stands.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink, want anything?” He asks. I shake my head and look back out the window. 

I rest my head against the side of the plane and close my eyes. 

Chapter Text

The house in Jamaica is enormous. I mean, there’s like eight bedrooms, three bathrooms, and it’s on the ocean. The beach is just down a short path, so no one’s ever wearing shoes—or shirts for that matter. There’s a lot of towels strewn around the place, and a lot of messes left by the different musicians. There’s often open alcohol containers laying around, combated only by Harry’s ever-multiplying water bottles. You could probably follow them like a little trail to find him.

Though, I always know where to find him.

Today, he’s been at the piano a lot. Sometimes, he has off days when he just lays around or surfs or swims. He won’t touch an instrument for days at a time, then suddenly he’ll have a burst of energy and he’ll write six songs in a day. 

We’re all at the giant tables in the screened-in patio, eating our respective lunches. Some people will cook, some will eat small things, some will just drink. It’s a free-for-all here at all times.

Harry’s at the piano, playing the same few chords over and over again. It’s a slow, sad melody—simple and low. He’s humming under his breath, and people just talk over him, letting him be. He glances over at me once, then doesn’t look up again. As he keeps playing, his face takes on a sort of sorrowful seriousness that I don’t often see from him. 

“ Just stop your crying it’s a…”

He hums off the end of the line, but keeps playing the melody.

“ Hope you’re wearing your best clothes…”

His brain pauses, but his fingers continue. 

“ We never learn we’ve been here before….fuckin runnin from….”

He stops playing abruptly and begins to write something down, humming, occasionally tapping out the melody on the piano again. I’m enthralled in watching him, observing the way he lets this happen. 

In about ten minutes he motions Mitch to come over. I have had my camera the entire time and have been inconspicuously snapping a few shots, but now I have more freedom to get inside the bubble he had been creating. 

He begins playing the melody on the piano again, going through one full time before starting to sing.

His voice is low and bittersweet and smooth. It’s sad, though. The song is sad.

Mitch sits beside him silently, listening with his eyes half closed. I know he’s adding other things in his head—drums, guitar, production. I know he hears things no one else does, and I know the next time the song is played it will be way different. I capture this moment in time, this raw version, and I keep it.

The piano bench scrapes against the concrete floor and Harry stands, stretching his arms out, sighing. 

“Work on it tomorrow?” He asks. Mitch nods. Harry nods to me and disappears into the house. I sit and stare at the piano for a moment in awe. 

Chapter Text

The studio here is a lot smaller and a lot more cramped than the studios in London or LA, but not in a bad way. It’s full of life and color, and it’s kept surprisingly very clean.

The camera crew took up a good amount of space in the house, but in the studio it was only two guys, with only one camera. It was nice to be away from most of the others, and only be with Harry and Mitch and the band. It felt a lot safer and cozier.

I set myself up on the edge of one of the couches, opening my laptop to do some work while everyone gets situated. I make sure my cameras are at the ready, but I don’t stress out about getting pictures. Harry wants things to be natural, so I’ll give him natural.

Someone lights a joint. I can smell it immediately, and my heart drops slightly. 

“We’re not doing that shit here,” Harry says. The man with the joint laughs and takes a hit. Harry stands.

“I’m serious, man, put it out.”

Harry watches him crush the joint against one of the tables, then sit down begrudgingly. Satisfied, Harry sits, glancing over at me. I smile softly, embarrassed but grateful. 

Harry has a few notebooks with him, all falling apart and scribbled all over. One of them is brown leather, tied with a bit of twine. One of them is red leather, and the other one is light blue with a paper cover. That one is in pristine condition, almost as if it’s new. 

“Which do you wanna start with?” Mitch asks, sitting down beside the musician. Harry pulls out two of the notebooks and flips to specific pages, reading, deciding. The first song recorded in Jamaica. It has to be good. 

Finally, he lands on a song. He reaches for an acoustic guitar, plays a short melody for Mitch, then hands it to him. I follow the two men into the booth, almost like a shadow. 

Harry places a large pair of headphones on his head and positions himself in front of the mic. 

Mitch begins to play the same melody, something that sounds like the Beatles, and Harry carefully looks at the lyrics in front of him, then closes his eyes as he begins to sing. 

“ Sweet Creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong.”

Another sad song, but this time it feels like it’s coming from him. Before, it felt like a story he was telling, like he was on the outside. Now, his eyebrows furrow and his head keeps dropping. 

“ But we’re still young, don’t know where we’re goin’ but we know where we belong.”

I am careful to be quiet while taking pictures, capturing his face while he bears his heart to the tiny room. 

The song is about the melancholy of loving someone, but having to leave them. It has a sense of hope that one day they will end up together, but they are too young and too different. It’s incredibly relatable; the sense of longing. Loss and longing. 

“ When I run out of road, you’ll bring me home.”

He pauses, glancing down. 

“ You’ll bring me home.”

As soon as he steps away from the mic, the chatter starts up. How can we produce this? How can the guitar fit? Hey, Mitch, hook yourself up. Play that melody again!

Harry places the headphones on the stool behind him and I follow him out of the booth. He pulls a bottle of water seemingly out of thin air, and leans back against the soft couch, running his fingers through his hair. In the booth, Mitch is playing the melody again. 

We sit beside each other quietly, until he looks over at me, as if asking What did you think? 

“It was so…”

He stares.

“Beautiful.”

He smiles softly. 

“Thank you, Townes,” He says simply. I open my mouth to speak, a question forming on the tip of my tongue, but then close it again. He looks at me eagerly, waiting for my to speak. I lean forward and play with my rings.

“Who’s it about?” I ask. 

Harry goes quiet, looking down at my twiddling fingers. He thinks for a second, carefully. 

“It’s about a friend I used to have,” He tells me finally, “A very old friend.” 

“Sounds like they were more than a friend,” I point out. His face falls slightly. 

“Sometimes people just can’t be together.”

And that’s the end of that.

There’s more songs sung, more production being done, and more instruments being added. Everyone is doing their own thing, but it all goes together and it’s quite fascinating to see the freedom that Harry gives everyone. He puts all of his trust into his band mates, and by doing that he gets the best results from them. 

Someone holds up a few loose pieces of paper with Harry’s large, neat handwriting scrawled across them. They motion for Harry to come over, and then there’s a few exclamations, and a laugh. Harry then motions for Mitch, and starts pointing things out and making grand gestures. 

Harry has fully taken charge of the room and that only means one thing—there’s a song coming. 

This time it’s a fuller production. Obviously Mitch has already heard the song, and they have a sound they’re going for. This is an actual recording. 

Mitch plays first, then Charlotte, then Sarah, until all the backing demos are done and all that’s left to do is Harry’s vocals. 

I stay out of the booth for this one, and I sit on the couch, taking long shots and revelling in the bit of space I finally get. 

The metronome starts, then we hear the demos mixing and Harry is counting himself in. 

“ She’s got a family in Carolina,”

It’s got a nice tune to it, low and smooth. It’s got a twang that I like. 

“ So far away but she says I remind her of home, feelin’ oh so far from home.”

I wonder momentarily who the song’s about, but the thought fades quickly.

“ She never saw herself as a west coaster, moved all the way ‘cause her grandma told her Townes, better swim before you drown.”

My face heats up.

Did I hear that right?

I feel someone glance over at me, and my throat grows dry. The song continues.

“ She’s a good girl, she’s such a good girl, she’s a good girl…she feels so good!” 

I slowly place my camera back on the table, staring at Harry through the glass, daring him to meet my eye as he sings about fucking me. 

“ I fucked her once and wrote a song about her, I wanna scream yeah I wanna shout it out and I hope she hears me now”

I take a deep, chest-swelling breath as he finally looks over at me. 

I shake my head at him and he looks away.

God, what would Rita say?

Chapter Text

“Townes, wait!”

I stop dead in my tracks, right in the middle of the patio. I know what I will see when I turn around; Harry standing there, his button-down tee crumpled in his hand, his sunglasses on top of his head, his brows furrowed.

“It was a mistake,” I say, turning. Harry rubs the back of his neck, not looking right into my eyes. 

“I agree.”

He looks down at the ground, mouth moving subtly. I stare at him, and realize he’s counting the pebbles scattered on the floor, left from people's feet as they trek in and out of the house. 

“We gotta be professional, y’know?” 

He nods and finally looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. I lean back against the table behind me, crossing my arms. There’s an awkwardly large distance between us. 

“I can’t be… doing …my boss, and you can’t be…with your photographer. It just won’t work,” I tell him, “We can’t…take advantage of each other like that.”

Harry swallows hard. “Because that’s what we were doing…taking advantage…” He says the words as if they leave a sour taste in his mouth. I wonder fleetingly if he’s ever been broken up with before. 

Not that this is a breakup. In no way, shape, or form, were we together in any sense of the word. He’s just so…careful. And awkward. I’m grateful that there are no cameras around at this moment. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, “I promise it won’t happen again.” I shake my head and give him a soft smile. 

“It’s really fine, Harry,” I assure him, “It’s a great song, and I’m honored to have my name in the album.”

His face floods with relief, and I stand up, reaching for the door. 

“You’re just lucky no one else calls me Townes.”

***

I come out of my room hours later, head foggy from uploading and editing pictures. There was only one that I added to the photo journal I started in LA, documenting Harry’s journey. I had offered to send it to his social media manager, then realized he had been M.I.A for…weeks? Months? 

Either way, I had begun to feel frustrated. I felt as though I wasn’t finding anything that truly captured the essence of this man. I mean, he’s Harry Styles, and he’s going solo. That’s such a big thing to document, and I’ve realized that it’s an incredibly hard job. 

I leave my laptop and my big cameras in my room, only bringing down my smaller camera with me. A “just in case” kind of thing. 

I walk down the stairs and through the living area to the patio, where I hear soft music coming from. I hear a guitar and some singing, soft and low. 

“ Same lips red, same eyes blue, same white shirt, couple more tattoos.”

None of them—Harry, Mitch, or Sarah—hear me come in. Sarah’s head is resting on Mitch’s shoulder, the sun slowly starting to sink below the ocean behind them. Across the table from them, Harry is slowly stemming the guitar, a notebook open in front of him. 

“The fridge light washes this room white, moon dances over your good side, this was all we used to need.”

The air around them is calm and warm, radiating a sense of peace. Sarah pecks Mitch on the cheek, then stands up and moves to the piano, closing her eyes and listening to the song.  

“We’re not who we used to be, we’re not who we used to be, we’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me.”

I carefully raise my camera to my right eye and watch him for a moment, then snap a single picture. 

Harry slowly sits up as the song ends, scribbles a few notes, then turns.

“Got anything good?” He asks, as if he was aware I was there the entire time. 

I turn the camera off and shrug.

“Maybe.”

Sarah smirks to herself, and Mitch motions for me to join them. There’s an open bottle of wine in the middle of the table, and an extra clean glass set out. 

“Expecting someone?” I ask, watching Harry pour some for me. 

“You,” He says simply. I take a sip and peer at him over the glass, not answering. The awkward air between us has turned into something else—something not quite platonic, but definitely very stiff. 

Or at least, I feel very stiff.

It’s clear Harry has been drinking—not in a bad way, he just seems loose and relaxed and very comfortable in his skin. I want to take more pictures of him—I want to take a million of them, to hold onto this version of him 

***

Harry is drunk, like, incredibly drunk. I had to get him a change of shirt after he dumped my wine on himself, and now he’s dragging us all down to the beach, camera crew included. He veers off to the right of the path, suddenly, gripping my hand tightly as runs toward the bridge that spans over the water.

“I’m sweating!” He cries, releasing my hand and catapulting himself off of the side of the bridge. We all run to the edge to peer at the dark water, watching his head pop up to the surface. 

“C’mon Townes!” He yells up to me. To only me. People start chanting my name, telling me to go. I know most of them are drunk. I take one last gulp of my drink and place the glass on the ground, feeling the familiar warmth swell in my throat and in my chest. Then, I peel off my shirt, throw it on the ground, and jump in. 

The water is cool, but not cold. I let it envelope my body, wrapping around me, before I even think of pulling myself up to the surface. 

“Yeah Townes!” Harry exclaims as I push my hair out of my face, gasping for breath. I laugh and let out a whoop, turning toward his bright, one-dimpled smile. 

I wish I had my camera. 

Chapter Text

Harry puts a hand out to help me out of the water and pulls me up with surprising strength, catapulting my forward. I laugh and push myself off of him.

“You should stay longer!” He exclaims. 

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Can you stay longer than just a few weeks?” He asks, “I want you to stay!” 

I just smile and laugh again, wrapping my arms around my middle. 

I’m not self-conscious, but I am a little cold. 

Harry pulls me by the elbow up a small path that leads us back to the bridge, where everyone is awaiting our return. 

The cameras are on, so Harry carefully steps in front of me, even as he’s joking and smiling at them, subtly telling Jeff to grab a towel or something.

While Harry shakes his hair dry, Jeff appears behind me, wrapping a soft towel around my shoulders. I turn to him.

“Do you have my camera?” I ask. He bends down and hands it to me, heavy and cold. 

“Try to find yourself a shirt,” he tells me with a wink, then disappears to go stop Harry before he jumps into another body of water.

***

I do, in fact, find a shirt. Everyone slowly wanders back to the house, some heading to drink, or play some music, or get high and fall asleep. I find a shirt draped over a chair and quickly slip it over my head, not bothering to look at whose it might be. 

I try to stay in the house, hanging out and being social, drinking and talking, but soon my head begins to hurt and I crave the feeling of solidarity.

I silently slip out the patio door, breathing in deeply, reveling in the fresh air.

It’s still warm out, which is nice. I look around and see nobody, so I begin to walk down the path to the beach, the sand cool under my feet. 

I expect to find nobody here, I mean, it’s late and everyone is at the house. Yet, there’s someone sitting alone on the rocks, looking out at the water. 

“I like your shirt,” He says, looking up at me. 

“Of course it’s you.”

Harry smiles and looks down at the ground.

“Who did you want it to be?”

I don’t answer him, and instead I just sit down next to him, pulling my knees to my chest. I look out at the water, the breeze tossing my damp hair around.

It’s easier to talk to people in the dark. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found it to be true. When the sky is full of dull stars and a sliver of a moon, and you can barely see the person’s face that you’re next to; that’s when really talking is the simplest. The darkness strips us of our inhibitions.

“I have no family,” I say suddenly, hugging my knees closer to myself. I feel Harry shift, but he doesn’t speak. “I have nobody to go home to.”

Harry lets out a small breath. “If this is about what I asked earlier, I’m sorry, I just wanted to know if you were going to stay or—“

“No, it’s not that I just mean—“

“What?”

I suck in a breath.

“Everyone that I have loved is dead,” I say simply. “They all died.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

My mind is fuzzy from drinking, and it’s starting to throb dully. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes.

“Her name was Mai.”

Harry gently places a hand around my wrist and pulls my hand away from my face, letting the air hit it soothingly. 

“When Mai...when she…” I take a deep breath. “Before everything, Mai and her mom were like my family. Like, her mom was basically my mom. When she worked in the hospital, she’d get these cases where it was, like, the person was on this line—this really fine line—between life and death. It was kinda like: they were supposed to die. Everything pointed toward them dying. Yet, somehow, they’d live and survive and they’d make it. I guess some people would call it a miracle, but she didn’t believe in God or miracles or anything like that. She called them ’Fine Line Cases’”

I stop to breathe. Harry’s staring at me intensely, hanging onto my words. He reaches for my hand and gently squeezes it assuringly. His skin is warm and soft and sun-kissed. 

“When the accident happened, everyone in the hospital kept saying that it was gonna be a Fine Line, that everything was gonna be alright,” I continue, “It wasn’t.”

“Anna…” Harry says softly. I shake my head. 

“I’ve heard enough ‘sorries’ to last a lifetime,” I tell him soberly.

“...thank you,” He says instead. 

“What?”

“For trusting me.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Spending time with Harry, and everyone else, has taught me that you don’t need to speak to fill up space, and you don’t have to ramble for people to understand you. If they care enough, they won’t force you into unnecessary pleasantries, and they won’t force you to keep talking about things you don’t want to talk about. They understand the importance of holding onto feelings and processing things, of expressing things without words.

“My step father died a few months ago.”

My head snaps over to look at him in surprise.

“Were you close?”

Harry purses his lips in a sad sort of smile.

“He was the father I never had,” He tells me, “I found out from my sister, in New York.”

The wheels are turning as he speaks, putting the pieces together.

“I mean, I was across the Atlantic, it wasn’t even like I could rush over to say goodbye like everyone else. He was just…gone. Like that.”

“And then they’re gone forever,” I murmur. 

“And you just have to move on.”

“And life just…”

“Moves on.”

The ocean ahead of us churns under the moonlight, dark and never ending. 

I rest my chin in my hand, the other still wrapped in Harry’s.

Chapter Text

“I guess it applies to relationships too,” I say casually, leaning against the patio doorway. Harry looks up from his pen and paper, popping a slice of peeled orange into his mouth. 

“What? Fine Lines?”

I’m astounded that he remembers. He doesn’t seem to think anything is out of the ordinary as he pushes his curls back and flips his paper over. He’s quite secretive of his works in progress. He reveals them strategically hiding until the right moment. 

“Yeah, actually—how did you know I was talking about that?”

Harry shrugs. “It was the last thing we talked about, plus I was thinking about it all night.”

“ All night?” I ask, trying to joke. He shrugs, face serious. 

“Sure. I don’t sleep much.”

“Oh.”

“Tour bus,” He explains waving a hand absentmindedly in the air, “The band…y’know.”

I notice that he never says “One Direction”, it’s always just “the band”. Even then, he rarely talks about his time in the band, and no one around him dares to mention it. It’s like an unspoken rule: you don’t talk about it unless he does. Even then, no one asks any questions. It’s like everyone just pretends it never happened. 

I sit down beside him. There’s some cut up fruit in a bowl in the middle of the table, which I gratefully pull into my lap and begin eating from. Harry, finished with his orange, peers into my bowl. I pull it away. 

“Get your own fruit,” I tell him. 

“I cut this.” 

He reaches over me, towering above my chair, and pulls the bowl back to himself. He starts eating, offering me some, just sitting in each other’s silence, surrounded by warm ocean air. The day is just starting, the sun just rising, the house just waking up. 

Today is a writing day. Harry will sit around, probably out here, and bang around on instruments and scribble in his notebooks, humming under his breath. No one will bother him, except Mitch, and most people will just disappear. I’m not sure where they go—the beach maybe. Some of the people here are so drunk all the time that I wouldn’t be surprised if they went out and never came back. 

I leave Harry after our little breakfast, wandering back to my room. I lazily get dressed, booting up my computer for work. The window is open, filling the tiny room with fresh air, warm and inviting. It’s a hot day, but not uncomfortably hot. Just enough that I can wear a bathing suit top instead of a shirt. 

There’s a faint knock at the door, gentle and patient. I shove my dirty clothes to the side and grab for the handle, pulling it open quickly. Harry’s there, his hands clasped in front of him like a little kid. 

“Hello,” I say.

“Hullo.”

I smile at him. “Everything okay?” 

“Do you have a lot of work to do?” He asks, shifting his weight slightly.

“Um…I’m not sure, why?” 

He glances down. 

“I was wondering if you’d wanna come sit on the patio.”

 I cock my head slightly, confused, just looking at him. It’s such a simple request, it’s almost…childlike. 

But he looks so serious about it, and I’m almost touched.

“Um, yeah, of course, I just need to grab my stuff and then—“

“—oh yeah of course, take your time.”

He stands there awkwardly, then walks away. 

***

I’m sitting at my laptop, my cameras next to me, Harry softly playing guitar across the table. He’s been strumming absentmindedly for a while, both of us enrapt in our own work, but still enjoying each other’s company. It’s comforting to sit here with him in our own worlds, yet so aware of each other. 

I push my glasses farther up my face and zoom in in the picture I’m editing. The guitar across from me stops, and I hear Harry sigh. Then, he starts murmuring lyrics under his breath, starting, stopping, and starting again. He starts playing again, this time starting to sing softly. 

“ Tell me something, tell me something, you don’t know nothing…” 

He fills in the missing lyrics with humming, a habit I’ve noticed he has, especially when people are around. 

“ Choose your words cause there’s no antidote for this curse, oh, what’s it waiting for? Must this hurt you, just before you go?”

My hands pause, hovering over the keyboard, just listening. 

“ Oh…”

Humming again. I look up at him and see him staring at his notebook, almost peering over the guitar, his fingers moving nimbly across the strings.

“ Brooklyn saw me empty at the news….”

He peers back at his notebook, and my hand slowly comes up to meet my cheek, my eyes still trained on him. 

“ And I’ve been praying, never did before, understand I’m talking to the walls, I’ve been praying ever since New York”

I realize what the song is about, and it’s heart-wrenching. His face knots up, reading, thinking, singing. He wanted me here while he wrote this for some reason, some reason that I can’t figure out. He could have had Mitch or Sarah or he could have been alone, but he wanted me. 

As his fingers slow down on the guitar, I peel my eyes away from him, acting as if nothing has happened. 

I want to tell him it will be okay, but instead we both just sit in silence. 

***

An hour passes, then another. Finally, I pull my glasses off of my face and rub my eyes, flipping my phone over. I’ve got a few texts and a missed call…from someone I’d almost forgotten about. I quickly stand up and exit out the back door, trying to find a private place to talk. 

It’s not a long conversation, nor is it very eventful. He tells me that he heard about my job, congratulates me, and asks me when I’m coming back. I tell him that I’m unsure, and not to wait for me. He says he misses me and wants to see me. I tell him I don’t think it will happen. 

I walk back into the patio to Harry staring straight at me. 

“Who was that?” He asks, setting his guitar aside. 

“Just a friend from college.” I avoid his sharp gaze, which follows me to my seat. 

“Why are you so red?” 

I finally glance up at him. “Why are you asking me so many questions?”

He smirks cheekily. “Why are you getting so defensive?”

I suck in a quick breath and stare at him across the table. He’s got this stupid mischievous look in his eye that I want to wipe out.

“It was just a guy that I used to hook up with.” Some emotion crosses over his face, one that I haven’t seen before. I decide to really drive it home. “He wanted to see me again.”

Harry clears his throat and shifts in his chair, closing the notebook in front of him. I hold in a smirk and look back to my laptop, feeling his burning gaze. 

He’s jealous, and I like it. 

***

I take a shower, trying to clean off the sleepiness of working all day. It’s getting to be evening now, and the sun will start setting soon. Usually that means going out to bars or clubs or drinking around the house, but tonight we’re making dinner. 

Some people will still go out as they always do, but Harry, the band, and I will stay here, which I am very grateful for. Working the whole day then going out every night can get extremely tiring. 

I look at myself in the mirror, my wet hair dripping onto the ground. I look tanner and fuller and brighter, somehow. My hair is softer from all of the saltwater, my curls bouncier. The stark darkness of it has lightened a bit, as if I’ve been living in an endless summer. I look happier. 

I hear pots and pans banging around downstairs already, so I quickly wrap my hair up in a towel and slip on my clothes—a comfortable pair of sorts and a big tee shirt. A classic from college. 

There’s music playing—La vie en rose? Yeah, that’s it. 

Harry’s chopping some vegetables, while Mitch and Sarah are debating what wine to open. I’m told to clean off the fish that will be getting grilled. 

Soon, the air is full of the smells of cooking, the sound of conversion, and a feeling of content. The wine makes my chest warm, and releases the tension from my head. Harry’s cheeks are rosy by his second glass. 

“Cook often?” I ask, siding up to him. 

“I used to work in a bakery,” He reminds me. I shake my head.

“Not the same,” I tell him. He chuckles.

Suddenly, he’s staring at me, and I realize how close we are. I clear my throat and step away, feigning some minuscule task. 

“How’s the fish coming?” I call to Mitch, who’s on the grill. He throws me a thumbs up. Harry takes out some plates, and I help him set the giant dining room table. 

It’s a nice dinner. There’s casual conversation, and a lot of good food. It’s nice being with just the band, feeling a sort of acceptance from them. I had gotten a few pictures while we cooked, but I kind of wanted our moments to be just that—ours. 

There’s talk about what to do after dinner, whether we want to go out or smoke or go to the beach. Harry turns to me. 

“Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?” He asks. 

“You a rom com guy?” I ask, taking a last bite of food. He smiles widely. 

“Are you?”

“Oh of course I am, Styles,” I joke. His dimple comes out as he laughs softly, shaking his head. 

He picks up his plate and his glass, and pushes his chair out. 

“Townes and I are going to watch a movie if anyone wants to join,” He tells the table, standing up. 

Townes and I . Like we’re one. 

I stand up as well, taking my plate, but leaving my glass to finish later. I put a hand out to Sarah, and she gratefully hands me her dishes. I meet Harry back in the kitchen. 

We don’t bother with dishes, we just put them in the sink to worry about tomorrow. The sun is gone, so it’s completely dark surrounding the house. It makes me want to just stay inside and lay down, comfortable and safe. Which is exactly what I’m going to do. 

The living room is this giant room with a big, cushy couch and a giant TV. There’s one wall of the room that's made entirely of windows, which we cover with thick curtains. Harry motions for me to sit next to him on the couch, while Mitch and Sarah take the other side. I leave a bit of room between us, tucking my knees underneath myself. 

Harry searches for movies and lands on one, some random old rom com with a pretty actress and a handsome lead. 

The wine makes me sleepy, and part way through the movie my eyes begin to droop closed. I let my body fall into the soft couch, curling up and closing my eyes. Faintly, I hear someone saying something, but it sounds too far away. 

I sleep oddly, as if I’m not fully unconscious. I know I’m asleep, and I don’t dream, but I’m unaware of what’s going on around me. That’s why when I slowly open my eyes and see that the movie has stopped and everyone has gone.

But there’s a soft weight underneath me, rising and falling slowly. It’s warm and comfortable and very familiar. I lift my head up slightly and see that I’ve fallen asleep against Harry’s side, his arm wrapped around my shoulder protectively. 

His eyes are closed and he looks so peaceful, his lips parted slightly, his hair falling messily over his forehead.

Kiss him.

I swallow back the urge and instead just lay my head back down, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart until I slowly fall back asleep. 

Chapter Text

I groggily open my eyes, my neck stiff and tingling. I sit up and push my hair out of my face, blinking hard. As my eyes come into focus, I turn, straight towards Harry. 

Harry?

Oh my god we slept here all night. There’s an indent in his shirt where my head had been, right on his chest. He stirs, as if aware that I have left him. 

He opens his eyes and rubs them, then smiles sleepily. 

“Mornin’ Townes,” He says, his voice gruff. I smile back at him, pulling my legs away from his. 

“Morning.”

He reaches his arms out toward me. “Come back,” He says. I hesitate, not knowing what to say. I’m sure it's written all over my face, because he cocks his head in a playfully exasperated way. 

“Don’t get all shy now, Townes we just slept together the whole night.”

I reach over and slap his arm. “Don’t say it like that!” 

He laughs, and of course I give in, curling back up against him. He wraps his arms tightly around me, enveloping me in him. I sometimes forget that he is a tall, muscular man, who’s actually significantly bigger than me. Maybe it’s because he’s constantly treating me as an equal that he doesn’t seem to ever actually tower over me. 

Except now I feel small in only the best ways, held and safe and warm. My head is resting between his chest and his shoulder, in a little crook that fits perfectly. Our legs are tangled around each other. 

“Townes?”

“Mmm?” I mumble. 

“Would you still consider this as taking advantage?” 

I feel a stab of guilt suddenly, and I try to sit up, but he pulls me back towards him. 

“No, stop, it’s okay I just meant like…would you feel comfortable in this now?”

My heart flutters, and I look up at him. 

“What do you mean by this ?” I ask. He smiles softly down at me. 

“I mean,” He says, “I don’t want us to keep avoiding each other because we’re afraid of it. I would like you to feel comfortable being with me, if that’s okay with you.” 

I purse my lips together, containing a wide smile. 

“I’d love to be with you , Styles,” I tell him. He smiles and gently brushes some hair out of my face. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Be my guest.”

***

Nobody in the house addresses the change, but I know they all see it. It’s not major, but there’s a slight shift in the energy between us. What used to be tense is now something else—something exciting and new. It’s like a bunch of pressure has been released. 

I change out of my clothes from last night and I come downstairs to find Harry making himself something to eat, some sort of Jamaican music playing. It’s upbeat and he’s swinging his hips a bit to it, unaware that I’ve walked in. I come up behind him and jokingly grab his hips as if we’re at a club, and he just laughs. He grabs one of my hands and spins me around, pulling me into a dance around the kitchen. 

We’re laughing like kids, throwing ourselves around, jumping and twirling. He pulls me in to kiss him, then spins me around like we’re on an actual dance floor. 

“You look like a sunflower,” He tells me, tugging on my bright yellow shirt. 

“I’ll be your sunflower,” I smile at him. He pulls me into another kiss as the music is turned down.

“Hullo,” Sarah says, her hand still on the speaker. 

“G’Morning.”

“Morning!” Harry slowly pulls his hands from my waist. She cocks her head toward the door. 

“You’ve got a studio session today,” She tells him

“Harry,” She says, “You’ve got a studio session today.”

Harry presses his palms onto the table and sighs. 

“I know, I know.” He places one last kiss on my head and dances away, pulling a chuckle out of Sarah. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits at one of the breakfast stools. 

“You two seem happy,” She tells me. “Finally.” 

“What do you mean finally?” I ask, sitting beside her. 

“Come on, Townes, you guys avoided each other for weeks because of all the tension.”

I swallow and look down, chagrined. 

“I just—“

“Townes.”

I look up at her. 

“I’ve never seen him so happy before.”

***

The studio is warm today, and much brighter than usual. Harry’s wearing a light, short-sleeve button-down with a tee shirt underneath. His sunglasses are on his head, and he’s in a very joking mood, making everyone laugh. He keeps singing some random rendition of “Rhiannon”, strumming his guitar and singing the word in a lilting, twanging voice. 

He and Mitch are in the booth, playing riffs on guitars, telling stories to the cameramen, writing songs. I follow them in and sit on the floor cross legged, watching and taking pictures. 

PIC

“Maybe you should change the lyric to, like, why are we still stuck and running from…the bullets…”

Harry cocks his head and hums something, then looks down at me. I shrug in agreement. 

“That way you could keep the album clean, but…”

“Wait, that's amazing” Harry says, standing up. “We beat the fockin’ system!” He throws his hands in the air and I laugh, watching as he strips his outer shirt off in excitement. He takes a long sip of water, then sits back down. 

It’s crowded today, but not in a bad way. There’s lots of people talking and trying to get to Harry, which takes the pressure off of me a bit. I can just sit and take pictures and not have to worry about being a couple in front of all of these people. 

Soon, it’s time for lunch. Usually we’d just stay in the studio, maybe order something or have someone pick something up, but today Harry claims he needs some fresh air, so we all change to go out and pile into a small car to head to town. 

Harry tries to sit next to me, but I make him sit across from me so I can “document the journey” more easily. 

“Always working,” He jokes. 

“Well I am dating my boss.”

This draws a laugh out of Sarah and Mitch, and Harry just shakes his head, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes. All three look out at the passing scenery, and I snap a picture. 

Harry looks over at me, at my outfit. 

“I like your necklace,” He tells me. I bring my hand up to my neck subconsciously, feeling the small string of pearls I always wear. 

“It was my grandma’s,” I tell him, though now the other two are listening as well. “Or..er…”

Harry waves a hand subtly to tell me it’s okay, I don’t need to explain the whole story to them. People don’t need to know everything to understand simple things, like wearing your “grandmother’s” necklace. I splay my hands out on my lap, and suddenly groan under my breath. 

“I forgot my rings,” I sigh, disappointed. Mitch chuckles. 

“Fell naked?” He asks. 

“A little bit.”

Meanwhile, Harry is fidgeting with his fingers, pulling at something on his ring finger.

He places a silver ring in my hand. 

“Here,” He says. I stare at it. 

“Put it on,” He says, “So you don’t feel naked.”

I study it as I carefully slip it onto my middle finger. It’s a big silver rose and it's a little clunky but it’s so him and I love it. 

“You know, you may never get this back now,” Sarah says to him, giving me a knowing smile. Harry shrugs. 

“I know the consequences of my actions.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Harry says, sitting beside me. “Christmas is soon.”

I set down the book I’ve been reading. 

We’ve been anticipating the leaving for a few days, very aware of the weeks that flew by. There were a few more songs written but none finalized. That is to be done in New York, at the Columbia studio. But first, everyone is going home for the holidays, including Harry. I guess, that’s supposed to include me. 

He’s tried to have this conversation with me multiple times, each ending the same way. I don’t know what I’m doing for Christmas. Okay, well, let me know where you’ll need to fly to. 

I don’t want to admit that I’ll be spending Christmas alone in my apartment with my cat, probably eating Chinese food and looking at old pictures. Rita goes off to see her family every year, and I’m left to spend the day alone. In past years, I’ve found a few friends to go out with at night, a ragtag group of disowned, 20-something-year-old orphans getting drunk in the streets of LA. It’s kind of depressing, really. 

“Yes, it is,” I answer, heart sinking slightly. I know I’ll have to tell him this time, and I know it’s going to sting. 

“Got any good plans? Any good gifts?” He reaches over and pulls my legs across his lap, running his fingers lightly over my skin absentmindedly. There’s no one around—this isn’t for show or some act of possession. He does this often, finds little ways to touch me, for his own sake—not mine. It’s a comfortable kind of relationship—physically at least. Emotionally, it’s quite different. 

“Well I will probably be home alone, since Rita’s taking Georgie this year,” I tell him, forcing the tremble out of my voice, “Already sent her her gift so, not much else to do there.” 

Realization passes over his face briefly, then the familiar “gears turning” look. Then, he smiles.

“Come with me then.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Come with me.” He squeezes my thigh and I slap his hand away. “Come spend Christmas with my family!”

“Don’t you think it’s a little early?…”

He cocks his head, eyes shining brightly. “Don’t think of it like that, Townes, just think of it like…a place to go and be surrounded by people on the holidays.”

“So I shouldn’t think of it like I’m meeting your family for the first time.”

“I mean…” He shrugs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. This doesn’t have to be serious if you don’t want it to be.”

There it is.

His hand brushes lightly off my thigh and his fingers begin pulling on his rings. I find my own fingers twirling around the silver rose. The air has become dense over the past few minutes, a few clouds passing darkly over the sun. 

I realize, in this moment, that we’ve been together for months Not a few weeks, as it has felt, but we’ve really been together, connecting, for months. I mean, I fucked him two months ago. That has to mean something. 

And it does mean something to me. It just scares me that it does. 

“I—“ I swallow, not sure what I want my words to be. “I do want this to be serious.”

His face is very strong and stoic right now, jaw held tightly. 

“I would like that too,” He says. He opens his mouth to speak again, then stops. 

“What?” I ask.

“It’s going to be a lot different than your other relationships…if we do this.” 

I smile slightly. “Well I sure hope so.”

Harry bites back his own smile. “How so?”

“Well my other relationships were nothing compared to what I feel for you.” I lean in to kiss him. “So I really hope this one is wildly different.”

Harry looks like he’s about to say something, but instead he just kisses me again. 

On the tip of my tongue, I feel words forming, but I ignore the feeling in my chest.  

“You don’t have to go back to school for anything?” He asks me. I shrug. 

“I mean, this could still count as me working,” I tell him, then I lift my legs off of his. “They don’t need to know what I do.”

I pick my book back up as he goes onto his phone, probably finally telling Jeff what plane ticket I need. 

Two days. That’s how much time we have left here. That’s how much time I have to prepare. 

***

The two days left are spent at the beach, surfing, sunbathing, and getting together as friends, not coworkers. 

I spend almost all of my time outside in order to get the last of a tan that might just get me through the cloudy skies of England that we’re about to go to. Sarah offers me advice on clothing and shops to go to once I get there, just mainstream chains that I can find coats, hats, pants, and sweaters in. I have some things—jeans, my few jackets, and some sweatshirts—but I know the weather there will be vastly different from Jamaica. Or California. 

Or Carolina. 

Packing is surprisingly easy for me. I never fully settled into the house, I guess. I kept everything extremely neat—all my clothes folded nicely and tightly in the drawers. They fit snugly into my suitcase, nothing needed to be checked or washed or fumbled with. 

It’s too easy to pack, and it’s too easy to leave. 

Harry and I are the only ones from the group on the early flight to Manchester. Others are staying late or going to the states or doing some sort of business. 

It’s December 23, and the airport is bustling. People are coming and going, all trying to get home for Christmas, all bundled up in coats and sweaters and hats. Harry and I look slightly out of place—not as Christmassy or cozy—in our jeans and leather jackets and sunglasses. It’s odd not having anyone else around, not even Jeff. It’s dangerous, Jeff told us. It’s dangerous for Harry to be seen with a random woman in public. 

I am to be a secret, and we take our precautions. 

No hand holding, no special conversations, no getting too close. We are working—he is my boss. I am simply tagging along. 

From the airport, we get on the train straight to Holmes Chapel, a twenty-one minute ride full of peaceful, quiet conversations. I show him my portfolio so far, and I show him the pictures I like. He laughs at himself, and keeps praising my work. I have to remind myself that we can’t kiss each other here. 

Outside the window next to us, snow begins to fall lightly, dancing around, floating in the wind. As we pull slowly into the station, Harry subtly wraps an arm around my waist.

“S’gonna be cold outside,” He tells me softly. I smile at him, unable to contain it. 

“I’ll be okay.”

We collect our bags and patiently wait for the people ahead of us to unload. While we are waiting, Harry turns to me. 

“What’s your favorite Christmas song?” He asks me. I tilt my head slightly in thought. 

“Uh…I dunno,” I answer, “Maybe ‘Step Into Christmas’.”

He nods. 

“Oh, or ‘War is Over’, I like that one too. And ‘Wonderful Christmastime’.” 

“Beatles fan?” He asks, walking forward. I follow him, lugging my bags behind me. 

“I mean I like them,” I say, then think about it. “Yeah, I guess I kinda am a fan.” 

Harry looks back at me, smirking slightly. 

“You know I’ve met Paul McCartney, multiple times?” He asks. 

I roll my eyes and scoff, reaching forward to hit him. 

“Way to be humble, Styles,” I say. 

As we near the door, the air from outside is a shock of cold. There’s a slight wind, which makes it even colder, especially to two people who just spent months in Jamaica. 

“Cold one today,” Harry remarks, stepping off of the train. 

The snow has begun to stick to the ground, which, from what Harry has told me, is fairly uncommon for this town. 

The parking lot is not packed, but busy. Harry leads me through groups of reuniting groups of people—lots of hugging and crying and kissing—to a car I’m sure he knows well. His mother is waiting for us, bundled up in a coat and scarf and hat and mittens. She has a steaming travel mug in her hands, which she places on the top of the car as she spots us, and begins waving excitedly. 

Harry drops his bags next to the car and envelopes her in a giant hug, smiling warmly. When he pulls away, she slaps him on the arm. 

“Where is your coat?” She asks him, “This weather isn’t a surprise, and I know you have a winter coat.”

He just laughs and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Mum, I promise.”

She looks over at me and sighs. 

“You didn’t even give her one?” 

“Mum we were in Jamaica—“

“Never mind that.” She cuts him off and takes my shoulders in her hands. “Look how pretty she is!” 

I blush, and Harry nods in agreement, a smile still playing on his lips. Anne goes in to hug me, but Harry softly places a hand on her shoulder. She looks at him, confused, and he tilts his head towards the people around us, all trying discretely to watch the interaction. I see a few phones out. Harry clears his throat. 

Anne, of course, knows. From the look on her face, she knows, but she will never be used to it.

***

The car ride home is short. Christmas music plays softly on the radio, and Anne asks us about Jamaica. I’m surprised at how secretive Harry is about his work, even with his own mother. 

“I don’t want to tell her anything until it’s ready,” He tells me later as we’re unpacking our bags. “I need to make her proud of me.” 

“Harry, I think she’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls me close to him and kisses me on the top of the head. 

“I missed you,” He says softly.

“I’ve been right here the entire time,” I tell him, laughing softly. He pulls me close to him.

“Yeah but I missed you,” He explains, and I smile knowingly. He places his lips on mine, hands drifting down from my hips. 

“Your mom’s making cookies,” I tell him between kisses. 

“Let’s go see her.”

He kisses me a few more times, then finally pulls away. Then, he pulls me back in for one more kiss. 

He twirls me around and pushes me lightly forward toward the door. I turn to look at him, his eyes cast slightly downward. 

“Harry!”

“I’m just admiring it,” He laughs, then follows me downstairs. 

The kitchen is warm and smells like sugar and vanilla. Anne has a sheet of cookies in her hand, about to go into the oven. On the kitchen counter is another sheet of already baked ones . After she’s put the sheet in the oven, she turns to us and leans against the counter. 

She looks quite disheveled—her hair is messed, her apron covered in flour, the grocery bags strewn across the floor. 

“Harry, can you two go down to the bakery and get some bread for later, I want to make some bruschetta and I forgot the bread earlier.”

“Sure Mum,” He says, grabbing coats out of the closet. “Where d’ya want us to go?” 

He hands me a coat.

“Mandeville’s fine.”

His hand freezes in midair. 

“Mum…”

“Harold, I said Mandeville. Don’t be cheeky with me.” She waves a spoon menacingly in the air, but there’s a smile playing on her face. I slip the jacket on and wrap a scarf around my neck. Harry plops a hat on my head, then we’re out the door. 

The snow is falling harder and the wind is biting, but he slips his hand in mine and a subtle warmth fills me. 

He drives slowly and carefully, making sure we take the most scenic road towards downtown—or maybe the route is always scenic.

There’s white, rolling fields and quaint houses all strung up with Christmas lights that glisten in the snow. The clouds make it seem much later in the evening than it actually is, so everyone has already lit everything up. 

The downtown is very small, but gorgeous. There’s lit-up tents everywhere, a giant Christmas tree, and activities for kids. 

“Christmas market,” Harry explains, pulling the car into a spot on the street. “We’ll have to park here and walk.”

“That’s okay,” I say.

We get out into the bright square and Harry leads me through crowds and cute little stalls. I stop to look at a stall selling miniature clocks, and another selling rings, and another selling necklaces. Harry patiently follows me looking, nodding at the things I hold up to him, commenting on them. 

“I like that one,” Harry remarks at the ring I hold up. It’s a thick silver band with little dancing bears engraved on it. He turns to another table, covered in Christmas towels and blankets. I fumble with the small wallet in my pocket and pull out a wad of cash, handing it to the vendor. Harry begins to turn back towards me.

“Oh I don’t need this extra five—“

“Just keep it,” I say quickly. “Merry Christmas!”

Harry sides up to me. “It’s Happy Christmas,” He tells me. I slip the ring discreetly into my pocket and smile up at him. 

“You people are weird.”

Harry just shakes his head and leads me down the sidewalk, or hands entwined loosely. Suddenly, he drops mine and looks back at me. I turn, and see someone behind us, staring. Harry clears his throat and she looks away, chagrined. 

We come across the small bakery. A blast of warm air hits me as I walk in, and I pull off my scarf and hat. Immediately, I see a giant sign in the back corner of the small space, and I laugh out loud.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters. “Please don’t.”

I turn to him, my face almost cracking open in a smile. I can’t hold in my laughter as I walk over to it. 

“Harry! You were so small!”

I place my hand on the giant, blown up picture of him as a kid with a red apron on, holding up a loaf of bread. 

He grimaces. “Townes please…”

“Harry?!” 

We both turn to see an old woman poking her head out from the kitchen door, her face bright and rosy. Harry’s face lights up.

“Peggy!” He exclaims, throwing his arms out. She gives him a big, squishy hug and he’s smiling wide like a little kid. She ruffles his hair and sizes him up, remarking his fancy clothes and his nice rings, then calls one of the other women in. 

“And who’s this?” 

They both turn towards me, and I feel myself grow hot. 

“Oh, uh, I’m Anna,” I tell them, reaching my hand out for them to shake. Neither of them take it, and I drop it. 

“She’s American!” Peggy exclaims, “and absolutely stunning!” 

Harry beams and pulls me under his arm. 

“She is, isn’t she?” 

I blush even harder. 

The two wonderfully nice ladies begin telling me all about Harry’s time working in the bakery—the way he used to look, how funny he used to be, the messes he used to make. They show me his old apron, which they have hanging on a special gold hook in the kitchen. 

“We’re so proud of him,” The taller woman—Barbara—tells me, tussling his hair. Harry’s cheeks grow rosy as he touches the old red fabric. 

“Bread,” He murmurs suddenly, “We needed bread.”

Barbara helps us get the bread Anne likes, and sends us off with a “special Christmas loaf”. She asks us how long we’re visiting for, and tells Harry to stop by again before he leaves. As we walk back out into the now-dark cold air, he looks sadder than he had been. I reach up and push his hair from his face in a gentle, loving way. 

“Is everything okay?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his. He smiles slightly, but it’s sad and soft. 

“S’hard coming home sometimes, y’know?”

I feel a laugh bubble in my chest, but I don’t let it out. 

“No, not really,” I reply. 

We stroll slowly as we walk, the bread held carefully in his arms, almost like a baby. It’s wrapped in brown paper and tied with a nice red and green bow. There’s a little note on it too, written in Barbara’s swirling script. Harry refused to read it in front of them. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, “I just mean—“

“Harry, I was joking,” I tell him, “I think I get what you mean.”

“It’s just hard always leaving them here, and they’re always so happy to see me and I feel like I never see them enough, and they’ve got that picture up of me and everything and I’m so afraid that one day I might not be enough for them.”

His voice is shaky and strained. I grab his free hand and squeeze it, not caring who sees us. We’re disguised enough with the winter gear. 

“What do you mean, ‘not enough for them?’”

He sighs. “I want to keep making them proud.”

“As long as you’re you, you’ll always make them proud, Harry.”

Chapter Text

The house is so, so graciously warm when we get back. There’s a fire in the fireplace, a spread of food on the table, and preparations for a party.

A dinner party.

I go back up to the room we’re staying in—a guest room, one of two. Gemma, his sister, is coming in any time now, and will be staying with her boyfriend in the other guest room. 

I fish through my unorganized clothes, trying to find something nice to wear. Harry tells me not to worry, but I look at his outfit and see him dressed in nice, pressed pants and a nice sweater with a collar shirt underneath, and I start to freak out all over again.

Finally, I find a pair of green corduroy pants and a white, mock-neck shirt to go with them. I search around some more for some heeled boots. I stand in front of the mirror, trying to fix my hair and find the right jewelry and make myself look good because I’m meeting so many people.

Harry comes up behind me, wrapping his hands slowly around my waist, placing his lips gently on the back of my neck. A shiver travels down my back. 

“Harry…” I say softly.

“You look beautiful,” He tells me, his hands finding their way under my shirt onto my bare skin. “Stop worrying.”

“I want them to like me,” I say as his lips travel up my neck and I feel him smile against my skin.

“They’re going to adore you .”

I turn around to face him and he smiles at me, leaning against the dresser behind me, his palms resting against the wood. He leans down and kisses me softly. 

“Are you sure?” I ask. He cups my face in his hands.

“Trust me, Townes, after the year we’ve all had, we need you more now than ever.”

The year we’ve had.

Robin’s death. The emptiness of the house…

I kiss him gently. 

“I—“

“What?” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

“I just…” I stumble on the words that want to come out. “I’m glad you invited me here.”

He just smiles and kisses me softly on the forehead, then on the lips, then again on the forehead. I giggle softly, and he kisses me one last time. Then, he pulls away and adjusts his shirt and fixes his hair. 

“Gemma’ll be here soon,” He tells me. 

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

***

People start piling in, friends and family, all smiling and laughing and hugging each other. Everyone is dressed for the holidays, all fancy and warm and bright. Multiple people hug me without even realizing they don’t know me, telling me I look so nice and wishing me a happy Christmas. 

A woman who looks eerily familiar walks up to me and stares at me for a moment, then turns around, searching the room wildly. Finally, she grabs Harry by the sleeve and drags him over. 

“Harry!” She exclaims. 

“Hullo, Gem,” He says, smiling wildly. Gemma. God, they look so alike.

“Harry!” She exclaims again.

“Gemma!” He exclaims back, mimicking her in a way only a little brother can.

She places her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side like he does. 

“Are you going to introduce her to anyone or are you going to make her stand here getting bombarded by guests all night?”

I step forward, smiling sheepishly. “It’s alright, I’m fine really—“

“He’s brought you all the way to England and he can't even give a proper introduction!” Gemma cries, but there’s a wide smile on her face, just like her mum. 

She turns towards me and smiles sweetly. “I’m Gemma,” She tells me. 

“I’m Anna.”

“And I’m Harry!” He exclaims, hugging his sister, then wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. 

We talk for a while. I tell Gemma about school and my work and my first gig, and she tells me stories about 5 Seconds of Summer (some of which Harry clears his throat during, looking quite angry). She tells me short stories about Harry, which I’m sure I’ll hear more of later. Harry tells her how we met, and I chime in with a very family-friendly version. Someone opens a bottle of wine, and soon we’re all drinking. 

Anne puts out h’orderves and everyone just chats and catches up. They seem to pay more attention to me than to Harry, asking me all sorts of questions both about me and him. 

“So Anna, how much of a pain in the arse has Harry been?” One woman asks me, taking a sip of her wine. I forget her name. 

Harry fakes offense. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I say, throwing him a cheeky smile. 

“Oh we all know how he used to be when he was little with the pictures!”

Anne stands up excitedly. “I’ve got some right here!” She exclaims, and she reaches up to one of the shelves, pushing past a lazy cat, and pulls down a load of photo albums. 

“Mum…” Harry shakes his head. Gemma begins to laugh, but Harry nudges her. “This means you too.”

Her face falls slightly.

“Mum…”

But Anne will not be stopped. She wedges her way between me and Harry and opens the first book. 

God he was so cute.

There’s masses of pictures of him, some with a cheeky smile that he still gives me, some crying or angry or pouting. I ask to take some pictures, and Anne is delighted. Harry looks as if he’s about to beg me not to.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, “they’ll go in the private diary, not the public one.”

“You really liked that one pose,” I remark, pointing to a picture of him giving the camera a thumbs up, a crooked smile, and a wink. 

“He was a cheeky little one,” Anne tells me. 

“Oh, he still is,” I reply. She laughs. 

Soon, the night is getting dark and the snow is still picking up. People begin to stagger back to their cars, slightly drunk, but happy and full of love. Gemma and her boyfriend begin to clean up, and Harry and I join them. As we clean, we talk. 

“I’d love to see some of the pictures you take,” Gemma says. 

“Well, I’d be happy to show you,” I say, pulling up my Instagram account. I show her a few of 5SOS and a few from other concerts, then some portraits and other works. She looks at a few before pausing. 

“You use a fake name?” She asks. Harry sucks in a breath but I give him a look to say, it’s okay. 

“Well, yes, but no.”

“Oh?” Her boyfriend asks.

“Jones is my given last name—from the foster system,” I say, awaiting the shocked faces. None come; just nodding. “But I know my last name was Townes, so legally it’s not my name, but technically it is.”

“The last name on the account isn’t even Jones.”

I smile. 

“I like to be private.”

Anne throws Harry a look. “That’ll make two of you, then.”

“Just for the record,” Gemma says to me, “I think Townes suits you best.”

Chapter Text

I wake up with a clear head. Everything around me is warm—the bed, his hands on my bare skin—

My bare skin?

I find that my tee shirt (his tee shirt) has been pulled up and his hands have found their way to my chest, his arms holding my back tightly against his chest. His head is nestled close to mine, my hair pushed up above my head. I nestled backwards, closer to him 

“You little bunny,” He murmurs. I didn’t know he was awake. I smile and laugh softly. 

“Feeling a little needy this morning?” I ask him, turning to face him. His hands slip from my chest and run down my shifting body, finding my ass and squeezing it. I giggle and he kisses me. I try to pull away, thinking it will be a short peck like the ones he’s so fond of giving me, but it’s longer and needier than that. His hand finds the back of my head and his fingers tangle themselves in my hair, keeping my face close to his. He keeps kissing me, becoming sloppier as his breathing picks up and his hands start moving more desperately. I hear myself let out a gasp as his lips travel down to my neck and hit such a sweet spot. He keeps traveling down, leaving his hands near my chest, squeezing one last time before they travel down my legs. He kisses the bottom of my stomach and then looks up at me. 

“You gotta be quiet, okay?”

I nod breathlessly and he smirks, then pushes my legs open. 

***

We’re sitting at the breakfast table, just me, Gemma, and Harry. Michal and Anne have gone shopping for food, leaving us non-culinary folk to fend for ourselves.

Not that we can’t cook. In fact, Harry’s in the kitchen making food right now. His “post sex scramble” as he calls it, but Gemma doesn’t know that. 

Gemma leans forward on the table, hands wrapped around her coffee mug.

“You shot for 5 Seconds of Summer like, last year, right?” 

“Earlier this year,” I say. She smirks. 

“Who’d you get with?” She asks. My head snaps back and I scoff quietly.

“I don’t—“

“C’mon, Anna,” She says, laughter in her voice, “ I know how easy they are.”

I hold back a laugh and shake my head. 

“Calum,” I say conspiringly, leaning towards her. She laughs loudly, throwing her head back. 

“God, Calum!” She exclaims. “He’s the only one I didn’t consider.” There’s a gleam in her eye. 

“Mike?…”

“God, Mike,” She laughs, “But no. Ash and Luke.”

My eyes widen. “Both?!”

“At different times.” She sits back in her seat and throws me a wink. “Even wrote a song about me.”

I run a quick catalog through my head, face lighting up as I realize…

“ English lov—“

She shushes me quickly as Harry comes in. 

“You’ll get one too, soon,” She whispers. I just laugh. 

Harry sits down next to me, resting his hand on my leg. There’s Christmas music playing throughout the house and the sun is streaming in through the windows, reflecting brightly off of the snow. I’m wrapped in one of Harry’s old, giant sweaters. 

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” He asks us, taking a sip from my mug. I slap him away and pull it toward me. 

“Get your own,” I tell him.

“We were just talking about school,” Gemma says to him, throwing me a look. I nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, I was telling her all about California.”

He looks between us as if he doesn’t quite believe us, then decides it’s not worth it. Instead, he motions outside.

“Is this your first snow?” He asks me. I pull one leg up onto my chair and shake my head.

“No,” I answer, “Maia and her mom used to take us to Vermont and Massachusetts and Maine during the winter to see the snow cause she used to live in New England.”

“Did you just visit?” Gemma asks.

“No, we skied.”

Harry smiles and cocks his head. “You ski?” 

“Yes, Harry, I do,” I reply. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me toward him so I have to rest my head on his broad shoulder. 

“Learn something new every day,” He remarks. 

Gemma pushes her chair out to stand up. 

“Sure do,” She says to me with a wink. 

I hold back a laugh and watch her walk away into the kitchen. Harry places a kiss on my cheek, keeping me close to him. 

“I’m happy you’re here, Townes,” He says softly. I smile to myself. 

“I’m very happy to be here with you, Styles,” I reply. He kisses me again, and we both look out the big windows, watching the sun dance over the snow, the tree in the backyard swaying softly in the wind, snow falling from their branches. Harry reaches underneath my sweater and runs his fingers over the side of my ribs. 

“You never told me about this one,” He whispers, cold fingers sending shivers down my spine. He’s referring to the tattoo directly under my boob that reads “we’ll be alright” in a typewriter-like script. It’s very small and very discreet, only able to be seen when I want it to be. He never saw it, even when I had a bathing suit on. 

And each time we fucked, it had been too quick to fully take each other in, to fully see every inch of our skin, until last night. And then again this morning. 

“I like it,” He tells me. “What’s it mean?”

I run my own fingers over it now, feeling the flat words, knowing what they say by heart. We’ll be alright. 

“It’s for Mai,” I tell him, pulling his hand into my lap, wrapping my fingers around his. “It’s the last thing she said to me.” 

His face is thoughtful and his lips don’t move, because he knows me well enough to know that I’ll say what I want to say to him, and I’ll keep the rest to myself. He does squeeze my  hand, though, then pulls me slightly closer to him. He places his chin on my head and hugs me there, warm and comfortable and safe. 

“It’s Christmas,” He says, a smile in his voice, “Don’t be sad on Christmas!”

***

The house is once again full of warmth and delicious smells from the kitchen. Tonight is the family dinner, an entire feast of classic Christmas dishes, like ham and pudding and mashed potatoes and everything that makes you feel like you’re home when you eat it.

Tonight, Harry hasn’t tried to look nice for anyone. He has on a comfortable pair of pants and a Christmas sweater that he tells me was his stepfather’s. I’m wearing a Christmas sweater that Anne dug out of a closet for me, telling me it was hers when she was in her twenties. She explains that it’s very oversized, and apologizes. 

“I had to buy it extra big because I was pregnant with this one,” She motions to Gemma. “When I bought it.”

I roll the sleeves up and smile at her, trying to do the math in my head. 

“That means you would have been, like, my age when you had her?” There’s no way to hide the surprise in my voice as I say it. I mean, I’m so young . I’m not even out of college, and I barely have a “big girl job”. 

“Well it wasn’t on purpose!” She laughs, leaning into me. I can smell the wine on her breath, but it isn’t unpleasant. It’s…homey. 

Harry walks into the kitchen, his arms wrapped around various bottles—wine, champagne, prosecco, the likes. As he sees me, his eyes widen and he sets the bottles on the kitchen counter. 

“Mum, why is she wearing the pregnancy sweater?” He asks, a look of horror on his face. Anne laughs. 

“Harry, don’t be so superstitious,” Anne tells him, setting the table up for small plates and drinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Michal interjects, “ Pregnancy sweater?”

Gemma snorts as she laughs, sipping her wine, obviously very amused. I feel my cheeks begin to grow red. Pregnancy? I look over at Michal and we share the same confused, scared look. 

“Babe, don’t be so serious,” She says to him. A smile plays on her lips. 

“It’s just a superstition that if you wear the sweater on Christmas Eve you’ll get pregnant,” Harry explains, his cheeks still slightly red. I look down at myself in horror. Harry smiles at me, now sharing the same face as Gemma. 

“It only worked once, though,” He continues, “For our aunt.”

“You wore that on my first Christmas here!” Michal exclaims. 

“Don’t worry Michal,” Anne says soothingly, “Nobody is going to get pregnant.”

Harry turns to Michal. “Why are you so worried about it, anyway?” He asks, suddenly serious. He looks over at Gemma, who’s been nursing the same glass of wine for hours on end. It’s a hard, skeptic look that causes her to stand up a little straighter. 

“ Harry ,” She says indignantly.  There’s an odd air between them. Michal glances over at me, something unreadable written on his face. I clear my throat. 

“I can assure everyone here that I’m not pregnant!” I exclaim, trying to break the tension. 

It works. Harry chuckles and reaches his arm around me, planting a kiss on my head. Gemma’s shoulders relax, and she smiles up at Michal, but I see the way Anne’s looking at her. Her eyes are slightly squinted, as though she’s figuring something out, but she has a smile playing on her lips. 

*** 

The fire crackles beside me as I lean back against warm marble, chest burning with love and alcohol. The cat slips under and over my legs on his way to the back of the couch, nestling behind Anne’s head. She reaches back to pet him fondly. 

Beside me, Harry is lightly strumming a rendition of Elton John’s “Step Into Christmas” while people chime in with the lyrics they know. The kids dance around in the empty space in the center of the room, high on sweets and the excitement of tomorrow morning. 

Outside the windows, snow falls heavily, but inside it can’t touch us. I’m warm and rosy-cheeked, thanks to the sweater Anne gave me, and the red wine in my half-full glass. I look over at Harry and smile. He glows back at me, eyes sparkling, and smiling wide. I feel a warmth that travels all the way from my chest to my toes, and scoot over so I’m closer to him.  

Behind him, Gemma and Michal are sitting together in the big easy chair, her eyes softly closing as he gently plays with her hair. They both look at peace with each other, like they belong with each other. 

Harry keeps playing the guitar, singing softly. I feel myself smiling at him, watching how soft his face is, how his eyes close when he sings, how gentle his hands are on the guitar. His voice is soothing and warm, and I find that it's something I have begun to crave. 

I watch him surrounded by family and friends, singing a song he loves, warmed by the fire and wine, and I realize that I love him.  

Chapter Text

I get the feeling that Christmas in the Styles household used to be very exciting. I bet that Harry jumped on Gemma’s bed, telling her to wake up, it’s Christmas! Then, they’d both run into their mom’s room, shouting that Santa came. And Anne would smile and bring them downstairs with the video camera and she would watch them happily open the gifts and stockings and crackers. 

Now, Harry wakes up next to me, arms wrapped around me, tangled together. He opens his eyes slowly and smiles at me once he sees me, then kisses me lightly. 

“Happy Christmas,” He says. I touch my nose to his. 

“Merry Christmas.”

I kiss him again and it makes me feel warm all the way down to my toes. He pulls me tighter toward him, then lets me go. 

“I think Anne’s making breakfast,” He says to me. I sit up and pull my hair over one shoulder, beginning to braid it. 

“Why do you call her Anne sometimes?” I ask him. He laughs to himself. 

“It’s funny to me.” 

We go downstairs together, both wearing some festive pajama pants. Anne and Michal are in the kitchen, both sipping coffee. Michal informs us that Gemma is in bed, but I know I just heard her in the bathroom. I wonder vaguely why he would lie about such a small thing. 

“Good morning, Hazza,” Anne says, plopping a kiss on Harry’s head. She’s cooking up a very assorted breakfast. There’s a coffee cake and some smoked salmon and some fruit and some bread and eggs and bacon and so much more. 

“Happy Christmas,” Michal says to me as I sit beside him. 

“Merry Christmas,” I reply, beaming. 

Soon, Gemma comes down and we have a very delicious and very eclectic breakfast. It’s set up almost like a buffet, from which you can grab the most uncoordinated, piled-up plate, and no one will bat an eye. After a few plates and a cup of coffee, I’m full and so is everyone else. 

We help Anne wash up, making sure the table and kitchen are clean and ready for later, when she’ll need to cook dinner for the family. After it’s all spotless, we finally settle into the living room next to the tree, which has a few gifts wrapped neatly under it. I spot my own gifts, wrapped when Harry was occupied, all sitting together. 

Everyone gathers the gifts addressed to them, Anne receiving the most, of course. There’s one for me from everyone, much to my surprise. 

Everyone makes me start because I’m the youngest. I open my gift from Anne first, just because it seems like the right thing to do. She is the host, after all. 

I unwrap it gently, savoring the feeling. I haven’t gotten a gift like this in a long time and actually opened it with the person who gave it to me. Usually I’m home alone opening my gifts, or on some vacation if I can afford it. Now, I carefully rip off the paper and the bow, revealing a paper box with polar bears on it. I gingerly separate the top and bottom of the box and reveal a big cable knit sweater, a hat, a scarf, and a pair of gloves. I hold it all in my hands, dumbfounded. 

“I…thank you!” I exclaim, “Wow, really, this is amazing.” 

Anne smiles at me from the couch. “I knew you needed some, and I wanted you to have some winter clothes of your own…for next time.”

I feel my cheeks grow rosy at “next time”. I’ve never felt so wanted somewhere before. 

Next up is Harry, who decides to also open his mother’s gift to him. I figure that he is kind of hard to shop for, since he could probably have anything he wants at the snap of his fingers. Yet, as he opens his box, his face lights up. He pulls out a very nice looking brown leather wallet with the letters H.S. inscribed carefully into it. He flips it open and there’s a picture of him, Gemma, Anne, and a man I can only assume is Robin, all smiling in the sun. He smiles softly and closes it, setting it beside him. 

“Thanks, Mum,” He says, “It’s perfect.”

Once everyone has opened their gifts from Anne, we go around again and again until we’ve almost opened everything. I get a pair of sunglasses from Gemma, which she tells me are part of her next line for the spring.

“I got them in and immediately knew they were perfect for you,” She tells me. They are perfect for me. They’re simple and round and dark, almost like an aviator style, but more modern. Cooler. Michal tells me the chocolates are from him, but Gemma shakes her head and smiles. 

Soon, the only gift left for me is Harry’s, and his is mine. I daintily open mine, revealing a small black box. I open it slowly, trying not to seem nervous. 

It’s a small silver necklace with a heart dangling from the chain. It’s very dainty, almost tiny. Inside it, there’s a small H engraved. I examine it closely, my eyes beginning to tingle. I flip the heart over, and see that there’s more engraved. I love you.

My heart stops. 

I read it again, over and over, until it’s written all over my brain. I love you. 

“Well, let us see!” Gemma exclaims. I quickly turn the heart back over and hand it to her. She peers at the necklace, smiling. 

I look over at Harry and see that he’s twirling his ring around his finger, staring at me expectantly. I smile so sincerely at him and grab his hand, squeezing it three times. I feel him sigh as if something has been released from his shoulders. Gemma hands the box to Anne, who looks at it, then hands it back to me. 

“Try it on,” She says. 

I carefully pull it off of the little cushion it’s set on and clasp it around my neck. It fits perfectly with my small pearl necklace, as if they were made to wear together. 

“Gorgeous,” Gemma says. 

Harry looks at it with soft eyes, his head slightly tilted. 

“Your turn,” I tell him. 

He handles the small square box very carefully, unwrapping it painfully slow. 

“Oh, hurry up, would you?” I tease impatiently. Finally, he just rips it all off and opens the box, then gasps quietly. 

“How’d you get this?” He asks, looking up at me. 

I shrug.”I have my ways.” 

He pulls the silver ring out of the box and slips it onto his pointer finger. He examines the dancing bears and reaches over me to show Anne, then Gemma and Michal. 

“Do you like it?” I ask him. 

“Love it.” 

Anne is last, with a gift from Gemma and Michal. They had insisted that she open it last, so we all are anxious to see what it could be. 

Anne opens it fairly slowly, and I glance over at Gemma and Michal to see that they’re both watching her with great anticipation, holding each other’s hand tightly. 

Anne opens the box and slowly pulls out a small onesie, like the size a newborn baby would wear. 

At first, no one says anything. It takes a moment for me to understand what’s happening, and suddenly Anne is crying and Harry is hugging Gemma tightly.

My mouth falls open. 

We all exclaim excitedly, congratulating her and Michal, joy seeping out of all of us. 

“I’m going to be a grandmother!” Anne exclaims. We all laugh and Harry scolds Gemma for lying, but it’s just a brotherly, loving joke and he’s beaming from ear to ear. 

If I could bottle up this morning, I would. The joy in the room is tangible, and the love is warm and full. I realize what I have been missing for so long, and I realize that I never want to lose this love for as long as I live.