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saiilorstars · 2 years ago

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Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 46: Casual Interlude

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @abzidabzy @hellofutur @foxesandmagic

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Montserrat couldn't think of a better way to wake up today. She was on such a comfortable bed under the softest blanket and with the best man she'd ever known. Sure someone might say that she was exaggerating, but she really wasn't. She gave the softest yawn and shifted on the bed to face Rafael who was responsible for her comfortable wake. To her surprise, he was already awake.

"You really aren't a morning person, huh?" Rafael was struggling not to laugh at her. He'd been awake for a while and somehow Montserrat continued to sleep right through the morning. He didn't complain, though. He'd gotten to watch her sleep and even hold her when she wasn't shifting around. He discovered that she shifted a lot. It was amusing.

Montserrat's face went flat, a new record time since she'd woken up only minutes ago. She waved him off with a lazy hand. "I hate mornings." Her curls fell over her face.

"And here I thought maybe today's morning would be a little more pleasant," Rafael reached over to take apart the curtain of hair over her face.

"Why would you be stupid enough to think that?" She muttered and purposely buried her face into her pillow.

"Oh, so you're rude in the mornings too?"

"Shut up."

Rafael had to laugh. It was probably the first time he ever laughed that early in the day. Things were usually quiet at home but today was different. He wasn't alone today. "Montserrat, you can't go back to sleep anymore," he snaked an arm over her waist and yanked her towards him. His heart skipped a beat when she was right next to him, dressed in an old shirt of his, head tilting up to face his. It was a sight he could never forget, and he wouldn't dare to.

"Watch me," she groaned with the challenge. She tried hiding her face against his chest.

He laughed again. "How do you ever wake up for work?"

"With three alarm clocks."

"Three!?"

"Keep laughing and I will be smacking you."

"You're incredibly amusing," he dropped a kiss to her messy hair. "And a shifty sleeper," he added in a low voice.

She peeked from under her hair, one eye open and the other closed. "You noticed?"

"Just a bit…"

Both her eyes opened when she scrunched her face. "Sorry. I've had some exes comment on that. Apparently, it's something I needed to work on."

"Not in my home you don't," he assured her. "It means I get to hold you even tighter now."

It was her turn to laugh then. "Aw, and you're cliche in the mornings!"

"Don't ruin it, Montserrat." But it just made her laugh even more when she felt his arms around her tighten their grip. "It's been such a good morning."

"Oh, I know," she sighed contently. "I don't think I've slept this nicely since...last year." She met his gaze with a lazy type of smile. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome here anytime," he promised.

"I have some conditions…"

Rafael deadpanned her. She simply couldn't resist sometimes, could she? He ducked his head to steal a kiss from her. "We'll have to discuss them," he said afterwards.

"I'm prepared to make my argument but watch out..." she let her fingers tap against his chest, "I might just leave you without a job."

"I might be a little nervous. Your mouth can go for hours." Montserrat rolled her eyes. He always had to have the last word. "Let's get some breakfast or you won't be able to put up much of an argument. Yeah right!"

That was the last straw. Montserrat shoved him away from her while he broke into a fit of laughter. "I seriously hate you!" She huffed and got up from bed, smoothing out his old shirt around her body.

"I seriously doubt that's always the sentiment." Rafael shot her a smirk when he managed to claim some seriousness, and it only happened because of her current appearance. If he was once enthralled by the sight of her legs, now he was completely enamored. Today he was awarded with a clear view of them accompanied by her morning state. Untamed curls hung loosely over her shoulders and part of her face and the simple casualty in her movements. She didn't look the least bit uncomfortable, not even if she was trying to hide it. She was at her most natural and he loved it.

Montserrat soon caught onto his stare and blushed. It was odd to say she hadn't been self-conscious about her lack of clothing or the fact that she was wearing his shirt as a dress. She never thought she would get to this point in her life again. "So...breakfast?"

"I thought you hated me…"

"Shut up!"

Rafael rolled his eyes at her, setting aside the argument for another time. He was midway across the room when they both heard a knock. They didn't move until they heard it again.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Montserrat cast a nervous look at the closed bedroom door as if the mysterious knocker would somehow make their way into the apartment and into the room.

"No…" Rafael was racking his head for any forgotten memo that he would be having someone over. "I don't...I don't think so…"

"Well, they keep knocking so go answer it!"

"Yeah, yeah," Rafael mumbled on his way out.

Montserrat thought it would be wise to put on some actual clothes while he attended to the door. She discarded his shirt and slipped her dress on again then hurried to the closest mirror to fix her hair. Without a brush, it was even more challenging.

Meanwhile, Rafael had gone to get the door as quickly as possible since the knocking had been relentless. Who could be in such a hurry to—

"Finally! Aren't you usually awake by this hour!?" Rafael was left dumbfounded at the door when his mother strolled into the apartment. Lucia was on a mission and he was about to find out what it was. "Your grandmother is driving me insane! I'm trying to make do but I can't keep it up for longer. We need to have a serious discussion about her and her living situation."

Rafael could barely blink at the moment. His hand just barely found the door to push shut. "Ma…"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lucia then started to notice the state of the living room. There were half eaten desserts and a nearly empty scotch bottle on the table. "¿Pero qué es esto? What is this?" Her eyes flickered once to the hallway before asking. "Is there someone here?"

That pulled Rafael out of his trance. "What? No! Of course not!"

"So then was there someone here last night?"

"No—Mami, what did you need?" Rafael was quick to get into business mode. He needed to be smart about it because if he was right - and usually he was - then Montserrat was freaking out in his bedroom. On some level, it was actually hilarious but he would never be stupid enough to say that to her face.

But he was right.

Montserrat has heard perfectly from the bedroom. Instead of hiding or something, she pressed her ear to the door. You're being nosy! She really was but she was also curious to know more about Rafael's mother. It was nitty gritty things but things she wanted to learn about nonetheless. Was her voice like her son's? Was her attitude where Rafael got his from? Get closer! If she was brave enough she might even crack the door open a bit.

With the question that Rafael asked, Lucia forgot all about the mess in the living room. "It's your grandmother!"

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, well...the apartment, it's not working for her anymore. She can barely walk the steps."

"Right," Rafael nodded. This wasn't the first time his mother mentioned something about his grandmother having trouble at home. He'd just been so busy lately. "I-I'll come around later in the week to talk about it."

"Are you busy right now? Cleaning?" Lucia made a gesture towards the coffee table. "Because I did not teach you to live like this!"

Rafael rolled his eyes. If Montserrat was listening, then she was laughing for sure. "Sí, I have a lot of work to do today but I promise I'll stop by later in the week."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Lucia headed for the door but stopped in front of her son. "But seriously, what is this mess?"

Rafael fought the urge to roll his eyes again. If he did so, it would keep her around and that's not what he wanted right now. "I will get to it, I promise."

"Espero que si," Lucia's pointed look made it incredibly hard for Rafael to stay still. "Your grandmother would be appalled."

"Ya sé!" Rafael reached for the door to open it. "Bye!"

"We'll talk," Lucia said as a warning. She gave him a quick hug and kiss then left.

Rafael barely had the time to breathe afterwards before Montserrat emerged from the hallway. "Oh my God, that would've been terrible!" She came up to him in a sprint, throwing her arms around him. "Imagine if she would've caught us?"

Rafael hugged her tighter, but she felt the rumble of laughter under his chest. "You make us sound like teenagers."

"You ever did something like that?" She tilted her head up at him, leaving her chin to rest against his chest.

"Absolutely not! What about you?" Montserrat didn't answer and instead pulled away from him, leaving Rafael quite stunned. "Montserrat, you didn't!"

The woman spun around with a wide smile, a proud one too. "Nothing like that but I did do some sneaking around. I liked the thrill."

"Was this thrill good enough for you, then?"

Montserrat brought her hand to her chest, still feeling the lingering hammering of her heartbeats. "Honestly, she sounds kind of scary. I'm assuming this is where you get it from. I would've died if she found us right here. That's not how I want to meet her."

"Yeah, me neither," Rafael shrugged. "We can make different plans for that later."

"She did sound upset, though," Montserrat started going around the coffee table collecting the leftovers they'd left last night. "Is everything alright?"

Rafael had to shrug again. He walked over to help her put the trash into the bag. "She said something about my grandmother. I'm assuming it's getting difficult for her to keep living where she is right now."

"Maybe you should've let your mother stay and I should've left," Montserrat gave him a look, a rather guilty one too.

"No, no, I'll go see them later in the week. Today is our day off, after all." Montserrat's lips curled into a warm smile. He took the bag from her hand and set it on the table. His arms slid around her waist before gently tugging her to him. "We still have breakfast to make too."

"I know but I don't want you to get into problems with your mother."

"I won't," he gave her a kiss on the lips. "Breakfast?"

She saw no point in wasting breath with the smart mouth ADA she has for a boyfriend. "I'm in the mood for a yogurt parfait."

"I like it," he turned her around, moving his hands to rest on her hips. Together they swayed their way into the kitchen.

"You have enough fruit around? Yogurt?"

"Are you saying my fridge is empty?"

"I'm saying I'm going to start grocery shopping for you and leave some of my favorites in here...if that's alright…"

"I would honestly love nothing more than that."

Montserrat turned around and set her hands over his arms. Her lips were struggling not to smile so blatantly but all that morning it seemed like an impossible thing to hold back. "You mean that?"

"Of course," Rafael nodded at her. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles. "You can bring anything here."

"Would that include...you know...clothes? Pajamas, extra changes…" Montserrat felt an insane heat rush up to her face. It was childish yet she couldn't find one piece of her that hated it. She hadn't felt this good in a long, long time.

"What, you didn't like wearing my shirt?" The smirk that crossed Rafael's face quenched some of her nerves. "Because I sure did."

"Nice try," she patted his cheek. "But I really would like to bring some things over if that's okay with you. I really liked spending the night over, consciously you know. The last time it happened I fell asleep on your couch and I woke up alone on your bed. I was just in a bad place too, thinking of...everything."

"That'll never happen again," he promised with a kiss on her lips.

Montserrat wanted to smile but there was one thing holding her back and she knew that if she didn't get it off her chest, none of their sweet words to each other would mean anything if she was lying. "Raf, there's um...there's one more thing I need to tell you."

"About?" He noticed the quick way her features fell with nerves.

"It's just that we're being honest and I probably should've told you this yesterday but I-"

"You're rambling, dear…"

"Yes, I am. Um, you said you-you looked into my case… and I know that took a lot of courage to tell me because you knew how I would react so now I have to tell you something about that case. It's a new detail that came up a whole ago."

"What?" The first thing that popped into Rafael's mind was that somehow that scumbag met with her. scumbag had found a way to meet with her. "What happened?"

Montserrat could feel him tense under her hands. For a second she debated whether this was a good idea or not. You'll feel worse if it comes up later and you didn't tell him. That was right. She didn't want to risk another argument with him and much less over the likes of Daniel. "Remember that sniper that killed Angel?"

"Yeah, there were no leads on who was behind it…" Rafael watched her slowly, hoping to reach the conclusion before she would tell him.

"I know who it was - or rather I'm pretty sure I know who it was," Montserrat's voice had fallen a couple notches. "I think...I think Daniel made the order." Because if she was thinking logically, she knew that Daniel would never risk showing his face for something that could easily be done for him and still carry the same weight if he'd been the one to pull the trigger.

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Because little Tino told me that he - Daniel - took over D'Amico's drug empire and he runs that while Tino's boss works the girls in the city. He made a rule…" Montserrat's face scrunched in disgust. The next words she needed to say became a true struggle, "'No one hurts the pretty Slovakian detective named Novak or they answer to him.' He's out there and in his twisted mind, he's protecting me."

The cogs were already working in Rafael's mind. His stomach churned with the same disgust. "So when the drive-by shooting happened…"

"Daniel gave the order to shoot Angel in retaliation."

There were so many things Rafael felt in that moment that he couldn't decide which one was heavier. After what that man did to Montserrat, he had the audacity to want to 'protect her'? In a few seconds, the rage started up and pushed all the other feelings away. "Montserrat, we have to do something," he said quietly.

Montserrat would be a fool not to see the quiet anger that was bubbling inside him. "No, no—"

"Yes! That man's still out there and he thinks he has a claim over you—"

"It wouldn't matter! He's not coming after me—"

"That doesn't matter!" Rafael's voice had risen enough to silence Montserrat. "He's out there, thinking that he has some claim to you! And more than that, he's watching you. From wherever the hell he is, he's watching you! I don't like that and I know that you sure don't either. We need to do something, please." More than his anger, he was afraid of what could happen to her if Daniel got brave again. He didn't want anything to happen to her, not when they could stop it.

But Montserrat didn't see it that way. She couldn't fathom opening up any case against that man that would eventually lead to her seeing him again. "I can't—"

"Montserrat, please—"

"Don't make me, please," Montserrat screwed her eyes shut, actually whimpering as a few tears rolled down her face.

It was what made Rafael stop on the spot. Right now, he was hurting her. He couldn't do that to her no matter what he thought. She just wasn't ready to face the man. He needed to respect that. "Okay," he backed down.

Montserrat didn't hear him the first time around. She shook her head. "Please, I don't want…"

"Shh," Rafael cleared the tears off her face. "It's okay, I won't...you don't have to." She slowly opened her eyes slowly, initially doubting that he'd give up so easily. "We can go when you're ready, but please promise me that you'll tell me if something else happens with this. Promise me that, Montserrat." He met her gaze seriously. This was the one thing he needed her to do for him and she knew it.

She gave a small nod of her head. "I promise," she whispered. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Relief came to her as soon he wrapped his arms around her body, holding her as tightly as possible. "Thank you…" She felt like a broken record using the same words over and over but there was nothing else to say.

Rafael understood the heavy meaning of those words each time she said them. He pulled away slightly and cupped her face gently. "You don't have to say anything, Montserrat. I want you to know, to understand, that I will always be here to protect you." His hands tilted her head slightly to meet her eyes. A warm smile came to Montserrat's lips as he kept going on, like she didn't already know the facts. "I may not be a cop, I may not carry a gun, but I will protect you. I always will." He knew it in his gut that he would do anything to see it through. It should've been alarming that he was up and ready to give himself up like that, but it was actually the opposite. It felt right. It was what he wanted. And seeing Montserrat's smile grow wider made it all feel even more right.

"You don't have to carry any weapon to protect me," she whispered, her tears brimming in her eyes. "I know that if the moment ever called for it, you'd be my hero."

A light chuckle slipped through Rafael's lips. "Well, I don't know about that…"

"Yes, you would be," Montserrat nodded at him. A few seconds of silence passed by as they stared at each other. "You've been there with me for a long time now...let's forget about the yogurt parfait. Let me make something for you."

A bemused expression settled on Rafael's face. "Really?"

"Yup, nothing Slovakian of course because I need my special ingredients but...something delicious I promise."

"Are you sure? Because I could easily help out—"

"Nope! I want to do it this time. You made dinner, breakfast is all mine!"

"Alright then," he agreed mostly because he was curious to see how well Montserrat's cooking skills were, though he was pretty bummed that it wouldn't be anything Slovakian. He was mighty curious to see what dishes her hands could cook up for him.

"Go sit," she instructed him. She moved to head for the fridge but he grabbed her tightly again and yanked her back. His lips met hers for a sweet, long kiss. She could get lost in it for hours, but their stomachs wouldn't let them. "Okay," she said breathlessly. "Point made."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm…"

"You know what? I think I'll follow you around just to make sure I see what you're doing is right…" Rafael didn't wait for her answer before turning her body around. She laughed when he slipped his arms under hers and moved them towards the fridge. For the moment, and perhaps the rest of the day, he didn't want to let her go for anything.

#ocappreciation #fd: svu #svu #rafael barba #svu fics #rafael barba fics #rafael barba imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu #rafael barba x oc #svu x oc #svuocs #oc: Montserrat Novak #fic: dare to forget me

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lostxones · 1 year ago

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GET TO KNOW ME OR WHATEVER.

Tagged by: @myriadxofxmuses

Tagging: @xwildheart

Name/Alias: Jess

Pronouns: she/her

Preference of communication: I don't really have one! Here is fine or if we're connected on discord that works too!

Most active muses: Molly, Carsyn, Ben

Experience/years here: uhhhhh....I honestly have no idea lol. I started with a Next-Gen Friends group a long time ago and kind of went from there. I was doing RP before that though either in a notebook with friends or on different forums. Total experience is probably over 10+ years? On Tumblr, maybe closer to 8ish?

Best experience: Honestly, I would say the friends I've made! I've found so many great people that I can't imagine life without now. Even if we don't talk a lot, I still think about each and every person that I write with and I think that's really special to have gotten these connections all over the world.

Rp pet peeves: When people think their characters have to be better than everyone else's. I've had several experiences where people have seen that a character is liked and makes a new character with exaggerated positive qualities in attempt to gain attention.

Fluff, angst, smut: Fluff and angst

Plots or memes: Both? Idk. I love how memes can open up new pairings that I might not have previously thought of or give an easy in to writing with someone knew. But I also love getting a general idea of how things work in a relationship between characters that's already established.

Long or short replies: I enjoy having threads of both lengths lol. Some days I want to write but don't have the mental capacity to write novels.

Time to write: Whenever I have time lol. I write when I have time to sit down and have high muse.

Are you like your muses: I think there are bits and pieces of me in each one but no character is exactly like me.

#[ about me ]

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carohasopinionsonbooks · 2 years ago

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A Case for The Wave by Todd Strasser to replace Lord of the Flies by William Golding

*disclaimer - these r just my 2 cents, feel free to disagree*

Ok if you went to an American high school, chances are you were made to read Lord of the Flies by William Golding. You usually read this book as a type of cautionary tale to show how slowly and yet fast a society can devolve. One little hiccup within the people in power and the dominoes can fall towards a world of chaos and injustice, usually at a gradual yet effective pace. Now, I will say that the point the book makes is a good one and one all of us should keep in mind.

Given that, I did not like this book one bit...

For a bit of background, Golding wrote this book on the beliefs of Thomas Hobbes, those being that the lives of humans are "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short" and that without structure, humans would just descend into chaos and become, especially in the context of Lord of the Flies, carnage machines. This is something I don't personally agree with but it makes a lot of sense when you find out Golding fought in WW2. He, like many others after the war, questioned how things could go so south so fast. He happened to decide on the theory mentioned above and this way of thinking sets the tone for the whole plot of the book.

(tangent - Golding was also just a really messed up guy, seriously, look him up, he was wild....)

Brief plot overview - A group of British boys crash land on an island and are faced with the task of living alone with no adults and with no one telling them what to do on a remote island in the middle of no where. The boys at first try to deal with their situation civilly, but within a matter of weeks it all devolves into violence and chaos.

The main issue that I have with the book is that it just seems so unrealistic. Now you might be like, "Caro its exaggerated at some points bc he is trying to make a point, not all of it is gonna be realistic, its the message that's important" which is true but like holy moly is the violence just a lot sometimes. Also the fact that its all British boys just creates another detachment. As a person who identifies as female, there is a bit of disconnect there. The racist undertones in regards to indigenous peoples do not help the book's case either. The whole book comes across and looks like a raging angry dumpster fire (I mean have you seen some of the covers? Its really intense :|).

(a fun little fact: there was actually a real life Lord of the Flies example with a group of Tongan boys - here is the wiki in case you want a brief overview of the story - which ended in literally no drama so that deducts another point for believability)

Another reason why I just did not connect with this book at all was because I had read a different book that has the same message as Lord of the Flies which was 1000x times better. That book was The Wave by Tod Strasser. The Wave is a fictional account of a real experiment done by a high school teacher in California. The book starts out with a high school history teacher trying to teach WW2 to his class, specifically the part where Hitler rose to power. The students, all of them bored, complain that they have heard this so many times already and that they would 100% know, detect, and intervene if something like that were to happen again. The teacher, in response, decides to start an experiment with his students to put them to the test. What that experiment is I will not say for spoiler reasons but at first everything seems fine and then devolves oh so fast and oh so slowly. It takes place in a familiar environment (a high school) and I feel it is much more relatable and realistic than Lord of the Flies which is why I find it all the more impactful and effective. I read this book freshman year of high school and the story still sticks with me to this day. I would seriously recommend everyone go read this book if they haven’t already. Why we haven’t already replaced Lord of the Flies with The Wave within high school curriculums is beyond me and probably would have saved me a few brain cells …

#lord of the flies #books #i hate lord of the flies #assigned reading sucks #high school #lotf #the wave #william golding #Golding is a weird man

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lunanoc · 1 year ago

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2, 13, 17 !

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

In general there’s a few, but not all of them would work with the pairing I write primarily at the moment (PingXie from DMBJ) because I’m a big believer that just because you enjoy a trope doesn’t mean you should shoehorn it into every ship you like because they just would not work. Unless it’s an AU setting, and even then you’d probably need some serious mental gymnastics for some. Anyway 🏃‍♀️

For PingXie specifically I’d like to try a Hanahaki AU because I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried that (I have a specific scenario in mind, we’ll see if I ever get to actually writing it), or an A/B/O AU, which I know is a trope a lot of people dislike for understandable reasons, but if done correctly and from a certain angle it could be interesting (and not necessarily for smut purposes, I may or may not also have a scenario in mind for this 🏃‍♀️). This isn’t really a trope but I think the biggest thing I’d want to try is writing a real Long Fic™️. And by that I don’t mean word count, I mean something with a real intricate plot where there’s character development, plot twists, etc. because there are very very few of those for DMBJ, and that I know of a lot of the ones that do exist are for my no-no ships or tropes.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

I don’t know that I’ve ever come across advice that I tried to replicate mostly because when I write it’s vibes for better or worse 🏃‍♀️ BUT that being said, I think the best indirect advice I have that isn’t even advice per se, more observation, is that studying literature is a good way to realize that taking cues from commercial writing advice isn’t necessarily a ground rule for good writing. Can it help you and get you started? Absolutely. You might resonate with it and that’s fine too. But anyone who calls themselves an “expert writer” because they’ve read a lot of books on writing and takes the liberty to police others with way more confidence than they should have about how chapters need certain word counts to keep the reader interested, that scenes need to be structured a certain way etc. is a red flag to me sorry. Saying art has no rules is a little bit exaggerated because it does, but in a sense it’s true. If there was anywhere where rules were meant to be broken or subverted it’s artistic creation, and though that might not be palatable for commercial publishing, doesn’t mean artistic license is worthless. There’s no one way to write, even commercially successful authors have their own distinct styles, so as long as it’s something you can make work and hone into a cohesive body of work, commercial writing advice in those “How to Write For Dummies” books aren’t the be all end all, and anyone using those as the exclusive guide on how to write and never evolving away from them are using them as a crutch they feel they can use to belittle others, but that’s just my hot take 🏃‍♀️

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

From start to finish more or less. Cohesion happens as I’m writing and no amount of planning is going to account for what actually ends up making up the filling of whatever framework I’m going off of. I’ve tried writing a few scenes out of order once because I got frustrated and skipped ahead, and I hated myself when I went back to edit/rewrite (because editing for me isn’t so much editing as it is rewording and sometimes rewriting entire portions because I’m not happy with the flow of the first draft). I think I write too streamlined to ever be able to cut things up like that 🫠

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thekatea · 2 years ago

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Midnight Museum

Watched: 04.04.2023

The tale of involuntary naps and ass whopping.So, I’m not gonna lie, Midnight Museum is a complete mess - from how the characters are written, through the countless plot holes and underdeveloped plotlines, up till the rushed ending. It’s entertaining though. I think it is… I honestly cannot be sure how much of my enjoyment came from all the chats, comments, posts and discussions with other mdl users. This is a perfect show to hype each other up about. (psst... I do love the show though. I sold my soul to it).

While the idea behind the plot is brilliant, the execution left a lot to desire. From the start it was an episodic type of a deal, which seemed to exist more as a promo for all the GMMTV actors and less as a means to tell a cohesive story. Not to mention the mix of supernatural, fantasy and even sci-fi theories - nothing to be explained or explored. It’s just a big bag of everything, that ends up being nothing.

I understand where they were going with the plot, but I honestly think they lacked a writer and director with experience in that genre. Midnight Museum is just not a smooth viewing experience. They did not highlight important details in the scenes, lines that were explaining connections between plotlines, hints that would make it easier for viewers to understand the whole picture. When you watch the episode, it’s hard to tell what you should focus on and what info might be useful later on.

You know what it feels like? Like watching just a middle season of a tv show - you don’t get a proper setup for the characters nor a well explained conclusion. It just felt like there should be more at the beginning and the end. All that said, the second half of the last episode was just phenomenal. Added 0.5 to my rating just because of these last 40 minutes. But it also made me truly see how much potential to be a masterpiece this drama had.

While I love Khatha and Dome for their interactions (local straight boys acting gay, if you know what I mean), and Khatha was quite a “mood” on many occasions, I don’t think I have ever seen weaker main characters than them. Dome was forced to take a few too many involuntary naps and Khatha got his ass whooped by almost every bad character. That said, this was a bromance on the level of Chinese censored gay romance and for that I am grateful.

Then we have all the supporting characters: Anthika served looks, Triphop and Bam got the “kind of competent, but not really” presentation with a 0.5% fling going on, June was there to make Khatha accept his feelings for Dome and Boon… barely existed. That’s more or less what the characters brought to the table. I think it’s kind of an achievement to have 10 episodes and not one character actually developed.

What saved all of these characters? Amazing acting. Tor and Gun did a great job and their on screen chemistry was to die for. It’s nice to see two competent actors together, because too often we watch one person carry the whole show on their backs.

Supporting cast did a great job too. Yes, I would appreciate Saiparn going one step further and exaggerating the character just a little bit more and Tay giving me a little bit more expression during some scenes, but overall, I don’t really have many complaints. I’m especially content with all the guest appearances and the quality of acting there.

The MVP award goes to Nanon though. This guy delivered probably his best performance up to date.

For the production value - it fluctuated. I was not exactly on board with the set designs. The museum felt painfully empty and not grand enough. I think the majority of the costume budget went to dress Tor, so the rest was underwhelming (especially June - the design for the dress was great, but the quality of it seemed cheap). Some special effects were nice, some were rather questionable. There is also the case of actors not being used to acting with nothing, which made the CGI elements stand out more and not feel like they were part of the picture.

Overall, entertaining mess. It had a lot of potential, but most of it was not used. They tried to pack too much into these 10 episodes so we ended up with a diluted story with little details and world building. I would highly recommend it as a group watch, because it benefits greatly from exchanging theories and hyping each other up as you watch. It’s a great memes and joke source.

That ending though. I don't think I could be more happy with all that crazy shit at the end. Exactly my type of a deal.

#midnight museum #thai drama review #thai drama

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claire-starsword · 1 year ago

Text

A few pages from the Shining Wisdom novel

That's right baby I'm mooching off bad pictures from an ebay listing again. I even attempted to translate them as well, though take it with a grain of salt as some words are cut off from the scans so I had to make educated guesses or just mark the blanks, also I'm obviously missing context, although it's largely just a novelization of the game's plot.

Also, the narration is first person from Mars' POV, so we get some thoughts from a Shining boy for a change.

[…] he made an exaggerated shocked face. "You really surprised me. You weren't just getting help from an elf, you have more mental fortitude than the average person as well. People like you are what we fear the most," he said, though he didn't sound frightened at all. The frog man watched over as the princess walked out of the room, then turned back to me. "But I look forward to your next efforts. Do prepare some great fun for us," he said, and left the room as well, looking back at me for the last time and waving goodbye. "See you around!" Stop mocking me! I wanted to shout, I tried with all my might. Ugh… I clenched my fists. […]

Notes:

Banbo's lines here are taken almost word by word from the game here, with only some small wording differences. I still preferred to retranslate them on my own instead of copying the EU version though. The same goes for all the following pages as well.

Another minor difference in this scene is that in the game, these lines come by after Satera has already walked off, while here she's still in her room.

Judging by this page at least Banbo does not seem to be hopping around like in game as well. Though since the narration is Mars', he might just be too angry or sleepy to acknowledge that the enemy is not only mocking him but also doing backflips during that.

Note also that Mars is wearing some extra garb in the picture, this is likely because at this point he's still a guard at the castle and hasn't yet been promoted to special boy who adventures as he pleases.

Before I could ask the fairy what did she mean, she began to fly in circles around my head. "We fairies are forbidden from defying the laws of nature, but this much should be fine […] So? Do you remember what happened?" Remember what? She continued to talk with a mysterious expression. "You went to the Royal Crypt to rescue the princess, right? So, did you defeat Pazort there?" "No way!" I couldn't have defeated him. That frog man from before released some sort of smoke that knocked me out, I think. And the princess, they cast a spell on her- That's right, she was turned into a swan. That's terrible, I can't help but worry… But I'd seen the princess safe and sound in the castle. Wait, no! With a shock, I finally understood. That was a fake, a mage named Karry, who had transformed into the princess. This is what I had to remember no matter what. The fog in my mind had finally cleared. But as I realized how dire things were, I froze, unable to think of anything.

This isn't in the game at all! In game, because Mars is the silent protagonist, he just watches fake Satera waltz into the castle and fool everyone and gets promoted as a result. Upon reaching Gudo Valley and meeting the Fairy, she immediately explains how to help the real princess, implying Mars does know the whole situation, and stayed quiet because ???

So yeah, it makes perfect sense that the novel changed/elaborated things a bit, and Mars apparently suffered some sort of confusion/memory block after those events.

Also, as you'll see through the next pages, the Fairy teams up with Mars for the rest of the adventure, which. Makes so much more sense. Makes the ending work so much better. Would make the game so much livelier. I honestly feel robbed, they robbed me of a friend here :(

"Oh, that swan… The poor thing is under a spell, no? Come to me. I can remedy that." The old man - no, the hermit of the Thousand Year Tree - stared at the swam, beckoning for her to come forward. The swan looked at me then the fairy, who gave her a nod. She went to the hermit with unsteady steps. "You just need to endure it a little longer, there's no reason to be scared, girl," said the hermit gently while patting the swan's head. He started to chant magical words, low as a whisper. Then his hand began to glow. The light grew into a sphere, covering the swan's head. "Hyah!" With the hermit's shout, the sphere expanded further, enveloping the swan's whole body, and then it burst in a flash. As the light faded out, who stood there was no longer a swan, but Princess Satera. Her clothes had been dirtied after everything she went through as a swan, but she was just as beautiful as she looked like when I first saw her in her room, no, even more beautiful up close. "How do you feel?" asked the hermit, sounding very proud of himself, "are you back to normal?" "I… Yes, I'm back. I'm really myself again, right?"

Notes:

Again, the dialogue is mostly lifted from the game, with only a few changes in punctuation. Also, the Fairy is here.

"[…] Kaipa. Strike down the one Mars says is the fake!" "B-but, my liege, that's…!" "Do it! The real one should be protected by the Royal Tiara. Now strike!!" While hesitating, the captain drew his sword and swung it at the fake princess. She dodged it nimbly, jumping away a good distance. "So this farce is done for. Yes, I am a servant of Lord Pazort, the witch Karry!" Laughing loudly, Kari seemed to flash a bluish white for a moment, before changing back to her gorgeous original shape. Light white skin gave way to blue, dazzling golden locks became a cascade of azure hair. Running her hands through her hair, Karry gave the king a challenging look. "I thought I'd be able to fool you to the very end, but you found me out. It's too little too late, though. I got the key to the royal treasury last night, dear king. This very moment, soldiers I bewitched are stealing the Orbs of the Djinns thanks to it! With this, Lord Pazort's dream will become true, the Djinns will be released from the labyrinths!" "That, that's impossible! The key is safe right here…" Flustered, the king searched for it in his clothes. "It's, it's gone!" The king took off his luxurious royal coat, and began searching everywhere on his person. […]

Notes:

Most of the dialogue is lifted from the game, though the part between the king and the captain feels a bit abridged. In game, they hesitate a lot more in attacking one of the princesses before Mars enters the room. It's possible that things were rewritten a bit so that Mars is in the scene from the beginning, as he's the narrator.

I nodded at the fairy's words. "Let's go seal the four Djinns." I drew my sword, and took the path to my right. *** "There are four Djinns. One for fire, water, wind and earth," I heard the fairy explain from behind me as I ran through the narrow path. "Maybe, because the orbs were made to drain their power, it robbed them of their will as well. Pazort might be controlling them now." "Will they attack us, then?" "They… might," the fairy replied, clearly unhappy. "But if you defeat them, their will should be resealed in the orbs, and their true essence should return to the Shrine." "So, I really have no choice but to fight them?" She nodded sadly in response. […] "It's still fine. I see four huge flows of power." "That's a relief…" I sighed. As soon as I took the next turn in the path, the colors of my surroundings changed. Everything was deep red, as if the whole chamber was burning. Not just "as if", with a single step into the chamber I could feel the absurd heat assaulting me. "Everything is on fire!?" "It's the Fire Djinn." With the fairy's words I finally noticed it. A figure befitting of its name. In the depths of the chamber stood a giant, red as bricks, clad in armor and a helmet. […] "That's… a djinn?" It wasn't how I expected a spirit to look like. […] Its face under the helmet looked ferocious like a beast. "The djinns don't have bodies like ours. Because they stole power from the giant Surt, that power oozes from them and makes up their form. You could say they're embodying that evil power." It could be just my imagination, but I thought I saw a round flash of light from the djinn's chest.

Notes:

Original scene, as the fairy isn't around for the Djinn battles in game. I don't remember these bits of Djinn lore anywhere in game as well, though it might be on some unremarkable NPC or book as most lore crumbs in this game.

Perhaps worth mentioning, in game the Djinns are usually referred to with the word in katakana (ジン), while the novel usually uses the word for spirits (精霊), with furigana indicating the Djinn reading only in its first mention. They have been referred to as spirits in guides as well, so this is nothing new, just a stylistic choice I suppose.

A fireball headed straight in my direction. Then a gust of wind. The only way to dodge is upwards! I jumped, but another gust of wind from above knocked me down to the ground. I managed to deflect some of the next blasts of wind and light with my sword, but their impact was still enough to have me screaming in pain. I had no idea just how deep my wounds were at that point. I couldn't help but continue to howl in agony. Somehow I managed to get back on my knees, and in that moment Pazort came to face me. "This is all you've got, right?" He held his finger to my left chest - pointing straight to my heart. "Well then, give me the Orbs," he demanded. "Even if you refuse, I can just take them anyway after killing you. But I dislike taking things by force." "No!" I shouted while getting back on my feet. I had almost no strength left in me. It was my last chance to do anything. But I had to be ready to take Pazort down, even at the cost of my life. "I see… Then, you give me no choice. Die." A bluish-white light began to gather at Pazort's fingertip.

Notes:

Original scene since it's adapting the final battle. I don't remember Pazort having any sort of finger laser in game, and the description of light gathering for a moment reminds me of Oddeye's beam. Not that I think it's a reference, it's a very generic description, I just want to crack a joke on Pazort's mooching off the guy's popularity as usual.

They are this to me

#shining series #shining wisdom #shining wisdom novel #sw mars #sw princess satera #sw fairy #i'm so sad about her #they deprived me of a second peter #what are videogames for if not hanging out with a bestie that talks for you #also the ending would make A LOT more sense #the guide also treated her as a companion #i wonder if something went amok during development #the game does support followers in a way since satera follows you a bit #but also i wonder if they didn't want it looking too much like landstalker #who knows what the relationship between those companies was #whoa my tab just crashed. good thing tumblr autosaves drafts nowadays #anyway i did have a terrible realization while typing this #that is page 232. the novel has 251 pages #no way does the entire ending fits there #it's probably just the afterlife from mars' point of view #they cut all of kazin's part #DIRECT ATTACK ON ME. SPECIFICALLY #no really the ending's gonna be really boring without kazin. how would that be like #i might be wrong i guess #but mars being the pov does worry me #sw karry #sw banbo #sw pazort #long post

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devilfic · 3 years ago

Text

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

VII. clean slate.

parts: previously / next plot: you start to settle in at wayne tower as both a resident and bruce wayne’s lover. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, domesticity, hurt/comfort, way more angst than I’d intended, car nerd!bruce, figuring out boundaries, the author only understands about 25% of how police investigations work, POV switches between the reader and bruce’s throughout. mentions of terminal illness, hospitals. words: 7.1k.

a/n: please listen to this badass playlist of songs bruce would listen to in the batcave. I’ve been obsessed with it for weeks.

Admittedly, your first guess as to the whereabouts of your car had been much worse than this. Stolen, maybe, towed even. You hadn’t paused to consider the absurdity of having your own vehicle towed out of the locked Wayne Tower garage, but you weren’t sure what to think. You had a job to do and damn it, your old hunk of junk was nowhere to be found. When you’d asked Alfred where it might have wandered off to, his face had stretched out with comical knowing, “Have you checked with Master Bruce?”

Sure enough, your car is where his last project should’ve been... and there was Bruce standing on a chair in front of it, taking a destructive-looking tool to your engine. “Wait!” You shout, running up to the two of them before any further damage could be done. “What in the world are you doing to my car?”

Far too underdressed for mechanic work, Bruce leans away from your engine and fixes you with his doe eyes, a stark contrast to his bare, sinewy upper half. He looks like he hadn’t expected you to come looking for your car any time soon, caught off guard by being caught in the act. He lowers his tool, “Fixing it.”

You frown, looking over the state of your car for any glaring issues, “It’s not broken.”

Bruce jumps down from the seat of the folding chair—you needed to find him something proper to stand on one of these days—and folds his arms, deadpanning, “It’s falling apart.”

That was an exaggeration. Sure, you’d had the old thing since you’d bought it off a used car lot a few years back, but it got you from point A to point B just fine. You feel a bit insulted for it in Bruce’s presence. “Tokyo Drift is a very reliable vehicle, I’ll have you know.”

Bruce muffles a laugh by keeping his lips pursed together. He slaps the bumper and you wince when the metal weakly trembles, “You named your car Tokyo Drift? If you tried to drift in this thing, it’d come apart like Legos.”

“I don’t drift in it, I drive in it. And it gets the job done pretty well, thank you very much. Years of driving to and from work in this thing and I’ve never had a problem. I don’t take kindly to the likes of you making fun of my car.”

“Because I’m right?”

You reach forward to slap him across the chest, though you’re unable to keep a smile off your face when he starts smiling himself. Inside, you knew that Bruce was partially right, though you’d never tell him that to his face. Your car had been one of the few things that hadn’t failed you in life, and perhaps it was because it was an older model, built for longevity instead of beauty (you’d never gotten around to fixing that rusty red color it had come with), but it had never done you wrong. “What... were you going to do to it, exactly?”

Bruce motions to the folding chair, “Wanna take a look?”

You place one wobbly foot onto the metal seat, Bruce keeping his hands fixed on your hips until you’ve steadied yourself against the hood of the car to peek inside. “You know that rattling noise your engine’s been making?” Said noise had become ambient, easy to ignore, but you would be damned if you told Bruce that, “I went to change the oil thinking that was the culprit, but it kept up, so I’ve been looking around for anything loose or broken. Was getting to the root of it when you showed up.”

You flush, looking down at Bruce, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I should have trusted you wouldn’t do anything nefarious to Tokyo Drift.”

Bruce’s eyes fall from your own, “No... I should have asked first.”

You bite your lip, then bend down to press a kiss to his forehead. One of Bruce’s hands cups around your thigh in response. When you pull back, you’re endeared to find that Bruce is tilting his head up now, sweet eyes begging for another kiss. You bend down just that much further to meet his lips with one.

“Anything I can help with?” You peel back far enough to ask.

“I can teach you how to replace a timing belt.”

You don’t have the faintest clue as to what he’s referring to, but you nod anyway. Bruce hooks his arm around both your legs, lifting you off the chair as you scramble to steady your hands on his shoulders. You think you see him smirk at his lack of warning.

Bruce takes your place on the chair, gently instructing you on which tools to pass him. With each piece, he takes the time to explain what he’s going to do, eventually inviting you up on another chair to watch him work. It takes considerably longer to get done thanks to his instruction, but any extra time with Bruce wasn’t time you could complain about.

“Should take care of the rattling.” Bruce hands you a towel to wipe clean with, helping you back down onto the tracks by offering you a hand this time.

“Good, cause I’ve got an errand to run for you, Mr. Wayne. Can you get my car out of here and onto the street, please?”

At this, Bruce makes a face. “...What if you take my car instead?”

Before you can protest, Bruce disappears over to his desk, producing a key that he then drops into your palm. You turn over the engraved tag on the keyring, reading the name: ‘63 Corvette Stingray. You look back up at Bruce with childlike awe, “You’re letting me take the Corvette?”

“In exchange for letting me mess with Tokyo Drift a little longer,” you raise an eyebrow at Bruce, “please?”

Honestly, how could you say no to that face?

You’d learned of Bruce’s car obsession early on working for him, often having to order parts for the sheer amount he kept at his disposal. Granted, it was nowhere near the collections you’d seen in other billionaire catalogues, but it was far from unimpressive. Each and every one of his cars were well loved, but the Corvette was his true baby. You were sure that if it had some kind of tactical body around it like the Batmobile, it’d easily overtake the muscle car as his favorite.

And he was letting you drive it.

“If you find anything weird under the seats,” you start, taking the keys from his hand, “look the other way.”

Officers loitered on the dewy front steps that spring morning, double-taking when Bruce ascended to the police department’s doors. The difficulty with the Bruce Wayne persona was striking a balance between comfort and branding. While he would have very much liked to arrive without fanfare, he had an image that he was forced to uphold. Physically, even when he didn’t want to put in the effort, he had to look the part.

The one benefit of this was that people tended to stay out of his way. An officer through the glass spots him coming and hurries to hold the door open for him. Bruce is polite when he nods, sharing a thank you that he hopes can be heard over the sirens outside.

The call had gone to the tower when you didn’t answer, knee-deep in meetings as the second fiscal quarter loomed over Wayne Tower. Bruce should’ve been there suffering with you (and he would have been; he’d promised to take this “family legacy” thing more seriously), but then Dory was telling him that they’d like to speak with him at the station and his stomach had filled with lead.

Perhaps he should’ve requested they come to the tower instead.

There’s an eager cop standing by the entrance, one that Bruce recognizes with subsequent dread. His walk stutters and he wonders if there’s enough time to turn away before he’s noticed.

“Mr. Wayne, over here!” But Martinez is quick to wave him over. The young cop hadn’t even been there when your home was broken into, yet he calls to Bruce with all the authority of a lead detective on the case. “It’s good to see you again. How’ve you been?” He’s buzzing as he waits by the front desk, drawing several sets of eyes to the clear sore thumb approaching him. Turning off the Batman and turning on Bruce Wayne wasn’t seamless yet, so Bruce’s brain is slow to catch up.

Bruce is certain that, despite his best efforts, he looks just as uneasy as he feels, “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Martinez blushes, “I’m... Officer Martinez. We met at Don Mitchell’s funeral? I mean, we saw each other at Don Mitchell’s funeral... I saw you at Don Mitchell’s funeral. I waved.”

Bruce tries for an apologetic smile and then, when Martinez’s face drops just that little bit more, Bruce forces himself to keep talking, “Actually, you were with Lieutenant Gordon that day, right? I think I remember your face.”

It’s humorous how quickly the cop’s eyes light up again. If Martinez knew who he was really talking to, Bruce doubted he’d be as jolly. “Commissioner Gordon, yeah! That was me.” Some cops pass by, sniggering to themselves about the exchange, and Martinez collects himself. “Right. I’m sure you’re pretty busy. This way, Mr. Wayne.”

The last time Bruce had been through these halls, it had been under drastically different circumstances. He has to remind himself that the stares he receives now aren’t knowing or accusatory. After all, it wasn’t everyday you saw a Wayne. Still, Bruce’s paranoia flares and wanes with every passing look.

The pair eventually stops at a private room—an interrogation room that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while—where Martinez insists Bruce take a seat at the table, “Detective Fitz is out on another case and couldn’t be here, so I’ll be the one to brief you. Is that alright?”

There’s a file on Martinez’s side of the table. Bruce’s terrible trait of touching things without asking had set off many an officer before, and the itch of playing Bruce Wayne is akin to wearing an ill-fitting suit: he cannot wait to get out of it, “Yes.” It feels like Martinez takes forever to sit down.

Martinez looks between the file and Bruce, curious to the situation but not nosy enough to prod, “We’ll still have to speak with the owner of the apartment for the legal side of things, but you’re fine for now.” The file opens finally, “And you’ll be happy to know that the perp is in police custody. Full confession, too.” Martinez pushes the file across the table to Bruce.

The mugshot rings no bells. The man in the picture looks like a perfectly ordinary Gotham citizen, someone Bruce could find anywhere. There’s nothing special about the hollow exhaustion in his eyes (a tell-tale sign of a habitual drops user), or his wisps of hair, or the downward curl of his lip. The face burned into his memory from years ago doesn’t match this one. Only then is Bruce able to skim through the details.

Martinez continues, “Perp claims he didn’t even know whose apartment he was breaking into. The only reason he went through the effort is 'cause he had reason to believe there was something worth taking.”

Bruce reads slowly, letting his lenses capture every detail. The burglar had waited until you weren’t home to break in and, at the very least, showed no intention of harming anyone. Had it been otherwise, Bruce might not have been so forgiving. “Did he give the reason?”

“Uh, yes. You, Mr. Wayne.”

There’s no gentle way to deliver that information, though Martinez does try.

His youth shows in his apprehension, wishing that he could have led up to the truth easier. Bruce doesn’t trust that the look on his face is helping the issue either, though it does get Martinez to keep talking, fumbling over himself to elaborate, “There was a car—a nice one, he said—that would stop by the complex for a while. Clearly didn’t belong to anyone who lived there since it was so expensive, so he eventually put together that it was yours. Didn’t take him long to trace it back to your assistant.”

That car belonged to him, but he’d never been to your home until that night. Someone else had.

He’d felt so guilty for putting you out back then, the week after you’d nursed him back to health. He’d had someone stop by everyday to take care of you... but of course it would draw attention. Of course, he should’ve expected as much.

And what if it hadn’t been this one guy who’d noticed, who hadn’t been desperate enough to put your life in danger? What if it had been someone who wouldn’t stop at family heirlooms? What if it had been someone who’d wait for you to come home in hopes of taking more? What if you’d never gotten the chance to call?

Bruce doesn’t even have the energy to pretend he isn’t bothered by this information, a skill he’d long since lost to his solitude. “Is it... possible to recover what was stolen?” It wouldn’t be much in the face of losing one’s childhood home, but Bruce would do whatever he could to make up for it.

“We were able to get some stuff back, but everything else was already pawned off for drops,” Martinez passes off an evidence bag of small odds and ends, nothing that would sell well, “we could put together a report for the rest, but there’s no promising we’ll get it all back. Is that... something you’d like to do?”

“I’ll have to ask.”

“Right. And as for the perp, we’ll take care of that. Please let us know if you’d like to press further charges.”

Bruce all at once feels like he doesn’t deserve to be here speaking for you. “Of course.”

Martinez pushes up from his seat and Bruce follows. He tries for his second smile of the day and Martinez returns the same, albeit uncertain, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne. I hope you both can sleep a little easier.”

Martinez’s proprieties should have sounded absurd; who would struggle to sleep in a gilded tower such as his? It should have been the picture of safety, a haven with billions of dollars thrown at it to keep it locked tight. You should be safer nowhere else.

It was one thing to acknowledge the danger of knowing the Batman. It was another to know the danger did not end with the cowl. He’d learned that months ago.

Bruce resents the stares on his back even more as they weave through the hallways. The young cop keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t lose him, and each time Bruce has to fix his expression into something less disquieted. He must be doing an awful job because Martinez darts his eyes away each time.

You’d learned the hard way that Bruce haunts his home.

The gothic penthouse has an excess of dark corners. With the curtains rarely drawn and the lights kept dim, it wasn’t hard to see why you wouldn’t sense Bruce nearby until it was too late. A naive part of you had hoped he’d grow out of it the longer you stuck around, but stubborn as a dog, it was hard to shake Bruce Wayne out of a bad habit. In turn, you’d gotten good at studying.

It starts with gradual dread—the instinctual kind that keeps you alive—followed by a quickening of your heartbeat. The grandfather clock had noted the time to be four in the morning only a while ago, marking what should be the early end of patrol. While you’d been too invested in paperwork to hear the terminus elevator make its way up the shaft, Bruce had slipped past you in plain sight before. You look around the room in anticipation.

The first floor is completely silent. Alfred had (rightfully so) gone to bed hours ago, leaving you alone in the dark study with just a desk lamp to guide your weary eyes. You scan your surroundings for movement or even the slightest irregularity along the dark walls, but you see nothing. Your heart beats even faster.

“Bruce?” You try. If he was a good boyfriend, opposed to psychological torture as most good boyfriends are, he’d respond.

Air displaces by your ear, your senses recognizing him far too late. You note, vexed, that he’d already changed out of his Batsuit, meaning he’d come home and had time to change before sneaking up on you, “You’re getting faster.”

“Jesus! You’re the worst, you’re actually the worst.” Bruce leans down beside your chair, polite enough not to look smug. It comes off him in waves, though. “How long have you been home?”

“Not long.” You recognize that he’s trying to make you feel better. What shock that racked your body was now replaced with embarrassment. Truthfully, you were much more vigilant on more hours of sleep, but you couldn’t admit you were tired or that would be another nail in your coffin.

Instead, you shuffle your papers into a pile and set them aside. “You should be in bed,” you deflect, “we’ve got a meeting with the accountants in the morning, remember?”

“It’s almost sunrise.”

You were well aware. You hadn’t intended to stay up this late initially, though your internal clock had started to align with Bruce’s the longer you stayed here. You weren’t sure how Alfred managed to get much rest when Bruce was constantly coming home at ungodly hours, though you imagined that Bruce wouldn’t make things much easier if he knew that Alfred was starving himself of sleep. It was a shame that Bruce Wayne didn’t like being fussed over. You rather liked fussing over him. “What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

Something flickers across Bruce’s face when you say that.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, before he can hide it away.

You force yourself to be more alert now. There are light bruises where his shirt sleeves can’t hide them, nothing out of the ordinary for his kind of work, but he doesn’t look severely injured. Was he hiding something from you? The energy it took to get him to take care of himself was exhausting even on a full eight hours, and you grow weary just thinking about the argument you’d have to have to convince him. Maybe a bribe would work?

“Do you like it here?”

“In the tower?” Your question comes out unsure, pivoting from your original train of thought, “Yeah. Best view in the city.” Bruce’s expression tells you that he isn’t satisfied with your answer. You curl a finger under his chin, teasing, “And you’re here too.”

Bruce’s eyes follow your retreating hand, “You don’t feel... anxious?”

“Should I?”

The tower had once been anxiety-inducing, yes, when you’d first been invited to visit. Back then, the dark, ornate architecture was antagonistic, warning you that you didn’t belong here. Back then, you’d finally understood what everyone meant when they referred to the Waynes as Gotham “royalty”. Back then, you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You still felt anxious, sometimes, but then you’d remember who was there with you. “If you’re asking me if I feel safe here, the answer is yes,” the weight of Bruce’s continued silence confirms your guess, “but that’s not all you’re asking, is it?”

A rare occurrence—a smile—is what you’re met with. It’s sad all around the edges. “You lost your home because of me. The guy was... looking for money, found out you had something to do with me. Had it been anyone else, they could’ve taken a whole lot more. This would’ve never happened if... if-”

“If what? If I didn’t work for you?” You laugh, disbelieving, “You think I’d lose the opportunity of a lifetime for a shitty apartment under an even shittier landlord?”

"You know that’s not what I meant.”

The last time you’d seen Bruce this serious was the very night he’d come to save you. You force your expression to match his own, to show you were just as serious, even as your hands start to tremble in your lap. “Yes, Bruce. I know what you meant. I’ve lived in Gotham for a long time, and I can tell you that my life’s been threatened before. Working for you hasn’t increased my mortality by all that much.”

“Almost getting mugged and the possibility of someone targeting you to get to me are not the same thing and you know that.”

“I... what do you mean ‘almost getting mugged’?”

Bruce flinches back. His eyes, full blown, speak of more than he lets on, and you try to consider if maybe you’d misheard him. There had to be something else he was referring to, right? He couldn’t possibly know about that night. Your own mother didn’t even know about that.

He abruptly stands to his full height, breathing as if all the air in the room would run out soon. You think that he might be panicking. At the slightest movement, he flinches again. “Bruce,” you start, low, afraid that he’ll cower and dart away like a frightened doe, “how do you know about that?”

You’d done everything in your power to move past that night, yet it was rushing back to you in vivid color. It had been years.

Bruce’s mouth snaps closed. You don’t know if he really believes he can escape you, but he certainly does try.

You curse that he’s faster, leaner, trained to the very bone to move as stealthily as the shadows do. By the time you’ve even gotten out of your seat, he’s already mounting the stairs two at a time. Calling out his name does nothing to slow him down. He’s dead set on getting away from you. You press your body to move even faster.

By your luck, you manage to catch him just before he can slip through his door and into the safety of his room to hide away. You use both hands to draw him back by the upper arm, slowing him down, and it’s a feat that even you have to admire in the moment. What is he thinking, you wonder, that is so terrible he’d rather run away from you than face it head on?

“Let go,” his words are more commanding than pleading when he’s actually looking at you, but you hadn’t gotten this far with him by being compliant, “please.”

“You know something, something only I should know. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me how.”

You both know that if Bruce wanted to, really wanted to, he could escape. If he really wanted to, he could yank away from you and escape behind that door, shutting you out for God knows how long. Still, with you holding onto him for dear life, he doesn’t dare pry you off or shake you away. You hope that counts for something.

There’s a stretch of grave silence between the two of you. You recall that night and try to fit Bruce in like a wayward puzzle piece, never quite knowing where it’s supposed to fit. You were an employee back then; was Wayne Enterprises Big Brother, seeing all and knowing all? You’d escaped as soon as the sirens came around the corner and you were sure no one had seen you. That man had made it imperative for you to escape without anyone seeing you. Maybe you weren’t as quick as you’d thought.

You’re surprised that this ruckus hasn’t awoken Alfred, the penthouse sleepy and dreary even as the morning crawls on outside the window. Soon, dawn would be on the horizon, and soon after would the accountants arrive. It’s far too late to try and sleep any of this off now. You needed to know.

Bruce draws in a shuddering breath, unable to look you straight-on. With the way he looks, you’d think he was preparing to unmask himself as the villain of this story. “I was never going to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you-” And then he pauses, thinking the words over once more. Whatever he planned to say must not have sounded right, “Tell you that we’ve met before.”

“I’d remember you.” You’re obstinate, so sure of yourself that Bruce can’t help but laugh humorlessly, in on some joke that you desperately wanted to understand.

“You didn’t. You still haven’t.”

“I don’t get it, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes turn down at the corners when he frowns, pleading with you or maybe himself to be better at handling this. Then, recognition passes across his face. He doesn’t bother verbalizing it, only tugs his arm away from you and waits until you’re assured he’s not going to run away. Instead, he moves slowly toward his bedroom door, eyes never leaving yours. He’s asking you to trust him.

Bruce’s room rarely ever changes.

There’s still the pile of sketchbooks he left stacked beside his desk as he makes a steady line for it. He moves several off the top and retrieves one further down, no doubt completed a while back. You stare, unable to make sense of the choice. He begins to pass off the sketchbook to you and you openly show your bewilderment.

Bruce nudges it into your hand more firmly, “Open it.”

“But why?” is what you want to ask. You open the book anyway.

On the very first page is a sketch of three small dogs trotting together on a sidewalk, leashed to an elderly woman bundled in a winter coat. Your confusion only deepens.

Bruce comes beside you and lays his finger on the page, tracing the details of her patterned coat, “Before... the Batman, before all of this, I used to go out every night looking for low-lives, trying to be a hero. If you can believe it, I was a lot more reckless when I was younger. Alfred hated it,” you don’t miss the way Bruce’s voice softens around the mention of Alfred, “so he made me try reconnaissance. Told me to listen and observe for once. I think he just wanted me to stop getting my ass kicked.”

You flip the page when Bruce motions for you to do so and find a drawing of a young couple on a date. You note the worry on their faces that Bruce had drawn in so delicately. Bruce continues, letting you flip through the book on your own, “I would people watch at this same café every night. Some people I’d never see again, but some were regulars. Like the old lady. Everything I heard and everything I saw, I put it in these books.”

With each sketch, the tension in your body loosens. You find yourself admiring the skill and detail that Bruce put into his art, never failing to translate the humanity of his subjects in each one. Under some drawings are notes ranging from familiar to unfamiliar, some passing observations of strangers and others continued thoughts, building blocks on which Bruce built his understanding of each person. Questions left unanswered in the margins find their solutions down the line.

It took you a few pages to find yourself.

When you do, you don’t immediately recognize the face looking back at you. Your perception blurs as your brain tries to find the you in it, the you that you’d grown so used to seeing in the mirror. It’s... there, it is there, but it’s different. This is how he saw you.

You’re mid-laugh in this drawing with the unmistakable image of your mother by your side. You’re both at such an angle that Bruce had to have been only a few feet away. You recognize the railing that you’re leaning on in the drawing much quicker, for you’d seen it so many times before. The mention of a café comes back to mind.

“I saw you often.” Bruce softens, too, at the mention of you.

“I never saw you.”

“No, you did.”

You struggle with that wayward puzzle piece again, desperately trying to fit it in somewhere in your memory. You think of that café, about your mother, about the long walks from your job to hers and from her job to home, and about that night. That night...

You remembered the masked stranger, every inch of skin covered by shadow as if he’d materialized from the dark itself. It didn’t matter then that you could barely see all of him; it’d been too dark in that alley to make out much more than the sticky warmth that painted your palms red. In your panicked state, you had just wanted everything to fix itself. You had just wanted to be anywhere else.

And then he’d shown up.

The fuzziness of the man in your memory takes shape with Bruce in its place. The piece finally fits. “It was you, wasn’t it? That man.” You get a little frustrated with how quickly the tears spring forth to your eyes. “Bruce,” you reprimand, quickly wiping at your eyes even as the tears spill through your fingers, “next you’re gonna tell me I was a pity hire.”

Bruce breathes an uneven laugh, speaking softly still, “Just a little.”

You could feel it, hear it in his voice. “I never fully understood what happened that night, taking the fall for a stranger. I thought there had to be something wrong with you.”

“An argument can still be made.” Bruce’s melancholy slips away with the repartee. The guilt that wrestled in his eyes was still there, a chronic symptom that you weren’t certain would ever go away, but the little relief that you could offer was enough to keep it at bay. You could see why he’d never intended to tell you. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I can see it, as insane as it is to wrap my head around right now, but... I don’t know. I was so terrified, and he- you came out of nowhere and... I just don’t get it. Why you’d care. Why anyone would. I tried to forget about it, but I’ve always wanted to know.”

“I’d felt fear that paralyzing before... I know I would have liked to not have been alone in that moment.”

How many times had you walked past that café and never noticed? On your worst and best days, from work or from home, in company or alone. Gotham had always been a big machine and you had always thought yourself to be another inconsequential cog in it. A few go missing all the time, but there’s always someone right around the corner to replace them. You had no reason to believe you’d be any different.

But someone had been watching, and he’d thought otherwise.

The grandfather clock downstairs beats out five times, signaling the approaching daybreak. The accountants would be set to arrive by eight. You think about the paperwork downstairs, half-finished.

Before you can think too long about it, Bruce’s hand slips between the skin of your hip and the inside of your elbow, fingers blooming until they brush the skin underneath your shirt. Sedately, he presses you away from the door, “We should... sleep in tomorrow. Call in sick.”

You snort, wiping at your wet cheeks, “And who exactly would be calling?”

Bruce presses his nose to your temple, sweetening his voice until it makes your teeth ache to hear it, “...Alfred?”

You rarely liked putting more work on Alfred’s shoulders than absolutely necessary, but as Bruce coaxes you back toward his bed, you can’t find it in yourself to be too torn up about the idea. Bruce pleads with his eyes, surprising you into a fit of laughter, “You’ve gotta be the one to tell him.”

Taking the compromise, Bruce sweeps you up and into bed without further convincing.

Annie is kind, if not overzealous. She speaks about a mile a minute with no shortage of topics or signs of catching her breath; Bruce is reminded of Martinez’s guileless disposition when she asks what brings him to Gotham General, eyes sparkling. Bruce hardly feels like he warrants such a reaction.

“(Name) said they’d mention me to you,” Annie hurls the information at him when they enter the elevator, knuckles white around her clipboard, “you know, I’m always available. I’m really hands-on. Very dedicated to my job.”

Within the last quarter-hour, Annie had effectively talked his ear off about everything under the sun: the charity ball, his parents, the Riddler, how long she’d been working at the hospital, and more. It had to be a deliberate move on her part to only ask the pressing question when he no longer had the means to escape.

Bruce channels the etiquette hammered into him from a young age, happy to keep his eyes focused straight ahead, “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind.”

Annie’s pep fizzles, though Bruce has an inkling she won’t be deterred easily. When the doors open, she keeps in close step with Bruce, only walking so far enough ahead of him that he won’t lose his way, “Should I give you my number?” The nurse’s freckled cheeks blossom with pink, hand already inching toward her front pocket where the distinct shape of a cellphone resided.

“I’ve already got it.” When he lies this time, he feels his gaze wobble on Annie’s, worried she might see right through him... his worry turns to embarrassment when Annie brightens up instead.

“Oh, wow.”

Unconsciously, Annie comes to a full stop outside your mother’s hospital room. Bruce couldn’t escape the conversation fast enough. “This is it.” His words hurry out of his mouth as he reaches for the door handle.

“Please, let me, Mr. Wayne. I should let her know you’re here first.” Annie’s hand takes over, easing back into the professional atmosphere, and he steps away at once to let her pass through.

What eagerness he’d had to escape Annie’s pursuit now fell face-first over the threshold.

Your mother was the spitting image of you. Or, rather, you were the spitting image of her. He’d remembered her face from better days, though not as clearly as he’d remembered your own, and his dominant hand still memorized the lines and loops it took to make up her face on paper. “Eline,” Annie announces, glancing over at Bruce in the doorway, “Mr. Bruce Wayne is here to see you.”

Your mother’s eyes glide over to him and he’s suspended in place. The barest movement of her eyebrows upward signals her recognition, though she’s quick to smooth her face over again. When the silence drags on for a little too long, Bruce clears his throat and approaches her bed. He feels like a titan looming over her, and never so badly has he wished to shrink himself. It isn’t that your mother looks intimidated. He feels intimidated, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eline. I hope I’m not a bother.”

Eline tilts her head to the side, “Not at all,” Bruce feels a sense of relief when she looks to Annie again, “Thanks, Annie.”

Annie nods and leaves the room without another word.

There’s three seats in the room: the furthest is up against the wall of windows, a child’s throw blanket folded over the back of it. The other two are closer to the bed, one of which he takes after issuing a polite “May I?” under his breath. Sitting down takes a little of that earlier feeling away, though your mother’s stare doesn’t lighten up in the slightest.

He knows what he came here to say. All he needs to do now is just... say it.

At the same time that Bruce opens his mouth, Eline opens her own, “Does my kid know you’re here?”

Bruce wavers, “Yes.”

“And they didn’t tell me,” Eline scoffs, though she doesn’t sound annoyed about it, “I can only imagine why.”

The odd, unfamiliar briefcase that Bruce had brought with him burns by his side until he pops it open. Inside, he retrieves the evidence bag and holds it out to your mother, “The GCPD wasn’t able to get a hold of everything that was stolen. This is what they could.”

Eline reaches forward and takes the bag with as much care as one would use to pick up a shirt off the floor. The little odd bits tinkle inside the bag as she moves it around in her hands, eyes softening as she looks it over. You’d insisted the little things weren’t of much importance, but that if Bruce wanted to return them to your mother so bad, he could. Her fingers glide over the plastic and she smiles.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce continues, and your mother looks up in confusion.

“Sorry for what? They didn’t take anything all that special to me. Trust me, sweetheart.”

It was funny. You’d said the exact same thing. “It’s... not just that. I take full responsibility for what happened to your home, and I wanted you to know that I am dedicated to righting that wrong. With your permission, I’d like to give you the deed to a new one.”

This time, your mother doesn’t bother covering up her surprise.

Bruce takes the time to retrieve said deed from his briefcase, and Eline takes this with far more caution. The next few minutes are torturous, carrying with them all Bruce’s anxieties. This, he hadn’t discussed with you. “It would be all yours,” he elaborates gently, “no rent, nothing. Entirely yours. Entirely in your name.”

It was a nice property further from the inner city, one that belonged to the Waynes but had rarely been used since his parents’ passing. It would happily fit yours and your mother’s things in it five times over.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want you in the tower anymore (he’d grown frighteningly used to having you around now, and the thought of you not being there at the end of a long patrol left him feeling emptier than he’d like to admit), quite the opposite, but he felt you were owed this. This and eons more. If you’d let him replace that rickety car of yours too, he’d really be over the moon.

Eline ghosts her fingers over the deed, flipping through photos of the house, “It’s real nice, sweetheart. Everything taken care of. It’d be a good place for my kid.” He could imagine your face now, handing you the deed with a promise to help paint the kitchen when you moved in. Your mother would have all the amenities and more while she recovered. You would both be safe- “Just not for me.”

Bruce’s hopes plummet. He doesn’t have to say it out loud for your mother to pick up on his confusion.

She hands the paper back to Bruce, “It’s nothing you’ve done. I just don’t think I’ll be leaving here.”

Oh.

Your mother’s condition had always been vague, a constant seesaw between better and worse. She’d been in and out of this hospital enough times for you to lose count, and with a sickness that couldn’t be cured, only managed, there was never a clear picture for the future. But somewhere in Bruce’s mind, he’d hoped... he’d hoped for you, that she might still be in it.

It was a great deal different than his own experience. He’d never had the chance to consider a world without his own mother until it was too late. You’d always had to.

“But it’s beautiful, like I said. Ever since they told me you’d offered up a place for them at that big, ugly tower, I... well, I can’t thank you enough for looking after my baby. I’ll be happy enough to know they’re safe. Wherever they choose to be.”

Bruce wonders if she’d talked to you about this. Her surety that this hospital room would be her final home had felt like a significant weight on his chest. It came with a different kind of agony.

There was no fixing or changing this. She’d made up her mind.

With all the things he owed you, he owed your mother this, “They will be safe. I promise you that.”

Eline smiles again, a little less sad. She folds her hands in her lap and leans back. For a few, long moments, she watches him. Bruce isn’t sure what she’s looking for when she does, “You haven’t changed at all. You were a child the last time I saw you in the papers. It was still recent back then.”

Bruce pauses. Exactly what was recent weighed heavy in his silence.

Your mother continues, unbothered by his lack of response, “My kid sees something special in you, you know. They think the world of you. They’re convinced you’re gonna be the start of real change in this city.”

Bruce can no longer hold your mother’s eyes, though not for lack of trying. He thinks about the right thing to say, the press-friendly thing to say. What would Bruce Wayne—the persona, the face of Wayne Enterprises—say to that? Would he sound confident? Flattered, even? He doesn’t feel like either of those things. “It’s not me. People like Bella Reál are making the real changes in Gotham. I haven’t done nearly enough.”

“You’re still young, despite what you might think, and you had a rough start. No one can fault you for that.”

“What I’ve been through is nothing special.”

Bruce probably should have been looking at her after all, because when she reaches forward and takes his hand in hers with all the intensity of a mother on a mission, he doesn’t quite know how to react. His knee-jerk reaction is to wince back, to draw in on himself, but she keeps a firm grip on him. Yet, despite how tight she holds him, her eyes are delicate now. The intimidation he’d felt earlier is far away.

It’s strange. All of a sudden, he feels small.

When Eline speaks next, she speaks with a commanding voice, “No, maybe not, but you’re still a child who lost his parents. That’ll never change regardless of what anyone else has lost in comparison. You understand something that some people never will. That’s what you can share with this city. It’ll always be special to you.”

Bruce recalls the last time he’d been held like this, tenderly, with a mother’s love. It’s a shame that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. “Eline,” his voice quivers, “if you were me, where would you start?”

“Somewhere long overdue. I’m sure in Gotham, that could be anywhere.”

Anywhere. Anywhere in Gotham. A place comes to mind.

Eline doesn’t mind that Bruce holds onto her hand a little bit tighter.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #the batman #battinson x reader #mjwrites

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

Text

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

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