#also good luck competing with Timmy!!! that man has something about him that all the girlies like and you’ve been nothing but a dick

[harrywavycurly]

This is how Harry made me feel during this chapter:

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

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A/N: Okay, yay! to popping back into this one! I'm actually really feeling this story and think it has some good things in store. Thanks to all of those who have been patient and have supported this story in the past. I'm super grateful to you guys and love doing this!

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl

@lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies

Word Count: 3.6K

Warning: Strong Language, Major Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional.

Five months ago, it was her ex-boyfriend; this month, it was Timothee Chalamet.

I accidentally fell into a rabbit hole, a self-created paradox in which I scoured the internet for every scrap of information I could find on Shiloh Taylor. With nothing else to occupy my time in this hotel room, I found myself immersed in an unrelenting quest to know everything about her. This was one of the final nights of our press tour for the movie, and afterward, we would conclude our remaining leg in the States, wrapping up in California, but that was three weeks away. 

“Oh my God, T—just pick a color,” Shiloah laughs, her smile playful, and she nudges Timothee on the knee, making my heart pick up. Then she stands and exits the scene, and I observe Timothee’s eyes casually follow her, resting his chin on his propped knee, mellow in the way he turns his cheek, somber and at ease watching her move about out of bounds of the camera. 

This is her newest live; well, she was live yesterday; the time difference seems to always have a hand in adding to my misery. 

I woke to hundreds of tweets and random headlines about Shiloh Taylor getting a “special gift” from Harry Styles. In short, it all went back to the same burning question. Will this be the love connection we’re all dying for? 

And now I was feeding into the gossip, abiding my jealousy as I studied the way Timothee looked at her, trying to catch glances that might linger a little too long, but they always seemed neutral. “Wait—I forgot about this whole basket of nail polish…” Shiloah says, walking back into the shot, a wolven basket in hand, and she sets it on the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of it as Timothee sinks to the ground from her couch, both sitting in comfortable silence like this isn’t the first time they’ve hung out, and I know it’s not, but when you only see pictures it’s hard to guess the dynamic between the two—are they or are they not fucking? Everyone wants to know…including me.

It’s like being a fly on the wall, neither of them acknowledging the camera. “Dope, dude—you have so many colors,” he says, starting to sort through the basket. Then, I’m upright in my bed when I see a familiar box in his grasp, and I turn the volume up.

“Yo, dude, are these from Harry Styles’s new line?” And Shiloh barely looks up. She was too busy setting up her tools, but if you looked closely enough, there was a hint of a smile playing on her lips, but only if you were looking for it like I was, and here I was spiraling down this obsessive void I’ve wormed myself into—a steady forming habit—me constantly trying to get my fix. 

When Shiloh finally gives him her attention, he’s opening one of the three boxes I sent her—Perfect Pearl—Shiloh bends a knee to her chest, wraps her hands around her leg, and watches Timothee pluck each polish from its packaging, “How is he so cool? A nail polish line is perfect, dude. He’s so smart.” And Timothee is feeding my ego, filling my sense of pride, and it’s so hard not to like him. I don’t really have a reason other than I want to be him sitting in a room all alone with the girl I’ve wanted since the moment I saw her.

“I like that dark blue. Can I see that one?” she asks, “Inky Pearl…” she reads, setting it next to her. Timothee is already onto the next box—The Shroom Boom set—and while they’re unboxing, I’m reading through the comment section, which I know was booming because, as of late, my fans have been spamming her non-stop; once they finally figured out it was her in my Gucci Campaign, she became fresh meat.

I’ve been slowly watching her following climb, not just because of me. I think when she was hanging out with her Ex for a little while, she hit another wave, then the photoshoot. Now, she’s been seen hanging out with Timothee recently. The two of them being photographed out and about in LA, which has really sparked the rumor mill. 

But not as much chaos as the photoshoot. I thought after a month, it would die down, but the fans have been persistent, relentlessly trying to ship the two of us for months. It’s been a while since they’ve actually shown a positive reaction to someone. The whole Olivia thing blew up in such a negative way that it almost felt like a breath of fresh air; there are worse people to be linked to.

My sister told me that Shiloh’s podcast session had been her most played episode yet, upping her following. When the clip of Shiloh not realizing that Gemma and I were related went viral, everyone praised her authenticity. It became a joke that was supposed to jab at my ego, but it only made me like her more. I liked that she could separate the two, which meant the friendship between her and my sister was pure at its core.

Right before the photoshoot dropped, headlines were spewing details of Olivia and I’s ending. Details popping up from the beginning when she left her long-time partner to be with me. Yes, the whole thing was messy, but I never expected it to come out. 

Their nanny spilling details of fights between the two of them left me in a weird state of mind, being able to hear both sides of the story, not just hers. Details, I imagined happening but brushed them off because I was wrapped up in the idea of us, the whirlwind of this new adventure she was taking me on. Filming the movie kept us in a tight-knit community of people—they always say it’s easy to fall in love with a cast mate—they weren’t wrong.

I had no clue what was unfolding behind the scenes for her and Jason, and had I been a better person, I would have backed off, maybe given them space to figure out their shit, but it was fast, Olivia was interesting, and she knew so much about this whole other world that I was so interested in that we got swept up, and when the filming was over, we pranced around, her following me on tour, glued to my side, her own life becoming more and more disheveled. I could see her unraveling.

She wasn’t fit for my lifestyle, and I wasn’t settled enough for hers and the world that she played in—and now we’re tangled up in this messy ending that seems to be playing out for the world’s entertainment, both prisoners of our own expiration—I guess you can call it Karma.

“Alright, guys—” Shiloh announces, finally giving attention to the camera. She pulls the screen closer, her green eyes sweeping over the screen, definitely reading the comments, but she trained at her craft, and I’ve never been able to gauge any of her reactions.

“This last box has a note—” Timothee tells her, as I watch a scrap of paper float to the ground, and my heart races, knowing it was the handwritten note I had slipped in the last box, a sneak peek before our next launch, and she was the only one of the five people I handed them out to, the others being my family and friends—hints the spark of gossip, and here was proof.

Shiloah’s head turns in his direction, his eyes silently flitting over the note, and he smiles a huge grin, giving it away, then hands her the slip of paper, but she doesn’t read it. She places it on the ground next to her, my heart dropping with her lack of enthusiasm. Timothee, who hasn’t stopped smiling, observes this, and they make swift eye contact, and he rubs at his bottom lip to control his knowing smile. 

She smooths her lips together, then her eyes are back on the screen; the comment section is freaking out because the fans that are watching have never seen that packaging, catching on that it’s new, something unseen, and here is Shiloh with the first glimpse and everyone is losing their minds except for her—even Timothee was more excited than her, and I’m over here reeling for even the tiniest morsel because at this point I don’t think I’ll ever live down that drunk dial.

“Oh—this is a Hot Holiday…” Timothee laughs, revealing the name of the next launch, “This is the color I choose.” And he holds up the color Harry’s Chair, a seaweed green, and reads the color out loud, the chat a non-stop ping in the corner of the screen, and my heart is thudding against my chest, dying for her to read my note, not even caring if Timothee just announced my next launch for me.

She glances over and smiles, moving away from the screen, “That’s a nice green. I like the yellow. Can I see that one—”

“Oh yeah—that would look nice with your skin tone…” He adds. This is the first flirty grin I’ve seen sweep across his face as he hands her the polish. 

Shiloh returns the smile, eyes darting down to the polish in her hand timidly, something shy about her gaze, and she draws in a deep breath, her chest rising with the effort, then she shakes her head, glancing back up at him with that same smile, and I think they’re flirting—a silent chemistry that’s almost breaking my heart. 

“Each box comes with nail stickers—” he says with a nervous laugh.

“Oh shoot, that’s so cool. Are those letters next to you?” And she reaches over the basket, coming up to her knees, planting a hand on the ground to steady herself. She’s hovering over the basket now, her black short shorts rising, her Spice Girl crop top billowing down, exposing the soft skin along her ribs, skin I’ve run my hands down, skin I’ve touched and savored. She reaches next to Timothee, who is completely unphased by her close proximity, her messy pigtail brushing over his arm wrapped around his knees, and he doesn’t even finch. He’s reading the label inside the box as Shiloh gathers the stickers he’s collected next to him.

Shiloh falls back on her heels, sorting through each one, “These are good, it’s going to be hard to choose…but I also kind of like that oatmeal-looking color next to you,” She expressed, eyes flicking to the pile of polish next to Timothee.

Timothee pulls it out of the mound and reads it out loud, “Tender Bud,” and she grins, a huge smile stretching across her face, and she bits down on her lower lip, making my heart soar, finally a reaction that I can live with, daydream about, fantasize about the possible thoughts running through her head at that very moment because what made her smile like that? Did she have a dirty mind like me? Because that’s where my mind went.

“I’m feeling neutral…” She pokes, “I think I’ll go with that one…also, you’re the first person that’s come on the show who wants to paint their own nails…”

“Really?” He asks, handing her the polish with that same friendly smile that never seems to vanish. A curl falls into his face, and he swipes it behind his ear. Shiloh catches the move, and even I swooned. 

She smiles down at the polish, rubbing her glossed lips together, making me ache to feel them against mine, “Okay, before we start, you write down five questions from our guests—” And this is another thing about her. She’s so good at treating every viewer like they’re hanging out in the room, and the thing about it is that it’s not forced. It’s so fucking genuine that even I get lost in her presence, forgetting how long I’ve been staring at a screen.

Shiloh gives Timothee a notepad and pen, and leans over to the screen. “Alright, guys. You know what to do. Remember, play nice, give us some good questions…” Then they’re both staring at the screen, Timothee’s unwavering smile growing bigger as the questions flood in.

After a few seconds, Timothee plants himself in front of the screen, and Shiloh moves away, continuing to organize everything behind him. I watch her pick up each empty box and fold them back together with care, placing the packaging neatly on the couch, along with the bottles of nail polish that came with each set. 

She moves the basket out of view from the screen, then yanks a pillow off the sofa and shoves the pillow under her butt, and sits cross-legged, waiting for Timothee to finish, then swipes her phone from a couch cushion. Every time he laughs or interacts with someone, she laughs, and I realize she’s watching it from her phone. All hands on deck, she has this down to a science as she replies to people in the comment section, everyone losing their minds that she got Timothee on the show.

“Okay, I need one more question, guys; come through; I know you got one…” Timothee coos at the screen, his charming charisma stealing the show, but I’m focused on Shiloh. The second she put the phone down, she slid my note in front of her, staring down at the floor, trying not to gain any attention—And maybe if you knew what you were looking for, you would see these tiny details, but it’s there, and her eyes are skimming over the note, her mouth smoothing together, trying to hide that smile that I see trying to break away, that tilt at the corner of her mouth fighting to break through and then it’s there, on full display, and she drawing in her bottom lip, finger tracing along the edge of the paper.

And I’m smiling, smiling so fucking big that I can feel the stretch in my cheeks. Then she peeks at the camera for a split second and smirks, eyes shifting back to the paper, and she slyly moves it back to its previous place next to her, falling back into the palms of her hands, her eyes pinned on the note. Her face is turned away from the screen, only feeding me a sliver of her profile, but the smile is still there, present in all its glory. 

And I’m lost in her all over again; just as Shiloh turns around, a knock sounds on my door, and I slam the laptop shut, feeling like a teenage boy about to get caught watching porn. Then, I bound to the door and peeked through the peephole. 

It’s Olivia.

My heart slams in my chest, and I pull back from the door. What the fuck could she want? We haven’t really talk much since the tour started, neither one of us wanted to draw attention, and we both thought it was in our best interest to give each other space, but here she was breaking that agreement. 

“Is everything okay?” I ask, cracking open the door. I’m only in my underwear, and even though she’s seen me naked, it feels strange to put myself on display to her; it’s been three months since we broke up, and it still doesn’t feel long enough to have a casual interaction.

“Hey—umm…actually, I don’t know why I came here…” She answers, waving a frantic hand, then turns away, and of course, I feed into it because I know she went out of her way to figure out which room I was staying in—I told the team ahead of time that I wanted to pay for my own room to keep my privacy. 

I open the door and step out into the hall, “Olivia, wait…it’s fine— come in—” I tell her, waving her back, already feeling annoyed because I know there isn’t a single thing we have left to talk about, but I kept my neutrality anyway. 

She’s playing into her bit a little more than usual tonight, and when she turns around, I can’t tell if the pain on her face is real or forced, “I’m sorry—I just—needed to talk.” And she walks past me into my room, and now I’m stuck with the decision I just made.

“What’s wrong?” I nudge as soon as the door closes. Her eyes are darting around the room like she’s looking for something, but there’s nothing to find. It’s just been me. I haven’t been with anyone since the breakup.

She shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder, giving me this look that, please pity me; I’m a helpless fool for you, and it immediately throws me off, those big green eyes of hers begging, then she turns around and starts undressing.

“Olivia—” I start as her shirt comes over her head, her bare breast hanging there on full display. She knows this was my favorite part of her; her nipples easily peaked at even the slighted touch, and it always turned me on…like, I’m getting turned on right now. 

My eyes flit to the bed, where the laptop rests on top of the bedspread. Then Shiloh appears in my mind, a vision of her reading my note, and my whole body wakes with it. Olivia must see the change in my expression as interest because she continues to take off her clothes, then walks over and drops to her knees in front of me, gazing up with those same pleading eyes. 

“Just one last time…” She breathes, and I’m a penniless fool for her tone as she lowers my boxers and wraps her warm hands around my shaft, my dick hardening with what’s to come. I close my eyes then and let my head fall back, Shiloh moving across my mind’s eye, and as Olivia closes her lips around the head of the penis, Shiloh is all I can think about.

So yes, I fucked my ex, but I thought of Shiloh the entire time, swapping visions of curved hips and dreaming of her full lips pressed to mine, and when I came, I was so enveloped in her presence that I almost called out her name, breathing the first few letters into existence, abruptly stifling it with a seal groan caught at the back of my throat just as Olivia’s face came to view, and when the expression on her face went from pleasure to pissed, she climbed off of me in a furry, staggering to her pile of clothes laid out on the floor.

“I know what you were about to say—” she spits, “You couldn’t just give me this one last thing, could you?” And I push myself up on the bed, watching her slip back into her clothes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I lie.

“Bullshit, Harry—like I haven’t seen the rumors flying around…god, what’s that new one…” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, her finger on her chin, raking my inside with annoyance. 

She laughs, “Oh—yeah, your fans are freaking out about your newest launch…well, I guess it hasn’t launched yet, but Shiloh has already gotten her hands on it, and everyone is just dying to know what the note said?” 

“It was nothing, just a simple thanks for supporting Pleasing…I don’t know…I didn’t write it. I was just trying to get more press around Pleasing. You, of all people, know how that works.”

Olivia shakes her head, not buying the lie, “The thing is…is that I saw you at the Gucci Show, you were so distracted, and when we went home that night, you pulled away, I could see the end playing out in your eyes every time you looked at me.”

“Oh, come on, Olivia…enough with the drama already,” I exhale, getting worked up, irritated that she’s trying to call me out.

“No, seriously…and then I saw that photoshoot, and I still don’t know if I truly believe it was a random happenstance like you said…It seemed too good, spot on because everything made sense after that, the break? or fucking breakup, I don’t know anymore…”

I don’t say anything; I just stare at her, indifferent to it all because I don’t owe her anything, “Did you guys fuck? Is that why you didn’t come home until four in the morning the night of the photoshoot?”

“Olivia for fuck sake…I’ve already told you a million times. How many more times do I have to tell you I never cheated…there was no other woman. You and I were never going to work, and you know it.”

Her mouth drops into a frown, “I loved you…” She whispers as a low whimper rises up her chest just as tears begin to pull in her eyes.

“God—Olivia—” I breath, falling back into my pillow and swiping a hand down my face. “Do we really have to do this?” I yell.

“You’re the one that came to me…” I force, starting up at the ceiling. I don’t even want to look at her anymore, witness her fall apart for the umpteenth time because it’s getting old. What did she want? She got what she came for, and then I’m sick to my stomach, the thought of using Shiloh like that, to sink to that level when I’ve already hurt her. The thought that I just gave myself over to Olivia that easily has me out of bed, pushing past Olivia, who is standing there waiting for a reply she’ll never get. 

“Just let yourself out,” I hiss, slamming the bathroom door behind me. Then, I’m on my knees, retching into the toilet bowl as the sound of the door slams in the distance, and I wipe my mouth with my forearm and force myself to turn on the shower.

A/N: Okay, but can we talk about how Harry was behaving during the press tour for Don't Worry Darling in Venice because that is where I drew inspo for this chapter. I imagined he was acting a fool because he had slept with Olivia and felt silly about his decision, so of course, it had to be awkward because he's just a boy after all.

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