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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years ago

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The Untimely Downfall of Strangers - Part XVI

The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

THEN - Day 1165

I stared across the room at him as Niall’s voice seemed to drown out my thoughts. I stifled a yawn and wondered when I’d get to march down the hall to my own hotel room, lock the door, take a bath, and get to sleep.

It was their last album release week--maybe ever--and my job was to tag along to events. Look good. Smile wide. Say that I was excited.

I was feeling anything but.

The vacation that Harry and I had planned for after the album was quickly approaching--but the mere thought of it sent a wave of nausea through my stomach that I couldn’t quite ignore.

Now, he was staring at his phone. His eyes fixated on whatever it was that he typed. A joke to his sister. A message to a friend. I didn’t really care. These days, it felt like his eyes were anywhere but on me.

“So, everyone will be up at in the hallway for 7am tomorrow?” Their manager looked around the room, waiting for nods of confirmation from all of us--including me.

Liam was next to me, his arm on the back of the couch as he let out a monotonous ‘yes,’ but then he looked over to me and raised his eyebrows. “A week right?”

“One week,” Harry replied for me, his tone much less enthusiastic than Liam’s. He brought his eyes to mine, offering what seemed to be a hopeful--yet timid--smile.

But I didn’t know if I’d make it.

I didn’t know how many more times I could wake up and wonder how to convince him that I was still here--I was still in it. I’d spent years acting on TV and now I didn’t have an ounce of pretending left in me.

Which is why, later that night, I called Sinead and I called Cara and I told them that I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to--it’s that I couldn’t.

Neither of them knew what to say. They wanted me to be happy, but they both felt that my happiness meant a life with Harry by my side. At this point, I disagreed.

NOW - Day 1834

I sat across from Nick Grimshaw with a microphone in front of my face. It’d been a while. I only had one condition--which Grimmy was happy to hear: don’t ask about the guy from Tennessee.

Claire and Nick had worked hard to make it blow over. A few photos of me out to dinner with famous friends created a decent buzz that seemed to lessen the blow of my biggest scandal to date. I mean, that’s if you don’t count me disappearing for a year and a half and breaking up with Harry.

But Grimmy was okay with it--such an off-limits question meant that he was free to ask what he wanted about Harry. But he also knew that it meant I was free to answer however I’d like.

He asked about the album, my decision to drop it with minimal promotion, my time off, my writing process. But it didn’t take him long to get the to key points.

“So, I mean, let’s face it. You’ve been spotted back with Harry Styles and now you’ve got this new album--with a lot to say on it,” he prompted.

“Yeah,” I nodded--Sinead watched from her seat from behind a glass window. Nick was standing beside her and Hilary was in the back.

Harry was a thirty minute drive away, still at home, likely in his pajamas and maybe drinking a cup of tea. I wondered if he was listening.

He’d begged to tag along but I wasn’t up for dealing with the optics, as Hilary would say. I didn’t have the energy to deal with the questions and the photos and the rumors. There were enough already,

“So is it safe to assume that you and Harry are back together?”

Nick knew the answer--but his listeners didn’t.

“You know--sometimes people need time apart,” I laughed. “And I think there are songs on this album that really explain where I’ve been and where I am now. So I’m happy to be spending time with Harry and to have had time to reflect on my job and my life.”

“A nice, vague answer from Miss Margot Jones, a classic Friday morning special we’ve got here, folks!”

Everyone in the room laughed, and when I rolled my eyes at Nick, he only egged me on more. “But seriously, we’re all excited that you two are back together--the fans are wild about you both. But this album must have been hard for him to hear.”

I didn’t quite know what to say. Yes. It was. He was mad at points and we talked a lot about it and there were moments when I feared that it wouldn't work out this time, either.

I opted for something more concise, a need to defend myself bubbling in my chest as my thoughts became words. “Well, you know, I wanted this album to be honest, if anything. I wanted to explain my side of things and, I mean, he got to tell his side, which wasn’t easy to hear either.”

“What’s that life like? Hearing your significant other’s album and then writing one in response?”

“Exhausting,” I laughed, setting us up for a commercial break. Nick took us out and smiled when he removed his headphones.

“Can’t hide it for long, love.”

THEN - Day 1155

Harry wasn’t really one to get mad. He never raised his voice or called me names. Instead, he shut down.

His assistant, Emma, stood by the door, her voice calm and steady as she read over his schedule. She knew that neither of us were listening. I’d asked a question about whether or not I really had to go to one of their events. Harry said yes, I said no. Emma stayed silent.

Now, as her eyes scanned down her phone and Harry’s seemed to glaze over as he looked out the window, I wondered if now was my moment.

Emma would leave the room, I could tell Harry that this wasn’t working. I could use this as an example. A simple question, a small disagreement, and we were staring in opposite directions as if our lives depended on it.

I didn’t know how he expected us to have a whole week together, uninterrupted. Nothing but the beach and the sun to ease the tension.

After a few more minutes of talking, Emma excused herself and told us she’d be back in 15. I wondered if that was her way of giving us a time limit to whatever was about to explode.

“What’s wrong with you?” I finally asked--likely the most direct I’d been in months.

“What’s wrong with me?” He turned around suddenly, his eyes wide with confusion--his phone limp in his hand when he abandoned whatever he’d been staring at. “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been--I dunno--weird for months now.”

“I’m not being weird,” my voice was quieter now. I wasn’t any good at responding to remarks about my mood. I didn’t need him to remind me that something was seriously wrong. I had the aching in my chest to remind me every night.

“Margot--what is going on between us?” He stood from his spot on the couch and made his way towards me, his pace slowing considerably when he got closer. He looked me up and down, almost as if he didn’t quite recognize me.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” I lied. He knew it was a lie.

He was quiet for a moment.

His eyes were distant and he looked tired. Tired of traveling, of performing, of smiling, of singing, of me. He’d admit all of that. He was weeks away from the end of an era. His band was done. He didn’t know it yet, but we were, too.

He kept his eyes on the ground, his hands clasped together as if he were about to suggest a company merger.

“Margot, I love you, and I want to make things okay, but I can’t if you don’t let me.”

I thought on his words for a second. Where did I start? How did I tell him the secrets I’d been keeping for a year?

I’m tired. I’m upset. I’m angry. I’m bored. I’m scared. I’m anxious. I’m depressed. I wonder what it’d be like to quit and move to upstate New York and buy a small house with a field. I can’t handle the attention, I can’t handle the pretending. I can’t handle your fans who love me and hate me and want nothing to do with me but want to know every single piece of our lives. I hate your job. I hate my job. I don’t know what else I’d do. I don’t know if you’d love me if I wasn’t the girl in the poster. What if I’m broken? What if I’ll never be the 17-year-old in the driveway that you fell in love with? What if I’m washed-up? What happens when people stop buying my albums? What happens when you leave the band? What happens when I’m 30, 40, 50? How do you know that you’ll love me forever?

He let a gust of air escape his lips when I didn’t reply. He got up from the couch, headed for the door, and closed it behind him. That’s when I knew he needed space.

THEN - Day 1155

Margot had a temper. That was never news to me. She was loud and energetic and she had no problem letting me know when I fucked up.

Maybe that’s why things felt so out of whack.

She wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t seem to have anything to say.

Emma slipped out of the room and I counted the seconds it took one of us to say something. She spoke first.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I turned my head at record speed, my eyes wide as they met hers. She had deep circles under her eyes--her skin was pale and she made minimal effort to smile these days.

“What’s wrong with me?” I stared at the girl I once knew--the girl who had turned into a shell of herself before my own eyes. “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been--I dunno--weird for months now.”

I didn’t know how to be more direct. I’d asked what was wrong. I asked how she felt. I asked if she was sick. I asked if she needed help. I asked if she wanted to hurt herself.

I tried and tried and tried to figure out how to help the girl with a big smile and make her feel okay. I knew she knew how. I’d seen it.

My question startled her. She did the thing where she tried to retreat into herself--if she were a turtle, she’d be gone inside her shell until she knew it was safe to reappear.

“I’m not being weird,” her voice was quieter now, the usual tone of defense replaced with one of fear or uncertainty.

“Margot--what is going on between us?” I stood from my spot on the couch and made my way towards her. She flinched a little at this, sinking deeper into the cushions in the hotel room that she refused to sleep in.

There was once a time where we got one room. One bed. One bathroom. Just us. Now she seemed to bruise under my touch and watch me with eyes that were constantly teary.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” she shrugged her shoulders, reaching for her phone as if the conversation was that simple--as if a quick redaction of her words would undo the last few months.

The new year brought me a new Margot. One that was sad and cold and distant. It’d been eleven months with the new version of her, but I still couldn’t pick her out of a crowd.

I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. I could ask as many questions as I wanted. I could try to have a conversation and offer support. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t take it. It was that simple.

So I’d get mad. I’d get mad and drop it and pretend--just like she was--that everything was fine. Maybe that wasn’t the right choice. Maybe I didn’t care. Maybe I just didn’t know what to do or who to be or what to say or how to love her.

She stared at me with cold eyes now--more angry that she’d been a few moments earlier.

I wanted to tell her I knew. I wanted to tell her that I knew how she felt even if she didn’t have the words.

This is hard and scary and miserable, at times. We’re up early and up late and we’re tired and sick of doing this but what else do we do? Who am I without the band--who are you without your music or the show? Who are we without each other? What comes next? What comes in 10 years? Where do we go from here?

I didn’t know how to say all of that to her, and I wasn’t about to lie.

So I decided to go with the truth. “Margot, I love you, and I want to make things okay, but I can’t if you don’t let me.”

She dropped my gaze when I spoke. I gave her a minute. Sixty seconds of silence to see if she’d say something.

She didn’t.

So I left.

NOW - Day 1840

Margot shifted on the cushion beside me, turning her head slightly to signify that she wanted me to answer the therapist’s question: when did you know the honeymoon was over?

I cleared my throat and shrugged my shoulders a bit. When did I know? Had it ever begun? I didn’t really know the answer, and even if I did, I’d be worried about saying it in front of Margot.

But my skull must have been transparent, because Margot let out a laugh and shifted again beside me. “Just answer, Harry, it’s okay.”

I blushed at this--embarrassed that I was so predictable and embarrassed that she’d called me on it. “I mean--I know they don’t typically last two years, but, I guess in 2014. We had a great summer, but we were both on tour.”

She nodded and the therapist did, too. “That was your second summer together?”

“Yeah,” we both said at the same time.

“Mine was seventy-something different cities from May to October. Yours was…” she trailed off when she looked towards me for my answer.

“Sixty-something spread out from April to October.”

“It was fine at first,” Margot said, she stared out the window in Hilary’s office and a small smile came over her face. “Busy and a lot of travel but I think we were both excited to be on the road and visiting each other and whatever. It was kind of a high point in both our careers, I think.”

“So what changed?” Hilary asked, her question was directed towards me since I was the one who’d pinpointed that summer. Margot brought her eyes to mine again and waited.

“I mean, it just wasn’t as easy. The summer of 2013 we were both still so excited, I think. I was just in love with her and nothing could really bring me down.”

Margot’s eyes stayed on my face even though I didn’t look at her. Hilary nodded for me to continue. “But by the end of 2014 I think,” I paused, unsure how to label the look of defeat in Margot’s eyes that winter. “She was tired. Emotionally, physically, all of it.”

“And you didn’t know what to do,” Hilary spoke for me, her eyes curious as I tore mine away.

Instead of looking at either of them, I stared at my hands. I twisted the metal on my fingers and shrugged my left shoulder. “Not a clue. And when 2015 came it just got worse I asked and I tried to understand but,” my voice was higher pitched now, a desperation present that I hadn’t quite expected.

It caught Margot off guard as well, she’d turned her whole body towards me on the couch and waited for me to continue. I could feel the water blur my vision, but I wiped quickly at my eyes to dispose of the evidence.

You’d think I’d be okay crying in therapy. Margot said she’d done plenty.

“She wouldn’t tell me, she didn’t want my help and she didn’t seem to care that seeing her crumble was breaking me, too.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d said it so pointedly before. The air in the room didn’t seem to shift like I’d expected. Instead, I heard Margot draw in a deep breath and then exhale. Hilary, who sat in her brown armchair across from us, turned her attention to Margot.

“What does that bring up in you, Margot, hearing that?”

She mirrored the gesture I’d made ten times already--a shrug of her shoulders and another deep breath. “Bad, shitty. I didn’t mean to be so--difficult. I didn’t know what to do either. I was losing my mind and had no clue if anyone around me could handle that.”

Her voice became more emotional as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I thought if I told him that I was depressed and anxious and having a mental break down that he’d just leave.”

“I wouldn’t have done that,” I said--the words had been said a thousand times before, but this time she nodded and looked up at me.

The last time I said those words to her she got upset. After a glass of wine at her house I’d brought him up--the kid at the facility who touched her skin and knew how she tasted. I hated the thought of it, but then the guilt washed over me when I remembered that I’d taken things a step farther in Jamaica.

She defended her secrecy regarding the incident and told me that she was afraid it’d do this: make me upset and create more space between us when we were just learning how to build a bridge. I told her over and over that I needed the truth from her, no matter how tough it would be.

If we were going to do this, we needed to be honest. This time, she seemed to understand that more.

“I thought I was going to bring you down with me,” she said quietly. “I got it in my head that the only way to save you was to break up with you and spare you from my tragedy. But I just--I didn’t know how to communicate all of that.”

Margot didn’t know what to say or how to tell me she was miserable. I didn’t know how to tell her that I saw through her lies and that she needed help. We’d spent hours in studios writing lyrics, yet both of us had lost the ability to use our words when we really needed them.

I didn’t have to say this, though, because Hilary said it for me.

She adjusted in her chair and offered a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you both didn’t know what to do. And that you both wanted to help the other but wires got crossed.”

THEN - Day 2

I walked onto set the next morning and didn’t know what to expect. A part of me felt like I needed to apologize for how obnoxious my family had been.

Sorry that Pete makes dad jokes. Sorry that Maya is so excitable.

Maybe I needed to apologize for even thinking they’d want to eat dinner with my family and be entertained by pick-up games of driveway basketball. They were in a band. They had all the girls they wanted. They probably would have preferred a club downtown and hot models.

So when Harry showed up in my dressing room as I on the couch with the script in my lap, I offered him an apologetic glance.

“Came to say thanks for last night,” he smiled a bit, an air of nervousness seemed to come from his figure in the doorway.

I closed the book and squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment. “Sorry it was so lame--I hope you didn’t feel pressured, I know Maya was super excited--it was probably sort of be like hanging out with a fan.”

“It wasn’t lame,” his eyebrows dropped as if he were confused. “I really do love a good burger and I got to watch Niall act like an idiot.”

I laughed at that, wondering about the space between us. There were probably ten steps between where he stood and where I was on the couch. I heard voices from the hallway as production assistants passed. There was enough buzz by the coffee table when I’d arrived that I’d headed straight for the safe reprieve of my dressing room.

“So when does the sightseeing begin?” He asked casually, taking three steps forward and standing directly in the center of the room. The makeup counter behind him was a mess. I had books on the coffee table and an array of sweatshirts sat atop a chair in the other corner. My laptop was on the cushion beside me, haunting me with the leftover homework from my on-set tutoring. It felt, for a second, like he was in my bedroom. My work bedroom.

I had an idea of where he was going with it, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. “What do you mean?”

“Your hidden gems. You’ve talked them up quite a bit.”

I tried to hide the smile on my face--he seemed intrigued and interested but casual and confident. Dating at my age was hard enough. Add my job and life on top of it and it felt next to impossible.

I would look at someone on the street and then there’d be an article about our raging romance. A previous break up in the spring had left me reeling, and I decided that I wasn’t about to date another person of notoriety. Something about Harry felt different.

He seemed normal. Nice and human and suddenly thrust into the world that I was trying to stay afloat in. I felt like he would get it.

NOW - Day 1908

Making an appearance in public with Harry wasn’t a new thing. There’d been plenty of red carpets and award shows where we’d walk arm in arm.

There were more pictures of us on the internet than I could count--and whether they were actual shots of us at events, paparazzi grabs, or leaked selfies, it didn’t seem to matter. The world wanted more of us and so did we.

Except for now.

The car was being pumped full of cool air--the winter day in LA was hotter than either of us expected, and the heightened heartbeat in my chest didn’t help.

“You’re actually shaking,” he laughed a little, his voice loud enough that Sinead lifted her eyes to check on me.

“I’m fine,” I told him, my knee bouncing up and down beneath the red fabric of my dress.

I was fine. I was nervous, of course, to be making our first appearance at an event together since 2015. Being seen going in and out of a coffee shop is way different than posing on a carpet and walking by old friends and new friends and seeing all of the people with cameras elbowing each other beyond the metal barricade.

The Jingle Ball was being hosted at The Forum. I was only glad that it was a familiar location.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Sinead said quietly, her eyes still on her phone as the car slowed in line behind other black SUVs. We were in the drop off line--only a few cars in front of us until we’d climb out and smile, a motion that still seemed so robotic.

But I was excited. I was just nervous, too.

“S’gonna be fine, really. It’s not like people don’t know we’re together.”

“I know,” I said quietly, my eyes flickering out the window as I saw event managers pass by our car. “Just hope people don’t ask shitty questions or make things more awkward than they need to be.”

“So we divert and give them a vague answer,” Harry shrugged, his hand coming to rest on my thigh, his fingers gave me a quick squeeze before Sinead spoke.

“Or you tell them to fuck off,” she laughed.

“That too,” Harry looked down at me, fighting a toothy grin. He ran a hand through his short hair and seemed to break eye contact for a second before looking down at me again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I told him.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

Sinead buried her head in her phone, pretending to give us privacy.

“For doing all of this. For coming back even though it was hard. For going to counseling, for working things out.”

I didn’t have snarky or sarcastic reply. I didn’t have a negative thing to say or a worry in my brain that he didn’t mean it.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, leaning into him when he pressed his lips to my forehead. Our car had slowed to a stop now, a woman with a headset stood by Harry’s door as Sinead climbed out. When the door was shut behind her, a moment of comfortable silence passed between us.

“Niall will be inside,” Harry nodded his head in the direction of the venue. “Probably has a snack waiting for you.”

“Didn’t we eat those ridiculously good corndogs here a few years ago?”

“Yeah--they’re out of this world,” he nodded seriously. The woman with the headset knocked three times on the door, giving us a signal that she’d soon open it.

“Hey,” I said, pulling on his arm to make him look back at me for a second. “I’m happy we’re doing this.”

“This?” He motioned out to the crowd again, but then motioned a hand between us. “Or this?”

“Both.”

NOW - Day 1963

January was mild in Malibu and the sun rose like pink flower petals across the sky. Harry’s tour was on pause for a bit--a deserved break from the madness that had consumed our fall. We’d decided, right after Christmas (with the help of Hilary), that it would be the perfect time for him to bring his things to my house in boxes, a certain sign that we were on the right track.

Sinead stood in the foyer with a clipboard like she had the day I moved in. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was dressed casually: leggings, a t-shirt, Nikes. “Where are you putting that one?” She asked some of the movers who left dirty footprints on the marble floor.

I wasn’t completely involved. Harry was in the driveway as the first check point. He asked what each box was labeled as, then told whoever was carrying it which room to put it in.

Sinead was serving as back-up, which I think gave her more anxiety than anyone else.

So I was in the kitchen, sat at the counter on my laptop going over possible wardrobe designs for an upcoming endeavor: a fifteen-date tour.

It wasn’t really my idea. I mean, it was, and it wasn’t. Nick was patient and kind and told me that I didn’t have to do one at all for this album if I didn’t want to. And at first, I didn’t know if I would. I needed time to see how people would react. I needed to see if they’d be as patient and kind as everyone close to me was.

The fall was busy and the holidays came and went with home-cooked meals and mulled wine at Anne’s house. We took a trip with Gemma and her boyfriend and even let Ben and Sara tag along. Maya was super jealous but claimed she’d get us back one day by going on a trip of her own without all of us.

I think it was good for us to spend some time away from Malibu and Los Angeles altogether. Even though I’d been relatively inactive, I was still accessible just by being here. Even when I was quiet, my name was making headlines for just that: No news is bad news from Margot Jones?

So being in the UK was a nice break and spending time with our families felt safe and secure.

“Okay, we have one problem,” Harry appeared in the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorway.

I looked up, raising my eyebrows as a non-verbal cue to go on.

“I brought three acoustic guitars--you’ve got four up there as well as that electric that Nathan got you one year.”

I laughed, closing the colorful designs on my laptop and shutting the computer altogether. I let my elbows rest on the counter.

Those weren’t even all of our instruments. The baby grand that slept in the music room took up most of the space--scattered guitar stands were likely the least of our concerns. “I can keep some at the studio, s’fine.”

I walked over to him and let him drape his arms around me, my head fitting against his chest with ease. He smelled like cardboard and laundry detergent--a fitting Saturday around the house mix.

“Or, one day, we just buy a house big enough to keep all of our shit.”

My lips twitched up at that. He’d been using more future-focused language--a term that made us giggle every time Hilary used it. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

My house wasn’t big enough for us forever. It was fine for now, especially seeing as the next few months it’d still be just me. Harry would be on the road and then I’d head off on my own tour, flying home for low-key weekends and take-out on the couch.

It made more sense though, for us to label the same spot as home, seeing as he’d already been sleeping here more than anywhere else in LA.

So he went back to unpacking and I went back to wardrobe questions via email. I headed to my mom’s that afternoon for a while when I got sick of all the people in my house. Harry and Sinead could handle it, and I think the fact that I was willing to let them handle it was a sign of growth. I listened to Maya talk about her upcoming Spring semester and I laughed at obnoxious pictures from our trip that Sara had finally uploaded to her computer.

When I came home that night and keyed into my front door, I was greeted with music floating in from the kitchen. Beside that was the smell of something delicious--lemon chicken? Maybe even veal? I could hear Harry humming along to the song, and when I dropped my keys on the counter and rounded the corner, he wiggled his hips next to the stove as he used a spatula to move things around inside the pan that he watched closely.

The house was quiet--the dust settled after a busy day with a lot of commotion. In the corner of the living room, his favorite guitar sat on a stand near the window and the two books he most recently read were on the coffee table between the two couches.

I didn’t know it yet, but his toothbrush was beside mine in the master bath upstairs and a framed picture of his family was on the nightstand by the bed. Our bed. And something about all of that felt right.

NOW - Day 2049

New York was beautiful in the spring, the green leaves a sign of triumph. The scene of our wintry break up had blossomed into a colorful portrait of ings. Trying. Talking. Hoping. Working. Doing.

Harry and I couldn’t promise each other the moon or the stars or the sky. We couldn’t avoid fights or disagreements like we couldn’t avoid the puddles on the sidewalks on a rainy day.

But we could promise the ings. Talking. Trying. Making it work even when it felt like things were broken. After all, that had been the entirety of 2017.

So 2018 felt different. He was on tour and I was on tour and both of us knew that our living room on the cliffs in Malibu was a sanctuary we’d always return to--no matter how dark the night seemed.

But this weekend, one that we both had off, was the perfect time for a trip back to the city we’d ended things in. The sidewalks were still stained and sirens still blared. Cars clogged the intersections and the skyline stretched up to the sun. Nothing had changed in New York, but everything in us was different.

He didn’t tell me where we were having dinner. Instead, he told me to meet him after I got off my flight, the wings of the small plane dipping as we circled the busy island below. An address flashed on my screen when my phone reconnected to service--somewhere in the Village.

So I sat in the backseat of a car excited to see him. I watched the scenery change from the suburbs of the airport to the crowded streets, and when I got to the address he’d sent, I recognized it.

A small boutique hotel I’d mentioned three months earlier. Owned by a family that we knew. The elevator in the lobby brought me and the security detail trailing behind up to a rooftop garden.

“I’m fine,” I told man in a dark grey suit, allowing him to hang back when I noticed the rest of the roof was empty. Just Harry, peonies, and a bartender behind mahogany counter. A table near the edge of the roof, his back was turned to me as he looked out over the city.

“Very chic,” I said, slowing my pace a bit when he turned around. His lips faltered for a second, a smile overtaking the hesitation when he let his eyes meet mine.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his hand finding the small of my back when he closed the distance between us, meeting me in the middle of the empty rooftop.

“S’quiet up here,” I said, looking around at all of the colors. The blue and pink sunset, the different reds and oranges of flowers. Green leaves and shades of grey below. “Just us?”

“Just us,” he nodded.

A waiter brought us champagne--two flutes with bubbles clinging to the sides. There was dinner and conversation and he told me about the past week. He told me about the ways he missed me and when we finished dessert, I pointed north and asked if he saw it.

“See what?”

I pointed a finger and closed one eye, the shine from the windows in the distance blurring into an orb of light now that the sun had sunk below the horizon. “That’s The Langham.”

He leaned his head over to rest on mine, I wondered if he was thinking about the interior of the room. The words I said, the way he looked so distant, the sound in my voice when I told him to leave.

If he was thinking about that he didn’t say it. Instead: “We’ve come a long way.”

I nodded, thankful for the separation from the city below. Twenty-two floors stood between us and the rest of the world--like the rooftop was a private space where we were untouchable. At least I could pretend that we were momentarily.

“Marg,” he said suddenly, pulling away from me slightly. He shoved a hand in his pocket and fished out a black velvet box.

“I, uh,” he lifted the box and set it down twice, a thumping in my stomach had me hanging on his words. “I have this.”

I looked down at it, his left hand reached up to open it, a small light inside reflected off of the stone, my eyes flew up to his for an explanation.

He sunk to one knee, the way you do when you tie a shoe or pick something up from the ground. He told me he loved me, his voice soft enough for only me to hear, and he asked me to do this forever, as messy or as hard as it might be.

I muttered out some type of yes of course oh my god are you serious I had no idea I’m so excited I love you so much yes.

He hugged me and brought his forehead to mine and we swayed like that in the dark--I wondered where the rest of the people were, inevitably watching but pretending they weren’t. Two more bubbly flutes, phone calls to important people, then more staring at the skyline that blinked and buzzed--but this time, in a hopeful way.

It wasn’t about the ring. It wasn’t about the people on sidewalks below who’d soon know. It wasn’t about the champagne or the rooftop or our tours or the hotel that was fifteen blocks away where I’d watched him walk away.

In fact, it wasn’t about the past at all.

It was about now. Forward motion like the changing tide in Malibu that rocked me to sleep when I was alone. Like the sunrise I’d watch on the deck while I wondered where he was.

The best part of now was that I didn’t have to wonder: he was right beside me.

AN: this story took a year to write and will always be one of my favorites. sorry it took so long for this last chapter, but I’m glad to finally have it finished. Margot and Harry will always have a place in my heart :’)

#udos #the untimely downfall of strangers #harry styles story #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles ff #1dff updates

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