***

“I think that’s every big city in the world, Lou,” Eleanor scoffs as she sends her elbow into Louis’s side.

“London’s the worst—ten times worse than L.A.!” Harry says, a shaky chuckle slipping out from his lips.

But it’s quiet after that. Eleanor’s too busy chiding Louis underneath her breath, Harry can barely get his wobbling legs to march out in front of his body, and I can’t keep my eyes from darting over to Louis. He’s not looking at me, though, his gaze glittering and cool as he scoffs at the pavement, Eleanor hissing in his right ear.

I think he knows, but how? Not even Niall, the wondrous Irish boy who had become the closest thing to my best friend since I’d moved to this booming town, hadn’t been told the truth when he’d been here. This was a tightly wrapped secret that Harry and I kept wedged between our always-clasped-together fingers; it was guarded just as if it were the Hope Diamond.

Chewing the inside of my lip, I let myself drift away from Harry, giving up on trying to calm him down and to get him to stop shaking so much. I loosen my grip on his hand as my brain starts to whirl. My thoughts are dangerous, scary. For a moment my eyes stop scaling over to Louis and, instead, perch onto Harry’s tall figure. He’s got his eyebrows furrowed and he keeps sputtering curse words when he trips himself up. His tongue pokes out between his cherry red lips, swiping over them before hiding back inside his mouth.

A warm kind of heat starts to build in the pit of my stomach and I want to be closer to him again, but the little voice in the back of my head quips up.

It couldn been him, it whispers quickly. He could’ve told!

I scoff at that; Harry Styles wasn’t capable of anything like that, especially when it came to me, that I knew.

But you don’t know him! Just because he told you one of his problems doesn’t mean you know him.

My heart starts beating too fast in my chest. I feel a mix of guilt and anger pool through my body as I jerk my gaze down to the pavement my footsteps are eating up.

Harry wouldn’t do that… He… He cared for me. He was different than all the others, I was sure of it. After all, he’d told me something just as dangerous; he wouldn’t be stupid (if he didn’t care for me in the way he’d convinced me of) and blab about my secret when I was capable of revealing his just as fast.

He knows no one would believe someone like you. He told! He did! Everyone knows!

I shift my glance over at Eleanor and Louis, noticing how murderously angry Eleanor looks as Louis appears sullen. Neither are looking at me, though, a sign I don’t know which way to take.

I’m confused and hurt and frustrated and angry all at the same time, and I want to go back to the hotel. I don’t want to be around Louis anymore—I don’t want to see his steely looks or hear Eleanor try to rein him in. But when I drift closer to Harry, whose seemingly gotten himself under control since his friend’s jab, my stomach churns and I feel as bile rises up in my throat. It burns the slick skin nearly raw when I swallow it back down.

I don’t know if I think he told Louis. My heart thuds erratically in my chest at that, a million thoughts flaming up at that realization. I want to believe that he wouldn’t, but that little voice is poking holes in my uncertainty, making me question everything, and making me feeling guilty in the process.

He could be like all the others! You don’t know!

Again, my throat burns and my stomach feels queasy, but I manage to perch myself on Harry’s shoulder.

“Can we go?” I whisper.

He looks down at me, his lips turning into a frown as he eyes shine sadly. “’Course,” he murmurs quietly. He slows his walk, causing me to do the same. Eleanor is the first to turn, and then Louis, who widens his eyes a little when he catches the two of us backtracking a little. “We’re gonna head back to the hotel. It’s been a long night already, and I’m beat.”

Eleanor’s face falls, all anger dissolving, and she steps forward to hug us both, leaving Louis behind. “Yea, sounds good. See you, Delaney?”

She assumes she’ll be seeing Harry, but asks me, like she’s not sure if I’m going to bolt as soon as they disappear or not. I can even read the uncertainty in her face.

I just smile tightly and give her a gentle hug.

I think that Harry might’ve waved to Louis or something when I’d been hugging Eleanor, and that Louis had just chosen to ignore me, but when Harry spins around on his heel and starts to tug me along with him, I hear Louis call out. But Harry doesn’t stop; he just shoves his free hand down into the pocket of his jeans and clutches my hand tighter. Louis’s calls follow us for a while.

He waits till we’ve rounded a few corners before he stops and calls for a cab, the whole time never letting go of my hand. I chew on my lip some more and watch him closely. He seems sad and angry, his brows furrowed and his lips thin in a furious line. But his hold on me is gentle, his thumb scaling over parts of my hand every once in a while.

My heart thuds too fast in my chest as I consider the fact of him expelling the truth to his friend or not. I feel like I’ve betrayed him for just thinking such a thing.

You don’t know him! He could’ve told!

The small voice in my head repeats the same thing over and over again, even when the cab comes and Harry lets me slide in first.

We’re both quiet till we make it to the hotel and up into the room.

I run a hand through my tangled hair and Harry finally lets go of the one he’s had in his grasp for nearly an hour. My head snaps over to him as it falls to my side. He’s pulling his shirt up and over his head, kicking off his shoes while he pads to his room. I swallow thickly and follow, wondering if he was angry at me, wondering if he’d been able to read my question of his honesty on my face.

He’s got his back to me when I perch in the doorway of his bedroom, trying to fold his shirt and empty his pockets at the same time.

“Harry,” I gently whisper.

“Do you think I told him?” he asks, voice low, raspy. He doesn’t turn to look at me.

He hadn’t been able to directly tell what had made me draw away from him, but it seems he wasn’t completely oblivious, which I should’ve guessed since Harry was always aware of my expressions and body language. He knew me, regardless of however many days we’d spent in this room.

I don’t know what to say, so I keep quiet, crossing my arms over my chest and staring down at the carpet. The silence lasts for too long, though, and I feel as though I’m going mad, drowning in the words that little voice keeps echoing in my head and the erratic heartbeats that are pounding up into my throat.

“I don’t want you to be mad,” I finally say.

He sighs and slowly turns to look at me. His face is sad, and I can automatically read what my unsaid words have done to him. It makes my chest ache and tears push at the corners of my eyes.

“I could never be mad at you,” he softly says. “Just tell me the truth.”

“I don’t… How would he know? I’ve never even met him—I’ve never met any of your friends, not long enough for any accurate guesses to be made, at least.”

“It could be a rumor, something stirred up by those shitty tabloids back home or something, and he could believe them. There’s no telling. But I swear, I would never, ever do anything like that to you, Delaney.” He swallows thickly as he takes a step closer to me. “Don’t you know that by now?”

I just stare at him, watching as he starts to slowly dissolve underneath my gaze. His shoulders are hunched, his hands are trembling, and he wears a look of complete heartbreak. But I don’t know what to do. I’m scared again, slowly locking myself behind walls so no Louis Tomlinson could sneer at me like I was a piece of trash. Still, though, my heart lurches too much for comfort at the sight of Harry, the man who’d wrapped me up and kissed every part of me while he sewed me back together, seemed to crack like an Easter egg onto the floor of his hotel suite.

“I’m just scared,” I whisper, fighting the tears and tremors because I’d only ever done this once before, with Harry and my confession.

He nods, swallowing again, seeming to gain back some strength. He moves closer but doesn’t bring me into his chest right away; he goes slow, to see if this is what I want, if I want him that close. But I don’t know anymore. I love Harry, I can feel it in the way my fingers twitch and my lips itch for his. I’m terrified, though, wrapped up in the idea that I’ll tumble back down to that black pit that was only full of money and horrible people who used me. I don’t want that—I don’t want to be used ever again in my life.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, speaking up after I don’t make any indication as to what I want. “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let Lou, or those two assholes, or anyone hurt you. I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

“But you’re leaving,” I croak out.

And there it is—there’s the reason behind my doubts. I’d never thought it directly, but it makes sense after it’s been said. If he was going to leave, then how could anything he said be true? He would go back to London and I would be here, alone and nothing but a cheap whore, everything that happened forgotten and black.

I keep stiff, crying silently as I watch him, my jaw taut with anger that I don’t know why I feel.

“And you think I’m going to just leave you here?” he asks incredulously. When I say nothing, he takes two big steps and grabs onto my shoulders, hauling me up against his chest gently. “Delaney, I’ve wanted to ask you to come back with me since I told you about Lou. Hell, I wanted to ask you before that!”

My eyes widen, shock writhing through my body. What?

“I don’t understand,” I stutter.

He sighs and lets go of my shoulders, taking to wrapping his arms around my waist.

“I want you to come to London with me. I love you, more than I honestly thought I ever could, and I want you to be with me in my city, away from all these things that make you sad.”

“I can’t—Harry, I’m a… a—“

“You know I don’t care,” he murmurs. Then he tilts my head up and slams his lips down onto mine. He holds me tightly while his lips and tongue move against mine. I’m delirious and crying and unable to fight back, not that I want to. He’s kissing away all my doubts and fears, mopping up the mess that’s left over with the next words he speaks. “Come to London with me, and start over, Delaney.”