Secrets

A/N: The long italicized bits are flashbacks.

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Reluctantly, he exits the studio and enters the chaos.

The walk along the jagged pavement towards the Jaguar parked down the block is merely a few steps but feels like a hike in this crowd.

The flashes seem brighter today. The shouts seem louder and quicker. He feels the burning stress of his eyebrows creased together at the volume. It’s stinging his eyes more than he can manage.

Normally, he can handle this. He’s had a few jumbled years now to assimilate into this life. But it’s different now. It’s been different for a while.

The fingers intertwined with his feel too cold. She struts alongside him in a Louis Vuitton trench coat and pair of oxfords, trying to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t glance over at her to confirm, but he knows she’s smiling. She likes the attention that he despises so much.

He hates every step he takes.

Once they reach the car, he walks around it and opens the door for her. His movements are mechanical. She plants a kiss on his cheek for the cameras and lingers a bit too long before sitting down.

They stay put for a while, letting the mob outside their windows capture enough of this moment. He scrolls through the cell phone in his palm, trying to seem occupied, all the while fighting the urge to get out and run as fast as he can.

He blames her even though he knows she’s not to blame. It’s just the smirk on her red stained lips that he’d be glad to never see again.

When he can finally begin driving, he’s forced to dodge the crowds, trying to be as civil as possible when all he wants to do is roll down the window and scream at them to get out of the bloody way.

She’s silent beside him the entire time, examining her painted fingernails and checking her makeup in the mirror. He’s glad of that. He’s not in the mood for their dry conversation.

He speeds down the road, knowing he has only minutes before they all find out where he’s going and follow. Once he reaches her house, she departs swiftly but not before kissing him once more just because she knows she can.

The spot feels ice cold where she touches him.

Hurriedly, he drives his way across town, making unnecessary turns and taking back alleyways to lose any followers he may have attracted. In the parking lot of a store, he meets up with his security and switches cars. The more discrete, the better. If he’s lucky, no one knows it’s him as he swerves his car too fast into a neighborhood and sprints up the stairs with a hood over his head up to his home.

Once inside, he tries to catch his breath against the shut front door. The almost permanent ringing in his ears makes even the silence of the apartment feel loud.

He loves what he does. He gets to travel to places others only dream of. He has the fame, the fortune, the undying love of his supporters. He knows he should be grateful for every ounce of opportunity he’s been given and part of him is. But the other part is left wondering: Is it all really worth it if this is what he has to do?

He’s been having this debate with himself for months now.

His phone vibrates from within his pocket and he already knows he doesn’t want to answer the call once he sees who it is, but he has to.

“Yeah?” he breathes into the receiver.

“Harry, what the hell was all that? Do you honestly think that’s going to sell it?”

It’s the godforsaken publicist. He runs a hand firmly through his hair, never less baffled at how quickly photographs are published nowadays.

“You need to be more physical. Take her waist. Throw in a kiss here and there. We’ve been through this. Do something.”

“I held her hand.”

“Not good enough. And for God’s sake, would it kill you to smile?”

He stifles an angry groan, admitting that arguing will only make things worse. As usual, he remains quiet.

“Better next time,” he’s told.

The call terminates with the final command and Harry kicks the leg of a suitcase sitting near the closet out of anger.

~~~~~

Lying awake at three in the morning is something he’s become accustomed to. He knows insomnia too well, but they’re not friends. He’d much rather sleep away the guilt he feels every time he’s forced to memorize the sight of her turned away from him like this.

He wishes she was the only one.

Her back is bare with the exception of the thin straps of her nightgown delicately hugging her shoulders. He wants to extend his arm to touch her warm skin. Feel the soft strands of brunette waves between his fingers. Pull her close and smell her coconut shampoo.

But he can’t, and it hurts him that he can’t.

He's just too guilty. It hurts him that he’s broken her.

The moment he waits for every night finally comes when, in her sleep, she turns to face him. She’s still too far from him for his liking, but at least he can see his favorite parts of her now. Her full lips, nude from any artificial color. Her pale freckles. Her long eyelashes batted down, protecting the blue irises underneath them.

She looks beautiful, but it’s not a peaceful sleep. This is a tortured and weak and broken sleep.

The clock seems still hour after hour. Time passes slowly and sleep never comes to him. His eyelids are heavy, but the urge to rest ceases to exist. His arm begins to move to shield his eyes and force them to close, but he’s suddenly distracted.

She’s stirring slowly as if someone’s moving her around against her will. He checks her and she’s still under the trance of sleep, dreaming. But her eyebrows are curved in sadness and, strangely, her arm extends toward him. Her thin fingers graze over the soft cotton of his shirt and settle. She seems content now as she stills again, and knowing that she still needs to touch him to feel at peace at night makes him want to cry.

How could she still need him like this after everything he’s done to her?

He thinks of all the magazines she’s had to see on shelves at the store. The photos week after week of a different girl on his arm. The dinners she’s never invited to. The dates that are never her. The singers, the actresses, the models, the fashion designers, every faux girlfriend he’s been forced to have. She spends her days seeing his lips pressed against another woman’s. His arms wrapped around them in a deceiving embrace. They’re usually blonde and red-lipped and thin. They’re usually gorgeous, and feeling endlessly inadequate is something she’s become used to.

He sees how much it breaks her every day. The agony stares back at him each time he looks into her eyes. And yet she still stays. She still reaches for him like this when the sun goes down and she’s most vulnerable.

He feels like a traitor to her.

She sacrifices so much for him, knowing it’s his career on the line. It’s his entire life and it’s resting on her fragile, envious shoulders. She bears it all for him.

But at the same time, she can’t deny the pain. As she dreams of wasting away, of her body disintegrating into a pile of useless waste, sprinkled in ashes over a glossy fashion magazine, she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to take this and if it will ever go away.

~~~~~

Harry awakens and finds her side of the bed empty. Each morning, it scares him that one day she’ll be gone for good. But each morning he finds her still here, still beautiful and still as tired as ever.

“You have an interview today,” she tells him once he meets her in their kitchen, “And lunch at noon.”

He nods.

“See you later,” she mumbles before starting for the door.

“Hey,” he says, “Wait, Shay.”

His feet seem to start moving towards her before he realizes it, and once he reaches her he strokes the side of her face with the back of his hand.

She smiles at his touch, but it’s so small it might as well not even be called a smile.

A strange thing happens when she usually looks back at his face. Lately she sees the Harry she’s never met. The Harry from the magazines. The Harry with a bombshell on his arm, vacationing on islands and going to fancy parties. The Harry they all want him to be.

But sometimes, like now, she can see the glimmer of truth in his eyes. He does care for her more than them. She’s an element of the real Harry underneath all of the lies. Regardless of her doubts and of what everyone tries to hide, it’s true.

Her lips brush against his gently. Perhaps a bit too gently. He wants to pull her back into him and redo it. Really kiss her. But she’s already gone, walking out the back door with her head down.

~~~~~

At his interview, he’s asked the usual questions and it’s easy to spit out the rehearsed answers he’s been told to give.

Lunch time has him with her again, sitting too close to the windows of the restaurant just so the cameras can get a good shot. She eats half a salad without any dressing and sips on a bottle of water. Other than a bit of her mumbling about calories and carbs, they barely say a word. The silence is better to him than the alternative. He passes the dull time by thinking about Shay, hoping she’s alright and wishing he could be having lunch with her instead.

Back at home, the feeling is mutual. Shay sits in the living room, typing away on her computer, wishing she could somehow be wrapped up in his arms like the old days.

“Shay, brief Harry on his day tomorrow. Just run him through to double-check. He usually forgets,” she’s told by her boss in the email she’s replying to. She agrees.

What’s worse than dealing with keeping their relationship a secret is being faced with him and his girlfriends in public nearly each day. She didn’t think anything like this would happen when she was hired. This was never part of the job description, but she has to admit she brought it on herself...

“A personal assistant? Why do I need one of those? I’m pretty sure I can organize my own life.”

Harry’s tone is insistent, but his managers never give him the light of day.

“It’ll help you keep track of what you need to do, where you need to be at what time. You know, all the things you tend to forget.”

Harry sighs. “They’ll go mad trying to keep up.”

“That’s her job.”

“Her?” His eyebrows rise. “You’ve already hired someone? What happened to running it by me first? What if I had said no?”

“Honestly, Harry, we would have hired her anyway.”

He groans because they always do this. His say never matters.

“She’s lovely. You’ll like her. Very organized, very professional, very good at what she does.”

“Is she here?”

Shay is summoned in from her spot out waiting in the hall and hurriedly enters the room. Her smile is blinding and her excitement to prove herself worthy of the job is evident. She desperately needs this job.

“Hello,” she grins.

Harry is taken aback by the girl standing in front of him. She looks nervous, that’s for sure, in her grey skirt suit and black pumps. But at the same time, she looks happy. She looks real and, in this business, that’s rare for him to see.

Their introduction begins the career Shay has always dreamt of having. She gets to travel and see the world, meet people of distinguished fame, and live in beautiful places she’s only ever seen in magazines.

But what she enjoys most of all about what she does is who she does it for.

She and Harry become quick friends, spending more time together than the usual briefing of Harry’s day the night before. She’s mesmerized by his charm. He loves her ability to make him laugh even after the toughest, busiest days.

In the beginning, they’re friendly. They slip in the occasional joke. They poke fun at each other and at night, when there’s no one else around to keep him company on tours or in other unfamiliar countries, Shay remedies his loneliness by having pizza and watching films with him.

But over time, he starts to see things in her he's never seen before. The way she looks down at her hands when she laughs. The smoothness of her gentle voice. The light in her eyes and the way his skin seems to spark every time he accidentally touches her.

And yet when the topic of a relationship finally arises, one of them is more apprehensive than the other.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he tells her in his hotel room after a show, “But my life will.”

“Harry, I don’t care.”

He searches for some kind of doubt in her eyes, but he finds none.

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I want to be with you.”

He leans in to her, needing to be surrounded more by her sweet scent.

“We’ll have to keep it a secret,” he warns.

“I can do that.”

“Shay,” his sigh is deep, “It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it if—“

She interrupts him with a kiss. Their first kiss.

It makes him forget the ending of his sentence. It makes him forget where he is, what he did that day, what his name is, everything except the feeling of her soft lips on his.

“You are worth it all,” she whispers into him.

From that moment on, they knew what they had was something too strong to hold back anymore. The extent to which they’d have to keep it a secret, however, was something neither of them ever foresaw.

Thinking back on her decision makes her smile. Things were easy then. It was exciting to have a secret all to themselves. It exhilarated her to see him sneak smiles at her on stage and during interviews. It was thrilling to have to hide in back closets and dressing rooms where he’d lock the door and press her hard against the wall just to squeeze in some time alone during their busy days...

“Shay, you have to promise me something,” he whispers against the skin of her neck.

“Anything.”

His hold on her tightens as the words escape him.

“Promise me you won’t love me.”

She stares at him disbelievingly.

“Harry…”

“Promise me.”

The tears are already surfacing. “How could you ask me to do that?”

“Because, Shay…”

He holds her face delicately in his hands, hating that this is what it’s come to.

“If you love me, they’ll hurt you. All the time. More and more every day.”

She wants to argue with him. She doesn’t want to believe this crazy idea that if they ever fell in love, they would suffer forever. But his pleads are too strong. It’s like he can see something she can’t. He knows something she doesn’t.

So she agrees.

“I won’t,” she says, even though it’s a promise she’s already broken.

~~~~~

“Need some help?” Harry asks as he steps into the kitchen and spots Shay putting groceries away.

Quickly, she wipes a tear from the side of her face, hoping he won’t notice.

He does.

“No,” she answers, “I’m fine.”

He leans against the wall with his hands buried deep in his pockets, helpless.

“Tomorrow,” she begins, “Nothing in the morning. You have the fashion show for Burberry at 7. Your suit will be dropped off in the morning. It’ll end at 9, and then there’s the after party.”

Her tone is monotonous the entire time she briefs him. He hears the words, but he doesn’t hear Shay.

“Press?” he asks.

“At the show but not at the party.”

“Come with me to the party.”

She shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“They, uh, told me to tell you to go with her. Just to be safe.”

He sighs. He should’ve seen this coming.

He doesn’t tell her he’s sorry. She’s heard it so many times, it’s lost its meaning...

“Shay, look at me,” he pleads, “Please.”

She refuses, keeping her watery eyes shielded by her hands. She knew seeing him kiss her would be painful, but nowhere near this much.

“Please don’t cry,” he begs, “I’m so sorry.”

He crosses the room to her and wraps his arms around her shoulders. She cries into him, replaying the scene in her mind. There’s nothing he can say to ease her heartache and that kills him. He just holds her for as long as it takes for her cries to subside, and then he kisses her.

“It’s like I get nothing,” she whimpers into his shirt, “They get to kiss you and hold you and goddamn it, Harry, that should be me.”

He rocks her gently, swearing at his management under his breath.

“Shay, listen to me. There’s one thing they can never have. One thing that’s all yours for as long as you want it.”

She stares up at him. “What?”

With shaky hands, he cups her face and kisses her again. But it’s not like any kiss he’s given before. It’s deeper, both in meaning and in physicality.

One of his hands reaches for the buttons of her blouse and she realizes what he means.

“What if someone…”

“They won’t,” he whispers, “We’re alone.”

She’s not used to feeling alone with him. There’s always the chance of getting caught. It was fun in the early stages of their relationship, but now it’s constant. Now it’s maddening. But something in his eyes tells her she can breathe right now. With him.

He peels the blouse off her shoulders, marveling over the softness of her bare arms under his fingertips.

Shay’s heart beats aggressively within her chest with nerves. They’ve never done this before.

But something about the way his skin feels pressed to hers feels right. They fit like puzzle pieces. She thinks about the other women and how they get his lips and his arms and his fake smiles in public, but they’ll never get this.

This is hers.

At the end of their evening, they lie awake in the warmth of the bed, tangled in each other’s arms. Harry’s hair is damp with sweat and Shay’s skin is flushed, but their breaths are soft and the beautifully calm smiles cannot be wiped off by anything at this most perfect moment.

Shay closes her eyes at the feeling of his hand tracing along the entire side of her body, starting at her shoulder and ending at her hip. He moves lazily, caressing every dip and curve.

“Shay,” he says quietly. His deep voice is smooth against the silence.

Her eyes open to meet his bright green ones, and she hums in response.

“I love you.”

Her breath ceases. His expression tells her he’s sorry. He’s gone against his own wishes. He’s fallen in love. By doing it, he’s hurt her in the cruelest way. But still, she doesn’t care.

“I love you, too,” she admits, “I always have.”

~~~~~

Shay sits with one leg crossed over the other, balancing a clipboard on one of her knees, trying not to notice them right in front of her eyes.

She used to love attending these fashion shows. Dressing up, meeting new people, feeling involved in something big and important.

But now, the runway looks like a battleground standing between her and the one thing that can hurt her more than any weapon.

Directly across from where she sits, past the strutting models, sits Harry and his date, curled up in each other. Their intertwined hands sit on her thigh, barely covered by a tight mini skirt. Shay watches uncomfortably as he leans over and whispers something in the woman’s ear. She giggles and they kiss.

They kiss.

Shay averts her eyes and tries to say civil. It’s an act. It’s not real. It’s just showbiz.

She gets up from her seat and moves to the back to stand against the wall. She can barely see any of the models from this angle, but at least she can’t see them.

“Lose your seat?” one of the managers asks her.

“Just…felt like standing is all.”

~~~~~

Shay stalks into the apartment and throws her bag on the couch, pausing to reach down and undo the straps of her heels. Harry comes in after her, locking the door behind them.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Her shoes are kicked to the side, leaving her barefoot on the carpet.

“Nothing.”

“Shay.”

“Nothing, Harry. I’m fine.”

He watches as she removes the clip for her hair, letting the waves fall over her shoulders. Her movements are robotic and stiff. Her anger’s obvious, but he’s not sure how to tackle it.

“Shay, if this is about the show, I—”

She turns to him with a painful glare, “I know you’re supposed to be all in love and whatever with her, but really? Was all of that necessary?”

“How else am I supposed to make it believable?”

“Your hands were everywhere! I don’t think there’s a part of her you didn’t touch tonight.”

He approaches her defensively. “Shay, they’re on me about this. I have to be better at it, whatever the hell that means. I—I don’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

The honesty is written all over his face. Deep down, she knows he’s not doing this on purpose. It’s just easy to blame him when the true culprits are the source of their income.

“Fine,” she sighs, “It’s fine. Forget I said anything. I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” he crosses the room to her.

“No, Harry, just leave it.”

He takes her rigid arm and relaxes it in his hand, pressing his forehead to hers. His eyes are shut tight in frustration that he has to do this to her.

“I love you,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

She’s quiet against him. Too quiet.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

~~~~~

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry groans loudly, “This is mad!”

He’s in a room full of nearly ten other people, each of them dressed in crisp suits, sitting around a table with him at the top.

“This is smart,” one of them scolds, “It’s good publicity. Do you know how many articles and programs will be done on you two? It’s genius.”

“It’s lying. What good is it if it’s all fake?”

“It doesn’t matter. They don’t know that out there.”

Harry runs a hand across his forehead in anger. “I won’t do it. I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“And who’s gonna make me?” he raises his voice, ignoring the sound of his agent hushing him.

“It’s part of your contract.” They motion to the thick packet of white sheets sitting on the table. “You can’t violate that.”

His eyes are wide in shock. He shoots a glance at his agent, asking a silent yet burning question of why he wasn’t told about this. But nobody gives him an answer. They ignore his confusion, staring down at their hands crossed on their laps.

“What if I wanted to get a real girlfriend?” he shouts, “Am I not allowed to really be with anyone who isn’t worth a shit ton of money?”

“In theory, no.”

“ ‘In theory?’” He shakes his head in disbelief. “This is a load of rubbish.”

The tension in the room is thick, but it’s clear who’s won.

“What if…I already have a girlfriend?”

“Then you’ve already violated the contract, which we’re sure you haven’t done, yes?”

He bites down on his lip, thinking about Shay. He imagines having to tell her about all this and all the pain he’ll soon cause her. He contemplates his options. For one, he could come clean and spare both Shay’s pain and his own. But that would mean losing everything. Two, he could end it with Shay and lose the risk of hurting her more than she deserves. But he loves her. Three, he could play along. Keep the secret. Hurt the one person he wholly adores, but keep the lives they’ve become so accustomed to.

“Fine,” he says, “I’ll do it.”

~~~~~

The last straw comes at a dinner he’s invited to.

Much to her surprise, Shay is invited to tag along as well.

Just not where she wants to be.

On Harry’s arm.

She refuses to attend at first, not in the mood to stand in the back and watch like she always does. But her boss, Harry’s manager, insists. His reasoning was that she needed to let loose and enjoy herself a bit.

She rolled her eyes when he said it.

At the dinner, it’s the usual charade except Harry’s with a new girl tonight and Shay hasn’t been told about her. The moment her eyes fall on the beauty in his arms, she feels her heart fall so low in her chest it must have reached the pit of her uneasy stomach.

The girl’s features resemble Shay’s in an astounding coincidence right down to the brown waves of hair to the sapphire eyes. The only obvious difference is that this girl is the upgraded version. The better Shay. The more beautiful one with the mile long legs and tiny waist fitting so perfectly in the crook of Harry’s arm. Shay glances down at her black ensemble, a dress she thought was decent when she pulled it out of her closet this morning. But now, compared to the glamorous, chic cut of the dress in her view, she feels worthless. She wishes she could fade into the background. Perhaps she already has.

No one speaks to her much during dinner. She’s stuck at a table of nobodies while Harry shows off his new gem across the room, introducing her to everyone with a proud smile stretched across his face.

She regrets ever being convinced to come tonight. This misery is too much to bear even for her.

But things get worse when the dessert course ends and the music begins. Couples of invitees make their way to the hardwood dance floor in the center of the room and Shay’s insides ignite in an angry fire when she sees Harry’s date pulling him by the arm. His hands rest on the small of her back and they start to move in sync.

They look like a couple from a magazine.

They are a couple from a magazine.

A fake one.

But reminding herself of that doesn’t ease the painful throbbing of her heart. Shay can’t stand it anymore. Her napkin is thrown atop her empty white plate and she excuses herself from the table, muttering apologies to those not even listening to her.

From the corner of his eye, Harry sees her running out of the ballroom into the hallway and immediately his hands fall from the model’s waist. He’s jogging out now without looking back. He doesn’t care who’s watching. Shay’s never left like this before.

“Shay! Shay, wait!”

“Leave me alone,” he hears her order. It’s hard to hear her as she walks down the hall away from him, so he tries to catch up.

“Shay…”

“I said leave me alone, Harry.”

She groans impatiently and pauses to remove the heels pinching her ankles from her feet.

“Please don’t go,” he begs once he reaches her.

“And why not? Why the hell not? So I can see you slow dance with a model for the rest of the night? Show her off some more to those two-faced, money-hungry ‘friends’ of yours? Kiss her a few more times?”

“Shay, listen—”

“No, you listen,” she snaps, “I was wrong, okay? I was naïve and stupid, thinking I could agree to all of this and not let it bother me. You were right that this life would hurt me. It hurts me every day, Harry. I’m fucking miserable. I can’t do this. I can’t share you.”

He wants so badly to reach his hand delicately across her cheek and wipe away the tears streaming down her face, dragging her mascara with them.

“What are you saying?”

She takes a deep, unsteady breath.

“I’m saying I’m done.”

“No, please, Shay. Don’t say that. Please—”

“Harry, I love you. I love you so much. You warned me not to, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Shay leaves him standing helpless and pale in his suit as she walks away. She takes the bus home where she packs up her things, never holding back the rivers of tears. Everything she owns smells like him. Everything she touches has been touched by him. But she has to do this. If she values her sanity and the protection of her heart enough, she can’t stay. Not one more day.

~~~~~

The day she left, he felt sick to his stomach.

He regretted ever letting her go. He should have ran after her, gotten down on his knees, and begged her to stay. But he didn’t. He turned on his heel and went back to the dinner, brushing everyone off for the rest of the night, even and especially his date.

He came home to her drawers completely emptied. He was left standing over the bed with his tie undone, hoping that if he stared at her side long enough, she’d appear.

Ever since that evening, his days have been agony. He misses things about her he didn’t think were possible to miss about anyone. His guilt builds throughout the day and finally boils over at night when he realizes just how angry he is at himself. This is all his doing.

He should have stood up for what he had with her because what he had with her was real. In his life of lies and deceit, she was the one thing he could fall back on. She kept him grounded. She kept him whole and stable and civil. All she ever wanted to do was be with him and he screwed it up completely.

He swears at himself and promises he’ll make this right. He’ll fix this all. He has to.

This isn’t the life he’s going to live.

~~~~~

The adrenaline is kicking in. It’s drowning out whatever apprehension would have normally built in him at something so risky. He knows the consequences of what he’s going to do today. He’s well aware of the punishments that will come along with it, but he’s finally realized the one thing he’s never seen before. The thing that confirms he should do this and he’s going to, no matter what.

No matter what he does, they can’t cut him.

They need him.

In the morning, he lies awake, running through his plans in his head like he’s been doing all night. He gets a call at eight on the dot and part of him expects it to be Shay.

It’s not.

“Just a reminder that the show starts at 8:30. You have to be there by 6 for the red carpet,” his manager grunts into the phone.

“Okay.”

“I would prepare something to say. Just in case. Not a speech but, you know, something short.”

“I’m going to let Zayn do the talking this time.”

“Fine.”

There’s a long bout of silence before Harry’s asked something he didn’t see coming.

“Aren’t you going to ask why Shay isn’t the one calling?”

Harry’s eyes shut at the sound of her name.

“I just…I figured you wanted to,” he lies.

“She asked for some time off,” his manager tells him nonchalantly, “I gave it to her.”

“Right.”

“She deserves it. She works hard.”

Harry can’t think of anything to say in response other than to scream out how awful he feels. He bites his tongue.

“Anyway, see you tonight then. Get to Lou by noon. She’ll do hair and makeup and whatever.”

They hang up without goodbyes. It’s not surprising; they’ve never had much of a relationship. Harry couldn’t care less. He hates all of his management. Everyone involved. Officially.

He does as he’s told. He gets ready for the Video Music Awards that will take place this evening. He’s up for an award himself, but that’s not what’s responsible for the butterflies in his stomach. His mind is nowhere to be found as his stylists do what they like with his hair and face and clothes. The reflection in the mirror proves what he’s become: a product. And he’s let it happen, and that’s the worst part.

On the red carpet, he stands with his band mates, posing too often for the photographs he hates to take. Scattered around the venue entrance are his former “girlfriends,” each of them the subject of questions thrown his way by cliché interviewers and magazine editors. He dismisses them all. He’s not in the mood. Not tonight.

“Mate, look,” Liam taps on his shoulder, “Isn’t that…”

Harry looks in the direction Liam points him and he has to stare for a few extra moments before he finds enough voice to say yes.

Dressed in an emerald halter dress and gold pumps, she looks the most gorgeous he’s ever seen her. Her hair is up in an intricate looking style, but the few stray strands that fall in waves frame her face. Even from afar, he can see her glowing with radiance.

“She looks lovely,” Liam says.

“Yeah,” he manages to whimper, “She does.”

But just as his lips start to curl up into an involuntary smile at the sight of her, he sees the man beside her with his hand on the small of her back.

So this is what it feels like.

His eyebrows furrow in sudden jealousy. How dare someone else touch her.

“I always liked her,” Liam goes on.

“Me too.”

Once the show starts, all Harry can focus on is Shay. Questions fill his head: How has she been all these weeks? Why is she here? Could it be because she wanted to show her support for him? Was she asked to come? And who in the hell is she with?

They’re left unanswered because he doesn’t have the nerve to ask. Her presence makes his plan a bit more nerve-racking, but seeing her again motivates him even more to mend things.

Throughout the night, he doesn’t pay attention to anything on stage until the other boys jump up from their seats and pull him along with them. It takes him too long to realize they’ve won the award. Amidst the roar of the audience and the music playing to beckon them on stage, he can barely hear himself think. He merely follows Zayn, who leads the way down the aisle and up the stairs to the microphone.

Someone hands Harry their Moonman, but he lets someone else do the talking. Zayn mutters a few words of thanks to their parents and fans and, much to Harry’s disgust, their management.

On his way back to his seat, Harry spots Shay in the audience. She conveys half a smile but nothing more. Just that much ignites a flame inside him.

“Are you alright?” he’s asked by one of the boys, but he’s too distracted to see who.

“No,” he mutters, “But I will be.”

~~~~~

He’s determined to make this after-party intensely better than the last. He considers downing a glass of alcohol just to settle his nerves but decides against it. He wants to be completely himself for this.

Everyone around him seems to be having a good time. The boys and their dates, the other nominees, the random invites. Everyone except two very heartbroken, very incomplete people.

Harry and Shay.

Her fallen eyes don’t go unnoticed by him. She looks as miserable as he feels on the inside, and even the fake smile she throws in the way of her date doesn’t fool him.

Someone taps their fork to a glass to gain everyone’s attention and suddenly the room is cheering for Harry and the boys. Zayn offers to take over considering how obvious it is that Harry’s having an off day, but Harry refuses and gets up. He takes the Moonman with him, setting it on a table.

“Thank you,” he smiles, “Really, thanks, everyone.”

He lets the clapping subside before continuing his speech.

“I’d just like to second everything Zayn said earlier about the fans and all our families. We want to thank everyone who worked on the video, like our producers and directors. They were so helpful. It’s quite hard to make a good and productive video with the five of us, so massive thank you to them.”

Laughter erupts around the room, but Harry doesn’t linger on the joke.

“You know,” he begins, “It’s shocking to think that not long ago, all of us were living normal lives with normal jobs and normal, well, everything. The past three years have been amazing. We’ve done things we never dreamed we’d be able to do and met people we’ve been very privileged to meet, and everything has honestly been a huge honor.”

He glances over at the table where the rest of the band sits and they’re smiling at him.

“But at the same time, this life is full of sacrifices. As a kid, I used to think it was all fun and games, but it’s not. It’s a struggle every day to do this and that's what you don't usually see.”

The smiles he saw moments ago have transformed. People from every corner of the room have gone silent.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Harry goes on, “I’ve done plenty of things wrong.”

His eyes fall on Shay’s.

“I’ve hurt people.”

Her eyes are deep with concern and the color is gone from her cheeks as she listens to him.

“I’m not what you all think I am,” he admits. The words flow out of him slowly, but with each syllable he feels relief. “I’m not a womanizer. I don’t see a different person every other week. Believe me, that’s not me. I promise you that’s not me.”

He sees each of his past fake girlfriends sitting around the room and each of their faces are sympathetic towards him.

“I’ve been with the same girl for nearly a year,” he confesses.

Shay’s fingers close over her mouth as she realizes what he’s doing.

“Or at least I was. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Why? Well, honestly I’m not quite sure why. I was told she wasn’t ‘right,’ whatever that means. I guess to them it means rich. Popular. Someone who would make me look good. But to me, right means funny. Honest. Supportive. Beautiful on the inside and out. She's the most right person I’ve ever met in my life. She makes me better. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, but I did. I’m supposed to regret it, but I don’t. Not one bit.”

His eyes are never once pried away from hers.

“I messed up. I hurt her. I should have done this a long time ago, but I didn’t and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Shay.”

There are low gasps at the sound of her name.

“I’ll probably be in big trouble for this by morning,” he laughs, “But honestly, I don’t care. I’m tired of being controlled. I love to make music. I love being in this band with these amazing lads but that shouldn’t mean we should all be manipulated for the sake of money.”

He feels like he should say something witty or touching to close, but he's never been that good at speeches and suddenly all he really wants to do is get to her as fast as he can. So, without proper closure, he sets the microphone down beside the shiny silver award and crosses the room to her chair.

Shay doesn’t hesitate in standing and letting his arms wrap around her as tightly as humanly possible. He lifts her, squeezing her to make up for all the lost nights spent without her.

“I love you,” he pleads into her shoulder.

She caresses the back of his head, and for a moment they’re oblivious to the clapping surrounding them. He sets her down and tries to fight the heat creeping on the apples of his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” Shay grins.

He brushes her off, embarrassed.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Her lips press firmly against him, sending tiny sparks all down his body. When they part, he notices the lukewarm expression of her date sitting below them. Harry eyes her apprehensively, nervous about her answer.

“My brother.”

He laughs before pulling her close again, really kissing her, really feeling her. He’s all hers now. They don’t have to hide anymore, and there’s no better feeling than knowing that.

~~~~~

“Are you ready?”

She sighs uneasily. Getting used to this is still easier said than done. She’s gained a new sense of respect for his ability to handle it.

“I’ll be right next to you,” he assures her.

“Right. I got it.”

“Ignore what they say and remember they’re not allowed to touch you.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Harry reaches for her hand and then for the door, swinging it open wide enough for them to exit the building. The crowds have gotten bigger in the past few months. Management seems to be happy with that and wasn’t too hard on Harry for his little confession. The camera flashes still seem endless and blinding, but having Shay beside him makes it endurable. He keeps her close, hovering over her protectively whenever she clutches hard to his arm. He knows it scares her; it scared him too in the beginning.

But she endures it because she has him. It’s a culture shock having to suddenly be someone important, but she accepts it as long as it means she and Harry can be together in every sense of the word.

What makes it easier is having him glance at her every so often. What makes it easier is knowing she’ll never have to face this alone.

What makes it easier is the princess cut diamond shimmering on the hand intertwined with his so tightly, she knows he’ll never let go.

They know there will be more struggles in the future. This life will never be anything less than a battle, but they’re willing to face it together. The lies are gone. They’re free now. Together. Forever. And that’s all that matters.