Code of Ethics

I'll Do It

“How did you even know I was going to be home?” I pondered as he brushed by me into the flat. He hadn’t even bothered to disguise himself, dressed in jeans and a regular t-shirt, his hair slightly damp and curling wildly from the mist outside.

“I guessed,” he explained away before capturing my gaze. “Okay, so I’m sorry I haven’t called or messaged you or anything. I’ve just been stressed and trying to do what my management told me would clean up my image. It hasn’t been easy, and there’s been a lot of backlash from it.”

I’d heard about some of it. How he was down almost two hundred thousand followers on Twitter, how he’d been pelted with condoms and pamphlets about STI’s during his concerts, how one fan had actually squeezed through security and kneed him in the groin. It must have hurt him, and I expected him to confide in me about it, but he hadn’t.

“But, yesterday, I realized something. This is just so…pathetic. The boys and I haven’t been happy for a long time. In the beginning, we loved our fans, you know? They were so supportive, standing outside stadiums for days before we actually arrived, screaming our songs out loud in public, dressing up as us. It was so cute, so breathtaking that someone actually loved us, some regular guys, so much that they were crying and desperate to meet us.”

I gave him a sympathetic look as I went into the kitchenette to prepare some tea to soothe him. “I’m still listening,” I assured him as I filled the kettle with water and put it on a burner on the stove, getting the rest of the materials ready for when it boiled.

“But lately, that’s just disappeared completely. We tried to deal with it through the death threats to our girlfriends and love interests and getting torn apart and the girls getting so insane and violent that we couldn’t see them anymore, but it’s just getting to be too much, you know?” He bunched his hands in his hair, making the curls more springy, as he continued to talk at the counter. “We’re getting sick of putting up with it, all of us. We don’t think that singing and performing is worth all the shit that comes with it anymore. We don’t want our lives publicized, our actions criticized, our choices ridiculed. It’s like we never got to be real, true teenagers, who are allowed to make mistakes freely without having to worry about getting killed for it.”

The kettle screeched, stopping Harry’s rant there, and he kept quiet as I readied both cups the way we liked it. I made my movements deliberate, slow, trying to process what he was trying to say. Because it surely sounded like a certain confession was coming up soon, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle it.

“I mean,” Harry mumbled as he sipped the burning liquid, “we shouldn’t have to be scared that we’re going to be attacked whenever we leave the house. Because we have been attacked. Like, scratched, having our clothes ripped off. How is that okay?!”

“It’s not,” I soothed, sitting down next to him. Neither of us looked at each other, as it didn’t seem exactly necessary. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s not!” he agreed enthusiastically. “Which is why we all agreed to something.”

“What?”

There was a long pause as Harry tried to drum up the suspense. “One Direction is breaking up. There will be no public reunion tours, there will be no final CD, there will be no signings or meetings or anything. We’re done, official tomorrow.”

“Oh, Harry,” I breathed, not sure what to say. “Are you sure this isn’t just because of…?” I wanted to say me, but how self-obsessed would that make me sound? That Harry wanted to throw away his career and his income and his whole life, just to be with me?

Repeating it in my head just made the whole thing sound more bizarre.

“That was just the breaking point,” he argued. “This has been accumulating for years, and we’re sick of it. All the songs that we recorded toward the next album will be put away in storage, probably to be released later, when everyone forgets all about us.”

“Wow.”

I didn’t know what else to say. The major barrier in our relationship, the thing that was a constant struggle, had just disappeared. So Harry and I could be together, for real, no holds barred. That was it.

“I know. So get ready for the next part.”

“Oh, God.” I gulped my tea and massaged my temple, trying to keep my sanity contained within my skull. “I really don’t think I can handle another part.”

“I’m moving to the country, far away from the paparazzi, to a really nice house in northern Scotland. It’s the perfect place to drift into the world of normal people, where I can learn how to be average Harry again.”

“So you’re going to be incredibly far away from me,” I stated plainly, trying not to sound emotional. “This is not exactly good news.”

“But the good news is that you’re coming with me.” He noticed my saucer-eyes and quickly added, “If you want to, I mean. The offer’s open. I know that we’ve only been dating a few months, and they’ve been somewhat rocky because of the fame, but I really think that we could live together.”

That was a bad idea. I was just going to be mooching off someone else, and with my luck, Harry and I would end up detesting each other for the rest of eternity while I lived on the streets.

But maybe this was just the risk I needed. I could be close to him, really close, while I finished up my schooling. I could finish my courses online, all of them, and get my degree in no time. I could become a successful, thriving lawyer who could supplement the income, just as he used to support me when my income was near nothing.

“Okay,” I agreed, picturing the beautiful life that could be in front of us. “I’ll do it. When do we leave?”

“I’m moving in next week,” he explained, looking around the apartment. “But, if you want, you can wait a month or so to finish up this year of university, and you can join me then.”

“That’s perfect.” I actually felt some fluttering in my stomach, and I couldn’t believe that I was getting so excited about moving to the middle of nowhere to be with a boy that the public had tried to shame me out of dating.

“Oh, and Tara, one more thing.”

He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hands, his gaze boring straight through to my soul. One of the things I loved most about Harry was that, no matter how many times we had sex, he still remained gentle and loving and romantic.

“I love you. But you probably already knew that.”

“I did, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.” I pressed my lips against his, just a soft peck. “And I love you, too.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Awww. And now the drama will end. Maybe.

There's only one more chapter after this! Are you all ready? :o