Damn This Wild Young Heart.

Harry refused to let me touch the croissants the entire cab ride to Baker Beach. His original plan had been to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, but I shot that down pretty quickly. He wasn’t very good at gauging distances, but it was a long enough walk for me to be completely unwilling. My preferred viewing location was Baker Beach, a straight shot across the bridge. There was usual morning traffic, but it wasn’t completely awful so early in the morning.

Harry convinced the taxi driver to wait in the parking area until we were done, slipping him an embarrassing amount of twenties before we slid out of the cab. We were ill-prepared for the beach, Harry’s boots sinking into the sand every few seconds. Three steps into the shore and I took my flats off completely, shoving them in my bag and braving the cold sand between my toes. We were alone, save for a man walking his dog a ways down, and the atmosphere was serene.

“Can I eat the croissant now?” I asked Harry, already unrolling the top of the paper bag.

He let out a little exasperated sigh. “At least wait until we sit down.”

“Let’s sit then.” I moved to sit down right where we were, a few yards away from the water, but Harry shook his head, pulling me back up. His hand was still firmly wrapped around mine. Our hands remained locked together through the entire cab ride, the walk down to the beach, and now, in the desperate fight to sit down and just eat a croissant. I couldn’t even properly articulate my thoughts on the situation, because my feelings regarding the way his hand fit in mine were a bit jumbled. I felt warm and confused and nervous and I was having trouble distinguishing which emotion took up the most room.

“We need the best view possible, Lols.” Harry tugged me closer to the middle of the beach. I wanted to point out that the view was spectacular no matter where we sat, but I was having too nice of a time to argue. The sun was beginning to rise, the fog on the bay was clearing, there was a warm croissant waiting for me, and Harry’s thumb was caressing the back of my hand.

It took another minute of marching and searching until he found a spot deemed perfect. “Wait,” he interrupted, pulling me back when I tried to sit down yet again, letting go of my hand, shrugging off his hoodie and laying it down on the ground. “Now sit.”

I rolled my eyes at his chivalry (it was either that or possibly melt into a puddle of goo) and finally sat down, crossing my legs and balancing my half-consumed cup of hot chocolate between my thighs. Harry joined me, his knees sprawled out before him.

I looked up at him, waiting for the vote of approval to dig into the delicious pastries slowly cooling in the bag.

“Go on then,” He said, waving his hand at me.

With a smile, I tore into the bag, raising one wrapped croissant and handing it over to him before pawing at the other one hungrily. I was moaning into the first bite, my eyes closed in bliss.

“Ohmygod,” I garbled, half-chewed croissant still in my mouth. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Top five, at least.”

“Do you have confidence in my baking skills now?” Harry asked smugly, a stupid smirk on his face.

I savored the last of the bite, swallowing it quickly before turning towards him with a teasing scoff. “No, I have confidence in Amanda’s baking skills.”

Harry let out an exasperated groan but didn’t reply, choosing instead to devour half of the croissant in one bite. “Is pretty good,” he mumbled as he chewed.

I untangled my hand from his under the guise of wanting to take a sip, but it was easier to concentrate when we weren’t touching. I had twenty questions on the tip of my tongue, my confused brain desperate for any type of answer, but I swallowed them down with the last of my hot chocolate, refusing to ruin the moment. Did I really need answers, anyway? The sun was coming up and then the night would be over, Harry going back to his rushed celebrity lifestyle and I returning to my apartment in the morning, Dakota probably passed out on the couch with a massive hangover.

We sat and ate in silence. Harry finished the croissant in a little over two bites, but I attempted to take the time to enjoy mine, ripping it apart piece by piece. The tide was low, all gentle waves and serene sounds as we sat there. The breeze was up, along with the fog, and I could already feel the chill starting to creep in. Harry had goose bumps rising along his arms, but he was too gentlemanly to demand his jacket back.

“Get up,” I nudged him, lifting my bum off of his jacket and grabbing it.

“What?” He asked, but moved over anyway. I brushed the sand off of the garment and handed it over.

He started to protest, but I shoved it at him. “There are thousands of people who would kill me if I let you get sick.” I argued, adamantly forcing the sweater into his hands. After a few seconds of staring each other down, Harry finally threaded his arms through the sleeves.

“I should be giving this to you.” He pointed out as he zipped the hoodie up.

“I’ve got a sweater. I’ll be fine.” I waved him off, settling back down on the sand.

Harry only continued to gaze at me, his eyes searching, but I looked away. I was contemplating the ocean and the bridge when he slung his arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him.

“We’ll conduct more heat this way.” Harry murmured in my ear.

I wanted to vomit on his shoes and point out that he was wrong, but the shivers running along my spine shushed me. Instead, I (maybe) let myself lean a little into his chest, my head finding the curve of his neck, and gazed out into the city as it woke up.

“What’s your favorite thing about living in London?” I wondered, tilting my head back to look up at him.

“The people.” Harry answered easily. “The city itself is a bit crazy, but I have some great friends there.”

“Does it get hard?” I continued. “With you traveling around all the time?”

“Sometimes.” He hummed. “It was at first, especially leaving my family, but now we’ve done it so much that we’re all used to it. Leaving them doesn’t get any easier, but it’s more manageable.”

“Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? Because you’re always on the road?” The question slipped out before I had enough time to filter it. I wanted to take it back, retreat from the dangerous
relationship territory that I was slowly slipping into, but I knew that I couldn’t, so I just took a deep breath and continued to look out onto the bay.

Harry hesitated. “That’s a part of it.” He answered cautiously.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He shifted around
me, rearranging his gangly legs into a more comfortable position.

“What about you?” He asked after a moment. “Why’re you single?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that question.” I didn’t know why I was single. I wasn’t actively looking for a relationship, but I hadn’t sworn them off either. There had been kisses at parties and coffee dates, but those had all fizzled out into either friendships or nothings. “I just am. Apparently I don’t appeal to Berkeley boys.”

We lapsed into silence then, something not quite awkward but not quite comfortable, either. I didn’t know what to say to him then. Do I crack a joke about my apparent lack of allure? Do I change the subject to something less cringe worthy? Do I continue to awkwardly stare out at the Golden Gate Bridge and will this conversation to go away?

“According to Google, the sun rises at 5:52 today.” He said suddenly, looking down at the watch on his wrist.

I couldn’t help the laugh that rose out of me, awkward and jumbling at Harry’s interruption.

“You’re a great conversationalist.” I complimented, voice laced heavily with sarcasm. “Really top notch.”

“Oh shut up.” He snipped. “I was just providing information.”

I shushed him, reaching over to pat his hand gingerly. “Don’t interrupt the sunrise, dear. We’ve got watching to do.”

He let out a strangled groan, before he buried his face in my hair. “You’re impossible.” He grumbled, but he sounded less irritated than he really should have.

“I’m beautiful?” I teased. “Why thank you. You’re not too awful yourself.”

“I think you have selective hearing.” He continued to grumble, pulling away from the top of my head. I thought maybe – maybe his lips had grazed my hair? Or maybe that was the wind? –but I brushed the thought off before my entire body could erupt in flames. “You should really get that checked out.”

“Or maybe you just need to speak more clearly.” I suggested, knocking him with my elbow.

“Can you ever just be nice to me?”

“You should be flattered!” I protested. “Normally you don’t get to this level of insult and sass until I’ve known you for a few months. You’re making loads of progress.”

“Progress is being verbally abused?” He inquired dryly.

I jabbed him in the ribs, looking up with a mean glare. “You’re really not doing yourself any favors here.”

“Verbal and physical abuse!” He cried, moving to rub the spot on his ribs. “I’m going to have bruises because of you.”

“Will you please just shut up and enjoy the view?” I snapped, but my lips were upturned into a smirk. I liked teasing Harry, enjoyed the way his cheeks flushed in outrage and his eyes widened in shock every time I got a little saucy.

He narrowed his eyes at me but obeyed, turning towards the bridge with a little sniff. I curled my knees into my chest, tucking my body even further into his, and he readjusted accordingly, arm tightening around my torso. I shivered.

“Are you cold?” He murmured, gruff voice only making the chattering of my limbs even worse.

I shook my head, resting it against his shoulder. “Nope,” I replied. “I’m perfectly fine.”

We watched the sunrise in peace, a blanket of comfortable silence around us as the fog slowly disappeared and the bridge continued to crowd. There were a few more joggers and people walking their dog, but we spent a good half an hour in complete calm, each wrapped up in our own thoughts.

My thoughts revolved around Harry and the way his (stupid, slightly perfect, definitely too toned) arm felt around me and this entire night, full of up, up, ups and amazing memories. I was thinking about him saying yes at the ice cream shop and the undeniable power of coincidence. I was pondering fate and (kind of) other deep philosophical and psychological resonances, but mainly I was thinking about the way he smelt and what would happen next. Where did we go from here? Was I going to get dropped off at my apartment with a wave and a sick feeling in my stomach, already missing a boy I had no right to miss?

I didn’t know how to store this night in my head. I wanted to keep it to myself, tuck it under my pillow and pull the memories out for lazy, nostalgic days, and I also wanted to tell Dakota and share the happiness. There were other repercussions I was trying not to think about as well, like how many people were going to believe me if I rehashed the story of my late-night rendezvous with Harry Styles and how many people were going to hate me, whether they believed the story or not.

I was in the middle of rationalizing these thoughts when Harry shifted beside me, muttering a few expletives and moving to get up.

“We need to go.” He said, grabbing our empty drink cups and plastic bag.

“What is it?” I asked, staring up at him curiously, but then, of course, I figured out what it was.

There were camera clickings behind us and a distinguishable flash. One glance revealed a small throng of men in black clothing holding expensive cameras, clicking away as Harry ushered me to move.

“Don’t talk to them.” He ordered as we scurried up the beach. “Just keep walking.”

As we got closer, they started to call things out, from a simple, “Look over here!” to the inquisitive, “Is this your girlfriend, Harry? What’s her name?” Harry gave them a smile but didn’t answer, leading the way up the trail and back to the parking lot. The crowd of photographers followed, garnering the attention of everyone else on the beach. People openly gawked at us as we rushed back to the parking area, where the taxi driver sat, reading a newspaper in the driver seat. The calls grew louder as Harry ignored them, rushing closer in to us.

I kept my head down, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the crowd of people, wanting nothing more than to suddenly disappear. Paparazzi meant pictures and pictures always end up somewhere, even if that somewhere is only a tag on the internet. Suddenly the option of keeping this night a secret didn’t exist, the possibility wiped away the second someone got wind of us here.

Harry was pushing me through the crowd, leading me directly to the taxi. The driver looked startled by the crowd following us, but apparently read the situation, starting the car before Harry even opened the door.

“What are you doing here Harry?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“Who is she?”

“How’s your night been?”

“It’s been great, mate.” Harry replied, before yanking open the car door and sliding in after me.

“Where to?” The cab driver asked as Harry shut the door, already starting away from the crowd.

Harry only looked over at me, clearly lost in his San Francisco directions. I gave the cab driver the address of the apartment I was sharing with Dakota that summer, before leaning back in my seat with a breath as we made our way onto the main road. The photographers were piling into their SUVs, but as soon as we pulled onto the bridge the traffic was so thick that I was almost positive they wouldn’t be able to follow us.

“I’m sorry.” Harry apologized, giving me his most sympathetic look.

I didn’t exactly know how to respond, still reeling from the fact that our perfect sunrise session had been interrupted by paparazzi. I hadn’t even realized that they were a problem until then, not exactly equating Harry’s boy band status with also being someone TMZ would want a photo of.

“You’re awfully popular,” I finally breathed out, slumping even farther into the back of the taxi. It was now a little past six in the morning and while we weren’t right in the midst of the morning traffic, it was definitely getting there. We moved across the bridge slower this time, the now awake San Francisco shining in front of us.

Harry looked uncomfortable, swiping his hands across his hair before nodding. “It’s a bit unusual, but yeah, I guess.”

“What--,” I started, fumbling over my words before continuing. “What does that mean? The pictures?”

Harry shrugged. “Depends on what they do with them and what else is happening on the same day. Probably nothing.”

“Should I be worried? Am I going to wake up with my face slandered across PerezHilton.com?”

Harry twisted his mouth around, opening his mouth to say something before swallowing it back. “No,” He answered, this time much more confident. “I’ll handle it.”

I nodded, appeased by his apparent handling of the situation. We were creeping closer towards the end of the bridge.

“It’s just--,” I struggled to articulate what I wanted to say, not quite sure how I could explain to Harry what I wanted. “—this night is ours, y’know?” I finished, looking over at him questioningly.

He looked slightly confused, but gave me a reassuring nod anyway.

“Like, it’s been really fun and amazing and I don’t want to share it with anyone else? That’s probably really selfish.” I flushed. “But it’s how I feel.” I turned away from him, refusing to look him in the eye and opted to stare out at the bay instead.

“Lola, it’s fine.” Harry comforted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” I turned hesitantly to peek a glance at him.

He was giving me his little lopsided smile, dimple deepening as he grinned. “I’m sure.”

I didn’t know why he was smiling so cheekily at me, but I filed that away and just gave him a small smile back, trying to slip into the same happy, content mood as earlier. The atmosphere was gone, though, as the realization of our impending goodbye hit me. I had given the cab driver my address and as soon as we arrived at the building, that was it. No more Harry, no more exploring San Francisco, no more feeling of reckless adventure coursing through me. It was all one big blur – the party felt like ages ago now, our brief cuddle in the hammock nothing like the intimate handhold as we walked along the empty streets. I smiled at the thought of Amber, my new favorite drag queen, and the look on Harry’s face when the first notes of What Makes You Beautiful sounded. It was a movie reel rolling through my head, different jump cuts of arguing over mushrooms and discussing art in the MoMA and sitting on the steps of Telegraph Hill. I did more touristy adventures in one night with Harry than I had in the entire ten months since I moved to the Bay Area. I had more fun with him than I had probably had my entire first quarter of college and now it was all coming to the end.

I shuffled through my tote bag, grabbing my shoes and slipping them on my feet as we rounded the corner of my building.

Harry was tapping away on his phone, but at my sudden movement he pocketed it and looked up. The taxi driver slid up to the curb, the normally crowded street empty as the workday started.

I opened my door slowly, stealing a glance at Harry, who was looking at me apprehensively, though a smile on his face.

“Do you…” I couldn’t believe the words that were leaving my mouth, but they were there. “Do you want to come up?” I regretted the words as soon as I said them, blushing and looking down in embarrassment. “I just meant – your hotel is probably a ways away and traffic is bad because it’s the morning and we have a futon, but you’re probably busy and tired so never mind--.”

I shouldn’t have asked him. I should’ve kissed him on the cheek in the politest goodbye possible, gone upstairs, had a bit of a freak out, and passed out on the futon in the guestroom that I was occupying. The night would be over and all peace would be restored in the world, ending this strange night, but that’s not what I wanted. I didn’t want things to end yet. Harry looked even better under the morning glow and I wanted to be around him. I wasn’t willing to reconcile with the myriad of other things I wanted to do with him, but I would allow myself to want his company.

He didn’t even hesitate, the smile growing on his face as he handed the taxi driver another handful of bills before sliding out after me, shutting the cab door gingerly.

“I don’t know if Dakota is home or not.” I told him as I pressed the number into the callbox by the door, waiting for the appropriate buzz before stepping inside. The building was old, but not as old as some of the others in the city. The elevator still worked, which said lots, and there was a washer and dryer in the bathroom.

Harry followed me up wordlessly, both of us hovering in silence.

“How much trouble are you in for leaving?” I finally asked him as the elevator doors closed and we started our journey upwards.

He grimaced. “Loads. I’ve been getting threats from our manager all night.”

“What time do you have to be back?”

“Sound check is at two.” He replied. We hadn’t even hit seven o’clock in the morning yet.

“You must be really tired, though.” I pointed out as the elevator slowed down. “Don’t you have to perform tonight?”

“I can run on a few hours less of sleep, it’s not a problem.” He gave a little nonchalant shrug.

I gave him a side eye but said nothing as the elevator doors opened.

The apartment Dakota and I were sharing was on the smaller side, a two bedroom owned by her aunt. Said aunt was off for the summer, doing some teaching thing on the east coast, and Dakota and I had been roped into house sitting. It wasn’t exactly a hard job, considering we got to spend the summer in the city for free. My only obligations were the pug next door and making sure the drains didn’t get clogged.

I half expected Dakota to be lying on the couch when I opened the door, wrapped up in the fetal position and clutching her head in distress (this was her usual hangover position), but the apartment was empty.

“Kota?” I called out as I flipped on the lights. The apartment wasn’t atrociously messy, but it could’ve done with a bit of tidying. I was too tired to care at that moment and figured Harry had probably seen worse.

“She must have crashed someone else.” I told Harry as we slipped further inside. I deposited my bag and sweater on the couch, sliding my shoes off underneath the coat rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to eat?” I offered as I padded into the kitchen.

“No thank you,” He declined politely, ending the word in a yawn. I laughed at the face he made, before moving further down into the hallway.

The last door at the end was the guest bedroom. It was tiny, more the dimension of an oversized closet than anything else, but it held a futon with a mountain of pillows, the corner IKEA desk my laptop was resting on, and piles of books. I didn’t bother turning on the lights, crawling onto the futon the second I stepped inside of the room with a satisfied groan.

Harry laughed, shutting the door behind him and reaching down to take off his boots. I thought about offering him the futon and going to sleep on the couch or Dakota’s room, but frankly, I didn’t want to. I scooched up the side of the futon, collapsing against the overly fluffy pillows.

Harry’s boots landed with a thump by the door, his hooded sweatshirt in a pile next to it. He crawled onto the futon beside me, legs almost hanging off the end. I dug a throw pillow out from behind my back and tossed it across the room, finally sinking comfortably down into the thin mattress.

“Laying down feels so good.” Harry confessed with a little sigh.

I only hummed appreciatively, not even bothering to burrow under the covers. I could feel the sleep slowly caving in on me, my eyelids fluttering shut. I finally felt comfortable, despite still being in my jeans, but my body was having a moment to rest and I wasn’t going to take that for granted.

I was slipping farther and farther into the blissful world of sleep when Harry shifted beside me. I popped open an eye to see him propped up on his elbow, face leaning dangerously close to mine.

“Lola?”

“Hmm?” I asked, staring up at him. He was too beautiful, all chiseled cheekbones and dimples, attractive in a way that made me wonderfully uncomfortable. I wanted to devour him, I thought right then. Absorb him.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was husky, deep and gravelly in my ear.

My eyes shot open.

His eyes were zeroing in on my lips, his breath labored and falling over my cheeks in waves.

“Harry,” I struggled to breathe out his name. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” he replied, but continued to move forward, slowly closing the gap between our faces. “But I decided eight hours ago that I was going to do whatever I wanted tonight, consequences be damned. And right now, I want to kiss you.”

“Oh.” I gulped. I sunk further down into the futon mattress, my entire body humming in anticipation. I was trying to come up with an adequate response, but the only word forming in my brain was yes. Yes, please. So I told him as much. Consequences be damned.

The museum kiss with Harry had been a solid eight, his lips molding gently to mine. There had been that little electric shock between us, a zing from my spine to my toes, but whatever that had been outside of the MoMA, it was nothing in comparison to now, his torso hovering over mine as he leaned down and pressed our lips together. This broke my kissing scale, surpassing any other type of lip lock I’d previously experienced. It was electricity and fireworks and blown up chemistry experiments, my entire body buzzing with the feeling of him pressed against me. My hand went up to cradle his neck, fingers scratching gently against the soft hairs there. Harry groaned into my mouth, moan reverberating along my tongue and teeth as he sipped delicately from my mouth. He legs settled in between my thighs, his entire body pressed against mine. One hand was cupped around my jaw, stilling my mouth as he switched from sipping kisses to gentle nibbles. The other skirted along my waist, curving down to my hips and dipping underneath my t-shirt. I tilted my head back, pushing my mouth further into his. There were seconds of soft, gentle kisses, his lips moving slowly against mine, before I brought my legs up, wrapped them around his hips, and everything shifted.

Suddenly Harry was pressing urgent kiss after urgent kiss to my mouth. I gladly reciprocated, hands grasping at his hair, running my fingers through the curls as his warm mouth molded into mine. He was kissing me fiercely, tongue exploring the inside of my mouth while his hands explored underneath my shirt, tickling the sensitive skin of my stomach and sides. I pushed against him, a strategic body squirm bringing forth the most delicious of sensations. He laughed against my mouth, smile spreading across my lips as he pressed another kiss there.

“Cheeky girl,” He breathed, before his fingers were suddenly tugging at the bottom of my shirt. I separated our mouths momentarily, flinging the shirt over my head before grasping at Harry’s as well.

My fingers dipped underneath the soft fabric, feeling along his defined chest, mentally counting each nipple as I traveled higher and higher.

“So it is true, yeah?” I muttered against his lips. “Four and all?”

He swallowed my words, lips moving frantically against mine. I felt simultaneously weak and on fire, my stomach fluttering as he explored the inside of my mouth. I paused my quest to get Harry’s shirt off to reciprocate another blazing kiss, pressing my tongue against his, letting him explore the inside of my mouth as his fingers roamed against my body. His fingers traced along the banding of my bra, before cupping over the fabric. I let out a breathy sigh, arching up to meet him.

“No fair,” I murmured against his lips. I tugged at his t-shirt. “Off.”

The shirt was off in a matter of seconds, thrown into some corner of the room. I let out a whine when he didn’t immediately return to my mouth, moving to press hot, open mouthed kisses against my neck. He set out a pattern as he moved down from my neck to my shoulder – kiss, nibble, suck, his tongue leading a dangerous assault across my skin. I writhed underneath him, head tilted back in complete bliss. My hands roamed across his torso, doing their fair share of grabbing and pawing. It was an orchestra of deliberate moans, sighs, groans. Harry extracted mewling sounds from me with his lips and I made him sigh in delight as my fingers trailed across his hips, dipping lower and lower until he pulled away from my skin, fixing me with a smoldering stare.

“Keep that up and we won’t be here for much longer.” He warned. I only chuckled, before unclasping the first button of his jeans. He raised an eyebrow and moved towards the clasp of my bra.

Kissing Harry was intoxicating, but his touches had my entire body in fits. I was panting heavily, each new sensation emitting another purr and breathless sigh. Our clothing shed, piece by piece left in a slump on the plush carpeting of the room. We twisted and turned and shook and shivered and it was like my body was on fire and Harry was the kerosene. His hands danced across my skin and my moans ran down his back, fingers digging into shoulder blades as his tongue swept across the planes of my stomach. Minutes earlier, I had been tired, the exhaustion making it difficult to open my eyelids, but now I couldn’t stop my body from feeling, the sensation causing my brain to go into overdrive.

“Are you sure?” Harry whispered against my skin, his fingers toying with the elastic waistband around my hips.

I pulled him into another searing kiss and breathed out a yes against his lips.



Our breathing patterns were off, my inhale colliding with Harry’s exhale. My head was propped up on his chest, hair scattered around wildly. He was running his hands through the strands, fingertips scratching lightly along my scalp. I had to stop myself from purring delightfully and burrowing into his chest.

“Alright?” He asked.

“Better than alright.” I answered, tilting my head and pressing a kiss into his ribcage. “You?”

“Brilliant.” He answered, leaning over me with a dazzling smile. I only laughed. I shifted across his chest, moving onto my stomach and resting my head on his abdomen.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” He asked after a moment, fingers slowing down through my hair.

I was fighting sleep off so desperately, the clock now passing eight o’clock in the morning. All I wanted was to doze off into a blissful sleep, Harry’s body pressed into mine, but apparently he wasn’t allowing that.

“I don’t have tickets, if that’s what you’re asking.” I spoke into his chest. “Student loan payments trump One Direction tickets, sorry.”

“Would you like to come to the show tonight?”

My eyelids were still trying to flutter shut. “I never look a gift horse in the mouth.” I replied. “So if it’s concert tickets you’re offering, I’m not declining.”

He let out a laugh, my head moving along his abdomen as he laughed. I readjusted yet again, curling into his side. We moved the covers around us sometime in the middle of our explorations, the blankets cocooning around our bodies.

He mumbled something about putting me on some type of list, but I was already halfway asleep. I patted his chest in a way to let him know that I approved and then promptly fell asleep.