Harry Who?

“Harry Styles seen with mystery girl visiting James Corden for dinner”

I read and reread the headline Harry’s team had brought to our attention. The article itself made me cringe at the the absolutely untrue speculation behind what I was doing with Harry. They even suggested I was the reason the band was taking a break, that I’d Yoko Onoed One Direction. I was too shocked to get angry, and Harry seemed to be deep in thought about something, so I just stared at the picture some sneaky pap had gotten of us at James’ house together.

“I’m sorry Harry, I shouldn’t have come with you,” I started to apologize, but he cut me off.

“It’s not your fault, Ellie.” He said without much enthusiasm. “They shouldn’t have been able to get a picture of us at James’ house like that. Must have been his neighbor or something.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked in disbelief.

“The paps will do anything for a picture of me and a girl. Usually they don’t get out, this one must have slipped past someone.” He stood up and started to leave the room. “I have to make a few phone calls.”

I sat in shock as I tried to mentally process all of this. I tried to imagine how Harry deals with this kind of thing all the time. ‘We’ll just stay inside and never go out again’ I thought. That’s fine; Harry and I can have just as much fun at home as we could if we’d gone out, probably more fun. I snickered at that thought, but was interrupted by Harry.

“Our flight leaves soon, are you ready to go?” He asked, and I nodded yes. I had packed my entire life into two suitcases, which looked immensely out of style compared to Harry’s. We flew to London without discussing the picture any more, though Harry seemed a little more quiet, and not nearly as ‘hands on’ as I was used to.

I ended up sleeping most of the way, and when we arrived I was super excited to see London, and Harry’s house. Considering I would be living here now, I tried to picture what it would be like. I assumed it would be a nice house, since everything Harry owned was pretty nice, but I could not picture his furniture, or what kind of color schemes he might have used in this kitchen or bathrooms. He probably had an interior decorator, but there would most likely be a bit of Harry’s flair in every room.

“Welcome home,” Harry said tiredly to me when we finally arrived at his house. “Though, don’t get too comfortable here.”

I stopped mid-stride and looked up at him in his entryway. “Why not?” We had not really discussed my living arrangements, though I had assumed I would be living with him since I couldn’t afford a place of my own.

“We’re going to France in a couple of days, then a couple other places,” he casually mentioned, as if this were normal. Well, it probably is normal for him.

“France!?!” I was ecstatic and dropped my bags at the foot of the staircase and looked up at Harry, who stopped halfway up the stairs to glance back at me.

“Yeah, I’ve got a, uh, thing,” he answered and continued up the stairs. I followed him quickly and tried to take in his house, the decor, the layout (in case I got lost, it was quite big) and caught up to him at the top of the stairs. “This is your room, if you want.”

‘My room, right...we aren’t quite at that stage yet, I guess’ I thought and dragged my suitcases toward the guest room. It was huuuuge! There was a big, comfy looking bed in the middle, a walk in closet, a beautiful dresser and mirror. “Harry, this is amazing!” I hugged him and turned on the light to see the whole room. “And I have my own bathroom!”

“Yeah, I like my guests to have all the modern amenities,” he replied dryly and a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

“It’s like staying in a fancy hotel,” I beamed and fell back onto the bed to try it out. “This bed is so comfortable.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’m going to take a nap, I’m pretty tired from the flight. We’ll get dinner later, or something,” he mumbled and left me alone in the room. I quickly ran to the door to see which room was his so I could visit him later tonight, but he was gone. I started putting away my clothes, then remembered we would be leaving in a few days, so I put them back in my suitcase.

‘I should really buy some nicer clothes’ I thought as I looked through my clothes. Being an athlete had certainly taken it’s toll on my fashion sense, and the last year and a half spent working nights in a bookstore definitely didn’t help either. I gave up worrying about my clothes and decided to explore the house a bit. Harry hadn’t told me not to, and he hadn’t warned me to stay out of the ‘east wing’ like in Beauty and the Beast or anything like that, so I assumed it was okay.

I came across the kitchen and was startled to see we weren’t alone. The chef introduced himself, and told me what he was making us for dinner. He said he was excited to finally meet Harry’s special guest, and it was nice to have people in the house again.

‘Special guest? I’m special? Harry’s staff knows about me?’ I supposed they would have to know I was here, and that made me feel even more weird, because it wasn’t just Harry and I. A noise drew me towards the back of the house. It was definitely Harry, I recognized his voice, but he sounded a little different. I stood in the doorway of what must have been his studio. He was sitting on a couch to the side with a guitar singing something. Seeing him with his guitar again reminded me of the video he sent me of him singing my own personal version of ‘Hey There Delilah.’

“Hey,” I said quietly and he stopped playing.

“Elloise, just the person I was thinking about,” he said a little too loudly, like maybe he was drunk.

“That was a nice song,” I said, and spotted a bottle of what must have been expensive scotch at his feet. I’d never seen Harry drunk before, he didn’t really drink too often, so I didn’t know what to expect.

“Thanks, I wrote it.” He put his guitar away and returned to that bottle of scotch.

“Really? That’s pretty cool,” I smiled and moved a little closer to sit with him, but he stood up.

“That’s kinda what I do, Ells, I’m a musician.” He stumbled on the word ‘musician’ a bit but didn’t seem to care. “Come on let’s get dinner.”

He was a little odd during dinner, which at first I assumed was from the alcohol, except he continued to act like this until we left for France two days later. ‘Perhaps he was just jet-lagged; I certainly was,’ I thought, and tried to enjoy the trip. He, again, had some stuff to do that did not involve me, so I got to be a tourist in some of the nicest cities in Europe: Paris, Barcelona, Milan… it was a dream come true. Except, my boyfriend was being distant and would not make eye contact with me when (if) we spoke. We had separate hotel rooms, and even though we did travel together, he was always with his manager and a few other people.

‘Okay, maybe we’re doing this too fast. Maybe I should go home’ I thought as I lay by the hotel pool. Except, I didn’t really have a home anymore, because I’d given up my apartment and sold my car, furniture, and whatever I didn’t need anymore. I’d have to live with my parents. I shuddered at the thought and took a sip of my drink. As I wandered back up to my hotel room I saw Harry in the hallway and ran after him.

“Harry!” I shouted and he eventually stopped.

“I’m really busy Ell,” he said and checked his phone.

“You were walking toward your room but turned around when you saw me. Are you avoiding me?” I asked, and started to feel hurt, no longer able to convince myself he was ‘just tired’ or somehow drunk for a week straight.

“No, I just don’t really want to talk right now, or here,” he looked around, but the hallway was empty.

“I should go. This wasn’t a good idea. I thought we were on the same page, but clearly we’re not.” I said quietly, trying not to cry, and turned to head back to my room. There were already tears stinging my eyes by the time he put his hand on my shoulder to stop me.

“Ell, wait,” he dug for his room key in his pocket and he pulled me into his room.

“I don’t want you to be late for, whatever,” I said quietly and wiped my eyes.

“I wasn’t going anywhere, you’re right. I was,” he paused. “I was avoiding you.”

I knew it, but it hurt so much more to hear him say it. I couldn’t hide it anymore, and sat on the end of his bed crying. He handed me a box of tissues and sat down next to me.

“Do you really love me?” He said quietly after a moment. He sounded small and a little vulnerable, and it made me want to kiss him and give him a hug.

I was startled, because I was expecting him to say ‘we’re over’ or something like that. “Yes, Harry, I love you.” I turned to look at him, and his soft green eyes were filled with sadness. He quickly looked back at his phone.

“This turned up right after the picture of us together got out.” He showed me a picture I didn’t even realize existed, and the butterflies in my stomach turned to lead.

“How-who even took that?” I started, but realized I needed to defend my actions. “It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is; he and I were on a date, but I never saw him after that. He was just someone my roommate knew from work, she thought it would cheer me up or whatever after I visited you in New York.”

He was quiet for a minute, and I really, really wanted to ask him how he had a picture of my ‘date’ but I knew this was not the time. I played with my nails impatiently while he thought.

“Why would your roommate think you needed cheering up?” He again sounded quiet and small, and I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him and hug him until this all went away.

“Because, Harry, you said you didn’t think we could be together? You kind of broke up with me,” I looked back up at him, and again saw those eyes glimmering with hurt and pain. Did he not know he broke up with me? “Being with you had been, basically, the highlight of my post-hockey life.” It sounded a bit dramatic, but it was true.

“I’m sorry; it was selfish of me to think you’d wait for me to get my life sorted out, if that ever happens…” He looked away. “I didn’t realize I’d hurt you that much.”

“Harry, it’s not your fault. I’ve been in a bad spot in my life recently, and you were like the unicorn that brightened my life for a moment.”

“A unicorn?” He smiled.

“Because you’re too good to be true,” I half joked.

“I’m not, though, clearly,” he looked back at the picture on his phone and zoomed in on my face. It was blurry, but you could clearly tell I was fake-smiling at the guy, nodding at whatever he said as I stuffed my face with pasta.

“How do you have a picture of that?” I finally asked. “You’re not stalking me, are you?” I tried to joke, but he didn’t seem to return my humorous tone.

“I’m not, no, that would be creepy, but,” he paused. “My management team looked into you when I said I wanted you to travel with me and stuff. Just as a precaution, in case you were trying to use me or something. They just showed it to me last week, I should have just asked you about it then.”

“Right,” I kind of understood, but I still felt a bit violated. “Was someone following me?”

“No, he just happened to be in Ottawa for a few days and decided to check you out in person, or at least that’s what they told me,” Harry looked doubtful, and a bit guilty.

“But this was two weeks before you told me you’d been thinking about ‘us’, you know, when I thought you wanted to break up with me, even though we weren’t really dating.”

“I made up my mind about you much earlier than that, like, when we had dinner on the roof of the hotel and watched the sun set. I guess I should have told you.” He paused. “I just didn’t want to ruin it; I didn’t want anything to change by actually saying it out loud and putting a label on it.”

“I get that, but you have to talk to me about stuff like this. Because I felt the same way. I wasn’t sure if I liked you, or the idea of you. Actually,” I stopped and looked up at him. “The idea of you terrifies me.”

He laughed. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re in One Direction! You’re Harry fucking Styles!”

He nodded, “I know.”

“That’s scary to an average person like me. That picture of us getting dinner together scares me even more, because now I’m worried your fans will come after me. Harry, I don’t want to get murdered by a nine-year-old.”

He laughed and looked down at me, wrapping his arm around me for the first time since we left LA. I leaned into him and let my head rest naturally against his shoulder, like it belonged there.

“They’re not going to kill you, but we will try to keep this quiet. Trust me, it’s easier that way,” he kissed my hair, and I felt all the tension between us over the last week melt away.

“I really wanted to go to the Eiffel tower with you when we were in Paris. I didn’t even got to see it, there were too many other things I wanted to see and we weren’t there very long,” I sighed.

“Maybe, on the way home tomorrow, we can get dinner on top of the Eiffel tower. It’ll have to be at like, 3 in the morning so no one sees us, but it’s prettiest at night, anyway.”

“That would be lovely,” I said and nestled further into his arms. Things were finally okay, and as long as we talked to each other about stuff like this, I think we’ll be okay.