The small maintenance hallway is cramped and dank, smelling of mold, but Harry only continues when I pause momentarily after we break through the threshold.

“Watch your step,” he murmurs, leading us both around fallen drywall and littered trash throughout the dark hallway. He must have been here before, because he seems to know exactly where he’s going.

Having never set foot in the theatre before, I wonder how on earth tours used to be conducted here. The place is rundown—from the back, it would be wiser to tear the place down than to renovate it, like someone wanted to do a few years back. It’s dark, too, and while I don’t usually mind the darkness, this is near pitch black. With my shaking free hand, I fish my phone from my pocket and turn on my camera flash to use as a makeshift flashlight. Harry smirks back at me over his shoulder at the sudden light, though he says nothing.

“We’re almost there,” he reassures me after I nearly trip on a small metal object. His feet had expertly avoided it and he even warned me, but my reflexes weren’t quick enough. He steadied me with a hand to the small of my back, chuckling.

While I have some reservations about being in such a decrepit, most likely dangerous old building, I choose to trust Harry. He promised it’s safe, after all, and he kept his promise on the drive here not to ask my any further questions about my list.

I can trust him. I know I can, and the fact that I know he trusts me too is what’s painful. He shouldn’t trust me.

But like how I took him to see Grandma and Caleb’s gave, there must be a reason he brought me here. So I shut up and follow him.

“I want to show you the front first,” he says, voice loud and echoing. Up ahead I begin to see a faint light, and I realize it’s coming from the street lights outside. We must be close to the entrance. “Before I turn the lights on.”

When we come to an abrupt stop and I struggle to avoid bumping into Harry, I look up to him questioningly. He nods his head in the direction ahead of us, and it takes a moment for my eyes adjust to the darkness. Though faint, I make out that we are indeed at the front of The Uptown, in the lobby. From the dim light seeping in through the dusted over front windows and doors I catch a glimpse of marble floors, huge rows of columns spanning the sides of the vast space, and the outline of two grand staircases on the far side of the room. Above us, the air looks as if it’s one huge dust cloud.

Harry takes no notice of that, however, while I wrinkle my nose at the pungent scent of mildew.

Harry laughs quietly at my reaction. “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first too. Wait ‘til you see what a little light does.”

“Stay here.” He lets go of my hand, and I feel vulnerable without his comforting, protective presence right next to me.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” I call out to his retreating figure and resist the impulsive urge to follow after him. He wants me to stay here in the dark while he turns on the lights? Just great—without him, I don’t think I can handle the spooky atmosphere of the place. “We could get in trouble, Harry.”

“A little trouble can be good for you sometimes.” Over his shoulder he throws me a hot, liquefying look along with another of his breathy chuckles.

“I’ll say,” I mutter, quickly looking away. Harry himself seems like trouble, I could get him in trouble, and now he seems bent on us getting in trouble with the law, too. Great.

“Remember, don’t overthink it. I’ll be back in a minute,” he calls out, voice fading when he turns back down the hallway we just came through.

For several minutes I’m left there alone with only the miniscule light shining in from the street to comfort me. Now that Harry’s not within arm’s length of me, I begin to do exactly what I promised I wouldn’t: overthink it. I look up and the ceiling is so high and it’s so dark that I can’t even see it—the room seems infinite to me. Infinite in the scariest of ways. I’ve never liked vast open spaces such as this; sometimes I feel as if they’re capable of swallowing me whole.

Without Harry’s hand in mine or on my back to comfort me, this place feels so much scarier. I wonder what the hell I volunteered myself into, and if Harry really knows what he’s doing when it comes to turning on the lights. It’s surprising that this old theatre still even has electricity. For a second I have a strangling fear that he’s off in the basement somewhere getting himself electrocuted, but then I remind myself that I’m at least halfway sure he’s done this before.

He has been here before. And like he told me outside, if it wasn’t safe, he wouldn’t bring me here. I trust him with at least that much.

My mind wanders to what I’d be doing right now if I hadn’t agreed to go along with Harry’s shenanigans, and I would either be at Vivian’s or visiting Grandma. Vivian might even rope me into something even more risky, and the thought alone of seeing Grandma stirs an aching pain throughout my abdomen.

Caleb. She doesn’t remember that he’s gone.

Oh, god.

In the next instant it seems as if the musty, dark room is transformed, and my thought process is halted in its glooming tracks. Bright light bursts from the ceiling and the sides of the walls. The enormous, ornate chandelier overhead drenches the space with an antiqued, yellowing shade of light that shocks me with its beauty alone.

Past the layer of dirt on the floor, I can now discern that it’s comprised of a huge slab of fine, white marble. Heavy curtains above the staircases are greyed with age, and the staircases themselves are perhaps the most breathtaking feature of the entire lobby. Their marble steps are lined with a plush red carpet, and the intricate railing continues up onto a balcony overlooking the lobby. On the far end of the balcony and in between the curtains is a pair of immense French doors, and I know the theatre must be on the other side.

Just the lobby is magnificent. I can’t believe I’ve never given the place a second look. If Harry hadn’t turned the lights on, I never would have even considered its beauty could be of such magnitude.

I release a small disbelieving laugh, and it ricochets throughout the massive empty space. Another much deeper laugh echoes back, except this one is deep, masculine, and sounds utterly sexy. I whip around, breathless from both surprises, and see Harry smile with his arms folded over his broad chest.

“What a difference, yeah?” He asks and I nod, suddenly giddy. I can understand now why he wanted me to see the place, dark and dingy, and then brought to life.

Given a second chance, when no one else thought it was worth it. Not even me.

“This is beautiful, Harry. I’m speechless.” My eyes wander the details of the gilded columns.

He smiles at me and I swear he looks almost relieved, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the cutest of ways, which I’ve taken notice is when he is truly happy. He takes my hand again, and I find myself relieved now, too. It’s entirely too nice to have him back by my side. “Wait ‘til you see the inside.”

Harry isn’t joking around—as soon as we go up the stairs and look out into the theatre, I’m floored. Hundreds of rows of red seats line the floor and up above on the balcony. From our spot in one of the little alcoves, we get a bird’s eye view of the theatre’s true beauty.

“It’s like a sea of seats,” I trail off dumbly, caught in in my wonder.

“Over four thousand.”

I look over and up to him, stood otherwise silent next to me, and watch him as his eyes take in the magnificent palace of a movie theatre. “You really like this place, don’t you?”

“I do,” Harry agrees after a beat of silence, and I detect a note of hesitance in his deep voice. He casts me a brief look, his darkened green gaze unsteady. I’m sure it’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed him nervous, and it further skews the image I can’t believe I once had of him—that of an uptight businessman.

While I get lost in the fact that Harry is quite literally all over the place, a whirlwind, I realize he doesn’t even expect me to understand why he likes The Uptown. But I do. “Good. I do, too.”

The smile that blossoms on his plump lips after my response tells me that I’ve said the right thing. At the same time, as if in perfect harmony, we both look down at our joined hands, and then Harry’s smile turns soft as we look back up at each other.

I want to kiss him. It’s all I can ever think about when we’re alone and Harry smiles at me that way and there’s a moment like this that just feels so perfect, so right.

Ever since last weekend. After all the drama when he called me beautiful and kissed me so delicately and slow, as if he had all the time in the world to give me the very best, most sensual kiss I’d be sure to ever experience.

He’s all I can think about. Even now my eyes unwittingly flit to his lips, and when I draw closer to him I can’t tell if he’s pulling me, if I’m doing all this on my own accord, or if he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him.

Harry’s phone chimes with another incoming text, and I hardly hear the miniscule sound over the roaring in my ears, but it does serve to disrupt our intense stare. I look away, suddenly embarrassed for looking at him, wanting him with such passion, and I pull my hand from his.

He shakes his head at me, silent as he checks his phone, and the soft, knowing smiles he’s wearing quells my worries and reassures me that nothing is wrong. I release the lungful of air I held onto during those few intense moments and stare at my boots with humiliated ferocity.

Don’t overthink it.

“Food’s here.”

---

“I’m from Holmes Chapel, a small village in Cheshire,” Harry answers my tentative questioning easily. We’ve spent the past half an hour sharing small, unimportant details. I’m desperate to learn something more about him, but I don’t know where to start and I’m too shy to ask anything personal. There’s another heavier question weighing on my mind, one Alex forced onto me at the beginning of the week. I’m almost sure Harry doesn’t have a girlfriend—he doesn’t seem like the type to mess around on a girl, though obviously I don’t know him nearly well enough to make such an assumption. No, I’ll save that question for later. I don’t want to ruin the night when it’s still so young.

When he sees my comical, clueless expression, he laughs. “It’s about an hour or so from Manchester, if that give you any idea.”

I nod, chewing on this new piece of information along with a forkful of my sweet and sour chicken, wondering how and when he ended up moving to America. He smiles again, setting his empty Styrofoam tray on the floor next to our seats. We’re up at the very top of the theatre, on the last row of seats on the balcony. “I came over here when I was eighteen. My mum is from Britain but my dad is native to the states. She was struggling at the time, so Dad took me in.”

His response gives me pause and forces me to look at him in a new light, having not thought he’d divulge such personal information with me. Then again… look at all I showed him last weekend. Struggle with what? An illness? Money? Looking at Harry with his expensive suits, his luxury car and the multitude of businesses he has a stake in, I would never have guessed him to be poor at any point in his life.

“How long ago was that?” I ask, quiet now, the moment losing its playful edge.

He rubs his jaw and sighs, looking as if he’s lost in all the years past. “Oh, about seven now, I would say.”

“So that makes you, what? Twenty five?” He nods, still in thought momentarily, and I take my own moment to mull this over. He’s not too much older than myself, then. Just a few years. When I shake my head in disbelief, a light pink tints his cheeks and he grins. Is that embarrassment? Usually it’s the other way around. I’m not at all used to having this effect on Harry.

“What?” He demands after another moment when I don’t say anything.

I set my half empty tray on top of his and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “It’s just… you’re so successful at such a young age. It’s astonishing.”

“It’s not, really. I’ve come this far out of pure luck.” He brushes the notion off, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“I disagree.”

“Yeah?” he asks this as if no one has ever challenged his belief in the cause of his success, and I wonder if anyone ever has.

“I remember you at the presentation. You were great on stage, and I know that carries over to the business side of things. Not everyone has what you have.”

Not everyone can command an entire room just from their mere presence. I want to be so bold and tell him that, but I feel uncomfortable at just the thought. I can’t ask if he has a girlfriend, and I can’t tell him how much I really do admire his success.

“And what’s that, exactly?” He leans over his seat, his arm brushing against mine as he does so, and the old chair creaks under his weight. My breath catches as soon as he moves, and I’m reminded once again how fast and easily I can become engulfed in Harry.

Like I had in every single other encounter with him, except perhaps for the presentation (even that’s up in the air), I want to kiss him. I lean forward, too, longing to be close to him, yet much too shy.

“I don’t know,” I laugh, and it comes out as breathless as I feel. “Charisma. You just have that presence. It’s indescribable.”

Indescribable. That sums up Harry himself, so perfect I could attach a bow onto the very word and set it atop his curly head of hair—like a beacon, or perhaps even a warning to naïve, broken girls like myself. Don’t mess with this one, it would also say. Because he knows what he’s doing, and he won’t take no for an answer.

“Presence, hm…” his lazy slow grin makes my stomach tie up in hot knots, and it’s as if I can almost feel my pupils dilate when he locks his eyes with mine for several torturous seconds. Crap, why does he have to be so undeniably attractive? In comparison I feel like nothing—not even average.

“Yeah,” I agree, expelling the last of the air in my lungs with the one word, and I don’t even know if what I say is coherent. His eyes drift to focus on my lips, gaze hot and compelling, and I find myself helpless in my effort not to do the same. “Presence.”

The tension is so thick I can hardly breathe and my head even starts to spin a little, though I’m positive it has nothing to do with my heart. At least, not in a physical manner of speaking. I haven’t ever been in such a situation before, filled with such want. I bite my lip, refusing to look away out of pure intimidation, and Harry’s eyelids flutter as he watches me release my bottom lip from between my teeth.

I become so aware of Harry in the following split seconds, of his arm against mine, his hot breath close to my neck, and I even notice how broad his shoulders look in his leather jacket. I want to feel them and the taut muscles surely roped underneath, working against my hands.

Eyes smoldering, Harry reaches forward—at first I think he’s going to lean across the chair the rest of the way and give me another one of his seemingly innocent kisses like I so desperately want him to, but he grasps my upper arm while his other hand snakes around my waist, using his strength to lift me clear out of my seat.

And straight into his lap. I gasp when I realize what he’s done before I could even think to stop him, and I end up straddling his thighs. He doesn’t give me a chance to panic and back off because he leans forward, mouth searching and dark eyes urgent before he kisses me. It’s feverish, deep; it makes my toes curl in both satisfaction and even more craving. It takes me several moments to respond, much like the first time he kissed me and though hot and demanding, his lips remain slow and sensual. As if exploring—testing—and it’s because he knows exactly how clueless I am.

His hand presses into my back pulling me to him until I’m as close to flush against him as we can get in the theatre seat. I gasp into the kiss when I feel his hips grind against mine… that’s how close we are. He pulls back only for a moment to pant hotly against my mouth.

‘Relax,” he murmurs throatily, brushing my hair away from my face before he places his hand against the back of my neck, crushing his lips against mine. Except his time there’s a little more force to it.

Don’t overthink it, I somehow hazily recall him saying. Don’t overthink it.

With trembling hands I long to feel more of him, so I do exactly what I wanted to seconds earlier. I slip my fingers through his open jacket and run my hands up his firm torso until coming to rest on his shoulders. The muscles underneath his skin contract and strain with every one of my hesitant touches, and that alone is shocking. Do I make Harry feel the way I do when he touches me?

The idea is almost empowering. Almost, and only for a second, and then it’s totally terrifying. What we have is terrifying. And wonderful.

No, I never believed I was capable of doing such things, of venturing so totally out of my comfort zone with a man. But here I am, and it’s all thanks to Harry Styles. He abruptly groans into my mouth and pushes me down onto his hips. I emit a startled squeak and try to pull my hands away, afraid I’ve done something wrong.

As soon as my hands leave the heat created from his skin being in contact with mine, he puts them back, hands lingering on top of mine, and then his tongue pushes past my lips and Harry is clutching me to him as if he wants my body to fuse into his. The sensation of another person’s tongue in my mouth is nothing like I ever imagined. It doesn’t slither in and it doesn’t nauseate me; in fact, it feels natural. As if this is totally right, to be all but grinding into Harry’s hips and to have my hands all over him and his tongue brushing against mine.

I allow him to dominate the kiss, shocked and enthralled by the new sensation to do anything other than work my tongue tentatively against his.

Finally, he breaks our kiss and leans back, shrugging off his jacket in a jerky, rushed manner, and I hook one arm around his neck while I hold onto him so that I don’t fall to the floor from the movement. It brings us even closer. I gasp again and release an embarrassing, almost inaudible peep when his hands are instantly returned to my body, venturing underneath both my sweater and t-shirt to the bare skin of my stomach.

My legs tighten on his thighs, overwhelmed with his hands on my bare skin, and his lips return—except this time to my neck, and this time much more aggressive. He jolts underneath me as soon as I squeeze his legs, groaning into my neck, and when his teeth nip at a particular spot at the base of my throat, I nearly fly off his lap altogether.

He blows on the spot, causing a whole other, entirely new feeling to crop up right at my hips. A hot, burning feeling that radiates throughout the rest of my body, and I shock myself when I press my hips hungrily into his.

“Harry,” I pant, out of my mind though I’m faintly aware of how far this has progressed. My entire body feels like a fire has been lit to it, fast and quick and hard after being doused with kerosene and thrown a match. Much too hot for my thick sweater, but that’s too far.

On his lap is too far.

“Harry,” I try again, voice no longer as breathy and telling of how staggeringly pleasurable this feels. Now I’m slightly more sure of what needs to be done, even though it’s the last thing I want. I have to. When he continues his assault on my neck and then upward along my jaw, I push against his chest in another feeble attempt.

With a throaty chuckle Harry releases the back of my neck and places several light, teasing kisses to my mouth. The playful though still hot grazes ease the intensity, and I begin to feel myself cool and I go along with his low chuckles, though much shakier.

“Sorry,” he says throatily, shifting his weight in the chair. I hold onto the back of his neck again as he does so, and finally my breathing seems to even out. I might be able to get off his lap and not fall flat on my face. Might. “I got carried away.”

“Sure you did.” Something tells me he knew exactly what he was doing and that he was in complete control when he pulled me out of my chair on top of him. Complete control. My lips feel swollen from his feverish kiss, tingling and buzzing with what feels like electricity. I fight the urge to touch them, or to look at Harry like I did just a minute ago. Surely, if we lock eyes again in such a position, it would only result in another make out session.

Hell, I can’t even say I’d complain too much about that. But my racing heart and frazzled, turned to goo mind begs to differ, so in a cautious manner I slide off his lap and he stands up with me, too, a grin gracing the lips that just kissed me senseless.

Did we really just grind? I didn’t even know my body could react in such a way. At the time, it seemed as if my conscious thoughts went on auto pilot and I just did what I felt was right. And damn, that felt right. My face heats until I’m sure it rockets to a temperature never even recorded, and Harry laughs again when I cover the side of my face so he can’t see my blush.

“Don’t overthink it,” he recites in a sing-song tone, though he’s still wearing that satisfied grin even as he pries my hand from my cheek and leads me downstairs.

“Come on. Let’s go see the stage.”

Unfortunately, right where the screen is supposed to be further back on the stage is boarded up. Beyond that, there is about fifteen feet from the edge of the stage to the screen, and it’s quite a jump to get up on top of. The stairs on the side are broken beyond use, so Harry smirks as he helps me up with one hand steadying the small of my back—and one firm push on my backside.

I gasp as I tumble to my knees on the stage, more from the shock than the momentum.

“Harry!” I scold, teasing, though secretly mortified with his boldness. He might as well have smacked my ass while he was at it.

He pouts, easily hoisting himself up, and he sits with his long legs dangling out over the edge of the stage. “I just wanted to help.”

Right. Just like he got carried away up on the balcony. I shake my head, my smile disbelieving, and I tentatively sit down next to him with my legs crossed. Harry scoots closer to me until our sides are flush against each other. He rests his weight on one arm leaned behind my back. Leaning closer to him is an unconscious effort, and so is resting my head on his shoulder.

The night seems to slow down, now, with the both of us taking in the magnificent sight of the theatre from a new point of view. My pulse slows and my brain unwinds, and I finally can breathe a little easy. Next to Harry, even though I just made out with him, straddled him, grinded on him, I feel relaxed.

While this past week has been hectic and confusing as all hell with Alexander’s strange behaviour and reaction to Harry, all the tension melts from my shoulders and I lean against Harry even more, eyes taking in the theatre’s beauty in comfortable silence.

This could be so easy—two young people on a date. If I didn’t have secrets looming over my head and a heart disorder that ensures I can never be normal, it would be so easy to get lost in this moment.

In this grand movie palace. With Harry. I long for such easy normalcy.

“Why did you take me here, Harry?” I ask quietly a few minutes later, right when I feel as if I’m about to fall asleep with my head resting right over where his swallow tattoo should be. He sighs and blinks when I bring him from his trance, though he continues to stare out at the thousands of seats.

I spent the past few minutes trying to imagine myself being a performer, here, in the nineteen thirties or whenever they had those stage shows and the orchestra. I tried to picture all of those seats filled, but then I realized the only person who would really matter is Harry. I could have quite literally died of stage fright, but I don’t think I would have if Harry had been there.

“I don’t know. I’ve always liked this place, and I thought it would make a fairly memorable first date for you,” he articulates, so easy, as if I shouldn’t feel pathetic for having such little experience.

I lean away from him, flushing with another wave of heated embarrassment. Of course he had to bring it up—the list. Is this his way of making fun of me? To see how much crazy I could go along with? The sudden suspicion is engulfing, and I grow rigid next to him. “Be serious, Harry.”

“I am,” he defends, angling his body toward me when he senses the distance I created. His eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline when he sees my defensive stance. He keeps his voice light and free of tension. “I do want this to be special for you. You can’t hold that against me, sweetheart.”

When he puts his hand over mine, I can’t look him in the eye, though I do try to contain a shudder upon hearing the endearment. It’s not often he calls me that—sweetheart—and it always stirs strange, flittering feelings deep in my abdomen whenever he uses it.

From such mere contact, however, I can feel heat begin to spark between us in seconds. He put thought into this, into tonight. I decide now to stop being so suspicious and paranoid, to stop overthinking it, and to just decide that tonight can’t get any better.

“Tonight has been pretty memorable,” I manage, recalling the scene on the balcony seats. Being on top of him, holding him, kissing him. I lose the defensive stance and settle back so I’m leaning most of my weight on my hands behind me, and Harry smiles. I stutter on the next word, feeling ever like the naïve and innocent girl I am. “Thank you, Harry.”

“The night’s not over. There’s still a lot to be appreciated about this place,” he says, eyes trained in wonder on my form. He’s probably trying to figure me out, or confused by my sudden changes in mood. I know if he pulled such one eighty’s on me, my head would probably spin.

“Why do you like this place so much, anyway?” I gesture toward the non-existent audience. Harry follows the movement, silent for a while as he collects his thoughts. He’s never struck me as being into film or theatre arts, but then again I don’t know a whole lot about him.

I’m caught between yearning to know more about Harry since he has so much knowledge of my personal life already, and simply pushing him away. Because pushing him away would be the right thing to do. I just don’t think I’m strong enough, not with all that’s happened tonight. No, I’ll let myself enjoy this. If only for a little longer, because I know I’ll never have what I feel with Harry with anyone else. It’s overwhelming, it’s indescribable, and I seem to let go of every single thing that makes me sad while I’m with him.

“I found this place about a year ago… when things were hard,” he admits, voicing taking on a rough note. I wonder what in his life had gone wrong, but I decide not to push him that far. I remember how I was last year, after Caleb, and that I was a mess. I have no room to prod Harry for information, not when I know how it feels to be pushed when all you want is to pull back.

“It didn’t look like much to me at first, either. It took me a while to see past the dust and dirt and all the brokenness.”

I sit silent next to him, knowing that he has more to say and I want to hear. He glances to me briefly, as if only now realizing that he spoke, and blows a breath of air through his mouth. “Amazing, don’t you think? That after a half a century of deprivation, this place still stands and it’s still beautiful.”

“It is,” I agree quietly, leaning against him again. His arm draws me closer, and he rests his chin on the crown of my head. “It really is beautiful, Harry. I’m glad you brought me here.”

“And I like the idea of decaying grandeur, how it’s heartbreaking but still majestic…” Harry stops himself, looking bashful for once. I’m lost in what he said, though I manage to smile softly up to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that; you must think I’m weird for liking an old place like this so much.”

He looks vulnerable. The idea alone is shocking, and I feel the innate need to comfort him, to show my support for what he loves, just like he’s done for me countless times since we’ve met. I lean up and press a light kiss to his jaw, and he looks down to me in surprise, a smile of his own blossoming on his pink cheeks.

“I think you’re weird? Harry, look who you’re talking to. I’m in no position to judge.”

He shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. “You’re not weird. You’re interesting.”

“Right,” I snort. “But seriously, Harry. I can see why you’re in love with this place. I never even knew it existed, not like this. It’s astonishing.”

And he was so poetic about it, too. I only wish I could collect my thoughts in such a way and then share them with another, like Harry’s done with me.

“This is breathtaking,” I say, after Harry is silent for some time. He’s focussed on me, now, and I find his attention as disarming as ever. I can only wonder what he’s thinking about.

“I’ve since found something else that’s—that’s more marveling. Much more.” His voice has gone throaty and low again, and he reaches up to sink his fingers into the curls at the ends of my hair, his hand hovering unbearably close to my chest as he does so. I can’t speak, not after what he said, not with him touching me.

“You’re special, Ms. Townsend,” he says after another beat, his eyes straying up to meet mine and thankfully away from my hair (and chest.) I tilt my head, a little too eager to hear him flesh out this new theory of his. “Any other girl would dump be on the street if I told her I wanted to spend the evening in a dilapidated building.”

“You did surprise me,” I object lightly, smiling. His surprise was definitely interesting, and I’d take tonight over any ‘regular’ date without a doubt.

“You know what I mean,” he brushes my argument off, smiling now too. Yes, I get the feeling that some people mightn’t have even followed Harry down that alleyway, much less stepped foot inside a building like this with him. Equally astonishing as the theatre’s beauty is the blind trust I’ve placed in Harry tonight; something I’ve never done with another person ever.

“I think it’s obvious I’m not like most girls…” I trail off, and it hits me how much Harry doesn’t know about me, and how far from normal I really am. I suppose tonight proves that. An ugly part of my mind whispers taunting words to me, tells me that I’m just desperate for a boy’s attention and that’s the only reason I was willing to do all this tonight.

But that’s not true—at least that much. I’ve never been desperate for a male’s attention, and if Harry hadn’t been so persistent I wouldn’t have seen him again after our first meeting with Lou. Then my mind wanders to the entire lie I’m living right this second and I look down, ridden with sadness and guilt.

My hair hides the side of my face like a curtain from Harry, and his hand returns to it. Except this time he brushes it over my shoulder so he can get a clear view of my slight frown and glazed over eyes, his hand lingering on my shoulder blade. I try to smile, to act casual, but the way Harry’s eyes soften tells me that he knows.

He knows how much I’m hurting. He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing and his nose scrunching in frustration. “But you’re not different,” he begins, and it’s as if he can’t articulate what he’s thinking. “From other people. You’re not different in a bad way, and not like you think.”

Yes, I am. In a very bad way, and exactly like I think. He would say so too if he knew.

I sigh and nonetheless feel my heart flutter at his proclamation. Even though he truly believes what he said, it’s not true, and I can’t take comfort in it like I suppose he wants. Finally, I ask the question I’ve been dying to ask all along—even more than my wonderings of his current romantic interests. I take a deep breath and stare straight ahead, ignoring Harry’s hand that’s come to rest on my folded leg above my knee, and I listen to the deafening silence of the theatre. I’m almost afraid that if I break it, the night will come to a crashing halt.

“Why me?”

Harry shifts, though he doesn’t look uncomfortable with my questioning. Just confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—why where you so interested in me? I was such a jerk to you, yet you kept trying.”

He chuckles, nudging my arm. “You were a bit of a jerk, weren’t you?” I find myself laughing along with him, the act so easy and natural in his presence, but I stay quiet otherwise. For once, I want a serious answer.

After a moment, Harry sighs too. “Honestly, the first thing that struck me about you is that you didn’t seem all that concerned with my success.”

“That’s not true,” I cut him off, and he looks to me in surprise. “I think it’s amazing, how far you’ve come. I admire you for that, Mr. Styles.”

He laughs fully now, a hearty boyish laugh that causes his green irises to burst with life and his dimples to pop more than ever. He shakes his head, looking back to me with another wondering smile. “See, you just proved my point. I mean money, sweetheart. You didn’t seem too concerned with my money.”

“Oh,” I say, the word hollow and pronounced dumbly as I take in this new information. I realize he’s right… I don’t care in particular about his money. I know it’s there, I know he must have a good amount of it. He owns a club, is about to open Lou’s salon, and who knows what else. Of course I can’t forget the day I first laid eyes on him either, at the presentation he was featured in because of his success. But my family has always had enough money—Dad had been a fairly successful businessman himself, and Mom and her fiancé have loads of the stuff. It’s only these past couple years I’ve been on my own and with Grandma that I’ve struggled with money.

If anything, I have a profound hate for money.

“Well, I guess you’re right. I don’t care about your money. I don’t see why money should influence your view on someone, or cause you to act different in their presence.”

His smile turns wry, though his eyes soften again and cause him to look a little more subdued. He reaches over to me once more and picks absentmindedly at a loose string on the outside seam of my jeans. I watch him in curiosity. “You’re the most level-headed twenty one year old I’ve ever met.”

If only he knew how much I’ve been keeping from him. He wouldn’t think I was so mature then.

“If I weren’t with you right now, for instance,” he continues, looking a little out of it as he thinks, and he doesn’t notice my slightly dampened mood. “I’d be partying at the Castle. And the people I’d be with wouldn’t care about me. They wouldn’t stand around and listen to me ramble on about some old theatre on Broadway. They’d only care about my money, and what they’re going to get out of it.”

My stomach twists in uncomfortable knots while I listen to Harry and how disheartened he sounds, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him truly sad. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, instead focussing on picking out the loose thread on my jeans still. I suspect that I might also be the first person he’s ever told this to, and I realize that Harry might just be almost as sad as I am under his cheeky, forward personality, and the thought alone causes hurt to spread throughout my chest, weighing my heart down until it feels as if it’s being sunk low into my belly. So I do what Harry’s done for me so many times; I reach for his hand and hold it, shifting closer to him again.

His is so much larger than mine. It feels miniature on top of his still on my leg, and I wonder if he feels the same comfort and security he always brings me. He seems to come out of his saddened daze a little at the movement, and he finally strays his gaze from my legs to smile, looking at me closely.

“I care about you, Harry,” I say with determination and a confidence I’ve never before possessed when around him.

Admitting it out loud is hard. I care about him, I do. I care about him so much it physically hurts. He leans forward in a sudden, fluid movement and his hand moves to close over mine as he brings his face close, pressing his lips to my mouth in several light, appreciative kisses.

“I care about you too, Ms. Townsend, and don’t forget that,” he murmurs after a moment, his lips brushing against mine when he speaks. My heart leaps in the weirdest, most wonderful of ways when I hear him, and I smile against his mouth, leaning forward to brush my lips against in a hesitant, testing manner, though I want to get my point across. Yes, I care about him a lot.

At my bold move, Harry deepens what would have been an innocent peck on my part, and when he pulls back he looks incredibly satisfied. It’s as if he knows he’s pushing me out of my hardened, calloused shell ever so slowly, and he wants to encourage me whenever possible.

“I know what can make tonight perfect,” he says, pulling away just a couple of inches so he can lock his gaze with mine. I pause, too, staring at this man in my own kind of wonder. What else does he have up his sleeve?

“Music."

Notes

Phew. I had so, so many ideas for their date. I just couldn't not write them, and then... I'M SORRY I JUST LOVE HARRY AND JULIA AND I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF SO I HOPE YOU LIKE THEIR DATE OK

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY GO CHECK OUT HARRY'S CHAPTER I POSTED

RATINGS ARE KINDA NICE TOO

I LOVE YOU