#its funny to think about how besides harry jean is like. next in line in his ability to be absolutely unhinged

[stil-lindigo]

cool off viquemare

#lovingly renders old man acne #its funny to think about how besides harry jean is like. next in line in his ability to be absolutely unhinged #its okay i like you jean still #man with a horse girl complex and long term anger issues #disco elysium #jean viquemare #stillindigo art

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

[feralhogs]

1-50 ho

you got it ho

1. What’s your favorite candle scent?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. ive been Purchasing various smelly candles for my gay divination activities, and i have a few nominees. i first thought of the candle i have now, a pink one with a very sweet vanilla smell, i love very sweet smells because it makes me think of candy which i tend to try to fill my inner void with. however im going to go with the first candle i bought, a dark orange one with a citrus smell. citrus scents are my next favourite and specifically this one reminded me of curiously smelling candles at my piano teachers apartment when i was very young. 

2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister?

idk. ive been listening to her lion king stuff lately. dont judge me i needed to hear remixes of lion king music i was lost in that sauce in high school. and i just think shes neat. i dont think she would aggressively make me feel bad about everything, UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother?

Look……. i really don’t know???? what is the criteria?? do they need to be like my siblings? dare i criticize my arguably criticizable siblings by picking out my ideal siblings? if i pick an ideal sibling, what does that say about what im lacking in my life? do i pick celebrities i hate so theoretically my family shames them into becoming silent and self-defeating

4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married?

50. i think im going to have to figure myself out for a long time, and achieve some personal goals first. thats my excessively confident prediction and PERHAPS educated guess

5. Do you know a hoarder?

nnnnnoooooooo????? not a real, cant function because of hoarding hoarder. i can see in a few family members, including myself, liking to hang onto things that maybe become sentimental/unnecessary clutter but that sounds like something many non-hoarders experience?

6. Can you do a split?

lemme try one sec

NO

7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike?

Idk maybe 7? Or 11? i think my parents taught me at a children age and then i started biking for fun like, later, like pre middle school?

8. How many oceans have you swam in?

1. i dont really remember swimming in an ocean but i may have faded childhood memories of salty water and seaweed

9. How many countries have you been to?

2… i went to idaho for a band trip… my dad really doesnt like travelling

10. Is anyone in your family in the army?

HAHAHA

NO. ACTUALLY YES. but its funny because the specific brand of christianity we are supposed to be is super pacifist so ive heard. but then i remembered one dude apparently who joined the us military?????? it seemed like it was… an unusual choice. i dont really know anything else about this guy, not even his name

11. What would you name your daughter if you had one?

🙏 *inhale* buddy. oooooohhffffff i want to say something gender neutral honestly. i dont want to rock the boat being unconventional or something but im just thinking of all those years trying to live up to a feminine name

12. What would you name your son if you had one?

same i guess… why have i never thought about this????? was i preoccupied naming myself.

13. What’s the worst grade you got on a test?

hmmmmm hmmmmm trying to unlock the vault. i think i remember a 1 or a 0 on a math quiz. i think i got 30% or something very very bad (i dont even want to know) on my last english exam, but to be fair, i was having such a bad mental breakdown my professor did an intervention

14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child?

like a very very small child? i was obsessed with the save-ums (?!?!?) for some reason. i would sing the anthem… no. theme song? i dont know. i guess it was catchy and there were lots of fun characters. OHHHH I SEE WHATS WRONG

ITS BECAUSE WE ONLY HAD A TV TILL I WAS LIKE 5 OR SOMETHING. what are you cultured people watching as children? what are the shows? 

15. What did you dress up as on Halloween when you were eight?

>:(

My Halloween experience:

i dont even remember i probably had some kind of fairy wings? i think i remember fairy wings. we went to one (1) house. later on, since we werent allowed to go trick-or-treating, we were each allotted a certain amount of candy, and if we ate more than a designated amount per day, we were in trouble and wouldnt be allowed anymore. i do remember getting in trouble for this. i think i stole someones candy. sibling against sibling. finally we were allowed to go trick or treating, i went with my younger brothers and by then, was a teenager and felt too tall and really uncomfortable

LMAO I JUST REMEMBERED THAT LAST TIME WE WENT TRICK-OR-TREATING NOT IN A RURAL AREA, my dad drove us around in a van and watched us like a hawk i believe. it was very tense and methodical.

16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series?

i read the harry potter series (I WROTE SIBLIGS LOL) more times than i could count while growing up. i read the first hunger games book and didnt fancy it for whatever reason, and i had an obnoxious twilight-hating phase.

17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent?

no

sometimes, though, im really genuinely worried about what accent i do have. im worried i read so much harry potter growing up, it rubbed off on me. when i was a server, people would ask about an unusual accent i apparently had, and once, when i was talking to a super british guy who called me luv at walmart, he was like STOP. WAIT. YOU HAVE A BRITISH ACCENT. and i was like WHAT UHHH BYEBYE AND HE WAS LIKE NO. I HEARD YOU. STOP and i was like that michael jackson meme where he covers his face running away and everyone else in the line was staring

18. Did your mother go to college?

i believe she went to a bible college where people put a grand piano on top of the roof. 

19. Are your grandparents still married?

all of my grandparents are dead.

…. hmmMMMM yow. ok. my grandparents who werent estranged stayed married for as long as either of them were living… however, my OTHER grandparents, i mean the fucking kidnappers, my abuser grandpa… remarried? when he was… really really aging. im judging him for it because i know what kind of person he was.

20. Have you ever taken karate lessons?

I WISH. my parents didnt seem to like that sort of thing (surprise). im interested in it now but… as usual… i feel like its too late, im too old.

21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is?

….. i… i thought i did… hes blessed… thats all.

22. What’s the first amusement park you’ve been to?

ಠ_ಠ 

*crickets*

how could you ask me this?

no wait! i went to the waterslides. then, later on, i was never allowed to go to the waterslides.

23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in?

Spanish. ive been “intending” to learn for a long time, and a lot of people who have been really good influences on me and been genuinely kind to me speak it, id like to learn it

24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray?

grey

one sec

yup thats canadian!

25. Is your father bald?

on the top of his head, yes >:(

26. Do you know triplets?

no?

27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook?

no? what is this straight stuff? i listened to the dramatic titanic song and felt nothing.

28. Have you ever had Indian food?

i guess so, at a friends house! i dont think otherwise ive gone to a restaurant and actually had indian food

29. What’s the name of your favorite restaurant?

*gazes tearily at my OWN FUCKING OLD WORKPLACE

the food was sO GOOD MAN. IT WAS SO GOOD. im just not saying because despite how stalkable i probably am already, i dont want to be specific

30. Have you ever been to Olive Garden?

no whats that

31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, BJ’s, etc.)?

w

belong? whats bjs? whats a warehouse for?

32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender?

i decided at one point they would never tell me this and it was no use asking. i do know they almost named my brother a very fusty old fashioned name fitting in with the thomas the tank engine theme 

33. If you have a nickname, what is it?

G is the ONLY one i will accept so far.

34. Who’s your favorite person in the world?

:)

i……… hmmmm…. i really dont like picking favourites. each person in my life has a unique relationship with me (even though a lot of them arent very warm, trusting or close). because of unhealthy middle school friendships ive grown an aversion to ranking relationships as if they have material value.

35. Would you rather live in a rural area or in the suburbs?

rural, i think. i need nature in my life!!! but i also need to be able to have connections to people.

36. Can you whistle?

yes, but not very loudly or accurately

37. Do you sleep with a nightlight?

no, but ive always wanted a nightlight

38. Do you eat breakfast every morning?

ive started to, yeah! this morning i made a whole thing with bread and mushrooms and eggs, and coffee, and i ate it outside watching the traffic. im really trying to treat myself nicely you see. its what id do for someone else.

39. Do you take any pills or medication daily?

THAT

BOY

JUICE!

WELCOME TO MY BUILD A BOY WORKSHOP!

SHOTS!SHOTS!SHOTS!

and im really fortunate to be in pretty good health, and have access to things i do need

40. What medical conditions do you have?

I dont think… i actually have any. id say gender dysphoria but i think it was informed consent. (im VERY lucky)

im pretty sure there are SOME mental conditions running around undiagnosed. MY BRAIN IS NOT WORKING PROPERLY

41. How many times have you been to the hospital?

for myself? once… when i got hives and started swelling up all over, but otherwise was fine. i really wonder what that was. other times was visiting sick/dying relatives which has made me feel sad and apprehensive whenever i enter a hospital or smell the food

42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo?

yes! i had a gerbil named nemo! 

43. Where do you buy your jeans?

D:

i dont … remember … really nowhere special i actually have yet to find some jeans i LOVE. sometimes there is a pair of jeans that sparks joy. i do not have such a pair

44. What’s the last compliment you got?

my sister said my pants looked good on me. they are actually their pants, which they left on the floor in my room for an unknown reason, and they want them back. of course.

but because im excited about it and want to brag, the real compliment was when i made borscht and my sister not only ate it faster than me, but wanted a second helping. and my roommate stuck his face in the steam and said it smelled good. hell yes. i put fucking cilantro in it. fcking beast mode.

45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning?

yes. theyre usually really emotional and symbolic. if ive been talking to my parents, theyre usually nightmares. ive been reading about dream interpretation for a long time to deal with some of the ominous images that can come up

46. What flavor tea do you enjoy?

red rose reminds me of wheni was little my mom would make really sweet sweet red rose tea for me (thats the kind she drinks all the time) and it brings me those good feelings. otherwise licorice spice really appeald to me for some reason.

47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own?

LMAO UHHH…brb

six. because of social pressure.

48. What religion will you raise your children to practice?

i never thought about this kind of thing…. i really don’t know….. id just want them to know how to be kind to others and themselves and thats literally it. 

49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn’t real?

i was one of those edgy kids trying to spoil it for everyone. guess what other common fun thing my parents didnt do

50. Why do you have a youtube? 

i dont! so i dont know what this question means! :)

HOLY SHIT I MADE IT THRU HIGH FIVE 

#rambling #WOW #bug

[inaheartbeat-phff]

Chapter 21

Saturday, February 14 2015, 9:00am

Nottingham Cottage, Kensington Palace

Arabella woke up to a bright bedroom, she didn’t remember sleeping with the blinds open the night before, she also didn’t remember sleeping alone in the big bed. Still with her eyes closed, she felt around the bed, mostly reaching out to Harry's side of the bed, before opening her eyes slowly.

Her eyes blinked as she tried to get used to the brightness before sweeping her eyes across the room. Throughout the room, she can see the place still messy, clothes from last night every where in the room, documents from the parliament piled up on top of the desk at the corner of the room and a little bit of food was still on the table at the foyer of their master bedroom.

Stretching her arms over her head, she rolled over and got out of bed. On her bedside table, she has her phone charged, a lamp as well as a book she was reading before she went to bed. She was reading a book by her dear friend Michelle Obama, that was sent to her early before the release so that Arabella was able to read it. It was called Michelle Obama: A Life. Inside, before the book started, was a written note by Michelle herself to Arabella, it said, "To my dearest friend, Bella. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I do and found it helpful in your journey to leadership. I wish you all the luck in the upcoming days and all the best. Can't wait to see you again, hopefully soon."

She took her phone out of the charging port and sat herself up, leaning on the head of the bed. She opened her iPhone and checked her emails before going on the official twitter and instagram accounts to see what her people have been saying and to find current issue in the pop culture. Things that is somewhat important to her line of work.

After going on YouTube and getting sucked into watching a few beauty videos, Arabella got sucked into watching a few gossip channels and see what the social media world have been talking about her and the people she knows. It funny looking at what normal people think about their day to day lives and when they get things wrong about how her life works. That's why she's making a documentary on her life, so that people can see that she does work like other people, similar but not so similar.

Arabella's work refers to her being the crown princess, she goes to her offices and go to meetings all day, she goes in at 9 am and finishes at 5 pm. Sometimes she has engagements to go to, sometimes she has to stay late. She gets paid for her work, sure some are voluntary works but most of the things she does, do get paid by her government.

Once she finally realize that she's been watching YouTube videos for an hour, she moved on to her messages and go through her family group chats first. She has many group chats. Contrary to popular belief, many if not all of her family members have their own phones and they connect with each other through the group chats.

Arabella has many group chats, she has one with her immediate family, one with her godparents, one with her best friends, one with most of the European royals that’s in the similar age group, one for just her girlfriends and finally one with Harry's cousins and his aunt who is closer to them.

She took her time going through the group chats one by one. She first opened the one with her family in it, her father, grandmother as well as step-mother. The texts that she got were mostly good mornings as well as some happy valentines. Her father asked her grandmother what were her plans today and that reminded Arabella where Harry was. Her fiance is always beside her when she wakes up except the times when he was deployed or if he has an engagement early that morning. Sometimes, even those engagements that are very important, the ones that her Aunt Lilibet usually attends, Arabella goes as well.

Once she was done replying and reading her texts, she stretched once more before getting up from the bed and putting on her fluffly sandals. She then move her way through the room to the coat hanger on the corner of the room, and put on her robes. Her robes were a custom silk robe with her name crystalized at the back and at the front of her robes, on the left side is her monogram engraved. Her robe was a gift to her from Cartier, a few years ago.

She tied her robes and with her phone in her hands, she went to the dining room to have her breakfast. It's a late morning for her, usually she's awake at seven or eight in the morning so that her day can start. Today however, she took her time relaxing and Arabella knows that she has nothing on today, since one, it's a Saturday, and two, Harry made sure she's only back to normal work at the end of the month, starting off with a joint engagement with Harry.

Again, she took her time with her breakfast as well as reading her morning paper. Arabella was sipping her morning tea when her phone lit up on the table next to her plate. She put down her cup and reached over to take the phone. There on the screen is a series of text messages from Harry.

"Get ready by 2, I'm taking you out."

"Dress comfortably."

"Happy Valentine's day baby."

"I love you"

With a smile and a shake of her head, Arabella wiped her mouth and stood up from her seat before making her way out of the dining room and into her walk in closet to find something to wear.

The weather is still quite cold outside so she chose a black turtle neck paired with black skinny jeans some heeled boots. She also took her oversized red coat and brought it out to the her bedroom so she would remember to wear it later on. Arabella then went to the bathroom and did her morning routine (shower, brush her teeth, put on her make up, etc.). She then put on her outfit for the day, some red earrings as well as her boots on before taking her coat and hand bag in her hands and leaving the room.

Arabella went down to the ground floor on Nottingham Cottage.

The cottage has two stories. One ground level and an upper level. It's a small cottage, with only two bedrooms, an office, a big dining area, a kitchen, a pantry, 2 and a half baths, one receiving area, one living room and one tv room. The ground floor has a big dining area, a kitchen, a receiving area, the living room as well as the guest bathroom. The second floor has the two bedrooms and two baths, a small pantry area, a small dining room for just Harry and Arabella for breakfasts and a tv room.

None of her staff actually live in the cottage with them except for Harry and Arabella. Pieter and Mina comes in everyday at 6:30am through the staff door and would leave at 9pm after dinner and once everything is back in its place. Sara and Anna, Arabella's ladies in waiting would usually come in at around 8 in the morning and would leave at five pm. Most of her staff lives in Kensington Palace staff quarters while some is staying at St. James Palace.

When she reached the receiving room at the front of the house, Pieter was waiting for her by the front door with a to go cup of hot chocolate. Arabella handed him her back so that she can wear her coat. Pieter took her bag as well as the hot chocolate and put them down at the side table so that he can help her with her coat.

"Thank you Pieter." Arabella thanked him as she secures her coat around her and was handed her bag as well as the hot chocolate.

"Have a great valentine Ma'am." Pieter bowed to Arabella in which she returned with a smile before going out the front doors and into the awaiting cars with Finn, Max and Lucas.

With Barend and Liam still recovering from the accident, Markus is her primary chauffer. When Arabella saw her three protection officers, she knew that she must be going somewhere and not stay in London. Ever since the accident, if she were to go anywhere outside of London, all her protective officers have to follow her.

Arabella smiled at them and thanked Finn, who opened her door for her before going inside the car. Finn got in to the passenger seat while Lucas and Max went inside the car behind her. Markus started the car and off they go to an adventure that Arabella doesn’t know.

Arabella tried asking Finn or Markus where she was going, but it was to no avail. They wouldn’t budge one bit. Sighing, Arabella looked out the window and stare at the bustling city as they pass by.

Arabella must have dozed off to sleep because the next thing she knew, was that she was being shaken awake by Finn telling her that they have arrived. Stretching a little, she looked outside her window to see that she was at the private airport and that her private jet was waiting for her in the tarmac. Shaking out her hands, she stepped out of the car and looked around her surroundings. Noticing that Harry wasn’t anywhere to be found. She turned back to look at Finn and asked him where her fiance was. To that, he just shrugged and checked the perimeters.

She straightened herself before walking towards the jet and see her staff lining the stairs to greet her. Putting on a polite smile, Arabella greets them and chatted with them a little, trying to get some information out, but it didn’t work as well. They just smiled and kept quite.

Arabella went up the stairs of the plane and to her utmost surprise, she saw Harry inside the plane with his signature blue suit holding a bouquet of white roses. Smiling, she walked towards him and kissed him slowly.

"Hi." She whispered against his lips.

"Hi there." Harry smiled back. "Happy Valentine's day my love."

Smiling up at him, Arabella kissed him softly before saying, "I love you." She then pulled away and took a seat by the window. Harry followed after her and took the seat next to hers. When they finished strapping themselves in, Harry leaned over and kissed her on the cheeks before taking her hands in his and leaned back in his chair.

Arabella smiled sweetly at him before looking out the window.

"Good afternoon Your Royal Highnesses, this is Captain Jones speaking, it's a beautiful weather outside today, the flight will roughly be an hour long for us to reach our destination. Buckle in your seatbelts, we are about to take off soon."

When the captain was done speaking over the intercom, Arabella turned to look at Harry and admire how he looked from the side. His left hand holding Arabella's while the other was on his phone playing candy crush. She admired how his brows furrowed together as he try to figure out what move to make next. How he bit the bottom of his lips and scrunch his nose when he realize that it was a wrong move. The way his jaw clenches and he sighs in exasperation when he runs out of moves. Arabella is utterly and undeniably in love with Harry. There's no doubt about it.

"I can see you staring." Harry said as he continue to play his game.

"I'm not staring, I'm gazing." Arabella said before leaning over and kiss his stubbled jaw. His stubbles stings her lips for a second.

"Hm, well take a picture, it'll last longer."

"If you say so." Arabella then took out her phone and quickly snapped a picture before putting it back in her bag.

Shaking his head, Harry just laughs and continue playing his game. A few minutes later, the flight attendant came by and handed them some hot towels. They then proceed to check their seat belts and asked if any of them wanted any refreshments before take off. Once they collected back the hot towels, the captain announced that they were taking off soon.

The plane increased its speed and started taking off the runway, once they were up in the air and had leveled up, Arabella turned to Harry and start asking him where they were headed.

"So, where are you taking me babe?"

"Why don’t you wait and find out?" Harry said, turning to face her.

"Are we going to Edinburgh?"

"No."

"Amsterdam?"

"No."

"Dublin?"

"No."

"Berlin?"

"No."

"Come on babe, just tell me." Arabella whined.

"Nope." Harry smirked at her.

"Paris?"

With that, Harry turned away from Arabella.

"Ha! It's Paris isn't it? You're taking me to Paris?"

"Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" Harry turned back to look at her.

"Just admit it, I'm right." Arabella said. "You're taking me to Paris for Valentine's Day."

"Yes alright! I'm taking you to Paris." Harry grumbled. Arabella just smiled widely, looking like she just won the lottery. Harry just frowned, feeling a bit put out that Arabella figured out where they were heading.

"Oh, don’t look so glum babe." Arabella poked Harry in the stomach. She then proceeded to unbuckle her seatbelt and lean over to whisper in his ear. "Why don't you come to the room, and I'll make it up for guessing where we were going." She then nibbled lightly on his ear lobe and stood up, went over Harry, making sure to push her behind close to Harry's face as much as she can before walking to the bedroom, swaying her hips.

Harry just followed her with his eyes, checking her out, before unbuckling his seatbelt  and stood up quickly. Following her to the bedroom at the back. He realized that the door was closed and quickly opened it. He then saw her lying across the bed looking very sexy.

"Princess, you've been a very naughty girl." His voice dropped low and husky, closing the door behind him and crossing the room. "A very naughty girl."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour later, they emerged from the bedroom, both satisfied and a little flushed. Other than that, there is no signs of what happened inside the room. They both head back to their seats just in time for the captain to announce that they were starting their decent.

Arabella and Harry buckled their seatbelts and held each others hands. Harry leaned and kissed her forehead before smiling contently. The plane landed smoothly and when the plane was on park, the pilot as well as the co-pilot came out of the cockpit and lined up against the exit of the plane together with the flight attendants to bid farewell to the royal couple.

Arabella and Harry stepped off the plane and was greeted by the royal car bearing the Netherlands flag. One thing it was missing though, is Arabella's coat of arms. This ensures that even though they get the privileged things such as parking everywhere and anywhere, without them knowing that it’s Arabella and Harry. It's very easy to go places with these flags, even better when she has her coat of arms up there too.

When they were both settled in the car and buckled up, Arabella turned to Harry and asked him more questions pertaining about the day. It's currently one in the afternoon and Arabella start feeling a bit hungry.

"So, where are we going for lunch?" Arabella nudged Harry on his side.

"I'm going to tell you now, so that you wont bother me later on." Harry scratched the back of his neck. "We're staying here over night and head back to London tomorrow afternoon. I booked the Belle Etoile Suite in Le Meurice Hotel. I've got lunch prepared for us there and then we are headed to the Palace de Versailles for a private tour. They closed it down for us today. Then we're going back to the hotel to freshen up for dinner. No I am not telling you where we are going to have dinner."

With that, Arabella just sighed and slouched back into her seat. She leaned up and kissed his cheeks and took hold of his hand. She then looked out the window and see Paris flash through outside.

About half an hour later, they arrive at the Le Meurice Hotel. The General Manager, bell hopper and a line of staff was there to greet them. As the car came to a stop, the general manager stepped forward and the bell hopper, went around the car towards the boot to take their luggage. Arabella didn’t even know that they packed some stuff. They greet the general manager and was shuffled inside, out of the cold and into the warm air. There wasn’t much people in the Lobby, so they breezed through it to a lift at the end of the lobby. It was hidden behind a pillar so if you're not looking for it, you wouldn’t find it. In front of the lift was two security guards standing with their arms together. That made sure that no one can go up. This is a private lift, that can access their suite.

The first thing when Arabella walked into the room, was the main living area place.

The suite have four bedrooms. The master will obviously be for Harry and Arabella. One of the extra bedroom will be their surveillance room as well as the equipment room, where they store their guns and everything. The last two rooms will be shared between the four protection officers that came with them.

Once they've all settled down, Harry brought Arabella outside to have lunch at the terrace by the Eiffel Tower. They had some French Cuisines as well as some champagne.

During Lunch, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful Arabella looked with the Eiffel Tower behind her. He cant help but sneakily took out his phone and snapped a picture.

After lunch, Arabella went back to the room to change into something more comfortable. She changed into a knitted oversized grey sweater, white skinny jeans and white boots. She also opted to go for hooped earrings and a simple white watch. To top of her outfit, she took her grey long coat.

Once Arabella was ready, they headed off to their destination which was Palace De Versailles. The journey itself took 45 minutes. When they reached the Palace, they were greeted by the guide at the Royal Courtyard.

Harry and Arabella stepped out of the car, and walked towards the tour guide who was waiting at the top of the stairs. When they got close, the guide did a small curtsy and introduced herself.

"Good afternoon, your royal highnesses. My name is Alice Valois and I will be your guide today." She had a soft French accent and shook both Harry's and Arabella's hands.

"Good afternoon." They both answered her.

Once the introductions was done, they started the tour. Arabella has been to Palace de Versailles once a few years ago, for an official visit, but there's something about touring with her soon-to-be husband that makes this tour feel like it was her first time seeing it. As for Harry, this will be the first time he's in France since his mother's accident. He feels as if he was ready for Paris, to see it's beauty that people can see that isn't tinted by his mother's accident. And what better way than to go with his soon-to-be wife.

They started off the tour going to the first floor and into the Royal Chapel.

"Construction of the Royal Chapel was completed in 1710 at the end of the reign of Louis XIV. It was the fifth and final chapel built in the palace since the reign of Louis XIII. The design was presented to the King by Jules Hardouin-Mansart in 1699. The building's overall design were inspired by Gothic architecture. The Chapel was dedicated to Saint Louis, the patron saint of the King and an ancestor of the royal house, and included references to the Sainte-Chapelle of Paris which he had founded. The vaulted ceiling is dedicated to the Holy Trinity. Every day the Court attended the King’s mass, which was usually held in the morning at 10. The sovereign sat in the royal tribune surrounded by his family. The ladies of the Court occupied the lateral tribunes, while the Officers and members of the public were seated in the nave. The king never descended into the nave except during religious celebrations when he took communion, ceremonies of the Order of the Holy Spirit, and the baptisms and weddings of the Princes and Princesses of the Realm which were held there from 1710 to 1789." Alice explained to the couple as they looked around the place.

Once they're done with the Chapel, they moved on to the King's Apartments.

"Louis XIV made several adjustments to his Private Apartments. The most major changes were carried out in 1701 when the King’s Chamber was moved to its current location, in the centre of the façade of the Marble Courtyard. As in all royal residences, the King’s Apartments contained the customary succession of rooms: a Guard Room, two antechambers, a chamber and a cabinet. Access to these rooms was subject to strict hierarchy and controlled by etiquette. Beyond them was the king’s private domain, which, as a matter of principle, no one could enter unless invited." Alice remarked before entering the first room which was the Guard Room.

"Like in all royal residences, the Guard Room marks the entrance to the King’s Apartments. Its decoration is deliberately understated. The king’s guards were stationed here to ensure the sovereign’s protection and were changed over every 24 hours. During the day their camp beds were folded up and stowed away behind screens. The little sculpted decoration there is contains references to fighting, in tribute to the room’s role. A painting by Parrocel that hangs over the fireplace, Battle featuring the King's guards (1684), honours the guards." Alice said as they look around the room.

The next room they entered was The Royal Table Antechamber.

"The Royal Table Antechamber was where Louis XIV used to dine in public from 1690, after the death of the queen and the Dauphine. Every evening a table was laid in front of the fireplace, and the king sat with his back to the hearth. The room is decorated with a series of 11 battle paintings by Joseph Parrocel, and a 12th depicting the Battle of Arbella, by Guillaume Courtois." Alice explained before moving on to the next room which was The Bull's Eye Antechamber.

"The second antechamber in the royal apartments, the Bull’s Eye Antechamber, is named after the circular window which brings light into the room on the southern side. This room was originally divided into two by a partition wall and was composed of the antechamber and the King’s chamber, in which the bed was placed in the left-hand corner next to the current fireplace. Frustrated by the small size of these rooms, which could barely contain all the courtiers in attendance when he got up and when he went to bed, Louis XIV decided to knock down the wall in 1701 and combine the two rooms into one. He moved his bedroom into the following room, which at the time was just a salon." Alice started off.

"The Bull’s Eye Antechamber occupies a strategic position in the Royal Apartments. To the north it leads to the King’s Chamber; to the west, the tall glass windows open directly onto the Hall of Mirrors, enabling courtiers to enter and leave the King’s Apartments; a door in the southern wall to the right of the window leads to the Queen's Apartments, while a staircase in the eastern wall leads to the Dauphin's Apartment on the ground floor." Alice walked around the room and pointed out where the others can be located as she explain.

Arabella and Harry walked around the room and examined the paintings on the walls. Once they were finished, they moved on to the next room which was the King's Bedchamber.

"In 1701, Louis XIV moved his bedchamber into the large room covering nearly 90m�� and situated in the centre of the eastern façade of the Palace. Three tall doors at the end of the room leading to the Hall of Mirrors were sealed. Above these, Nicholas Coustou created the allegorical stucco of France watching over the King’s sleep, which hangs over the bed. The King’s Bedchamber is the most important and symbolic room in the Royal Apartments and was used at several times of the day: during the king’s “getting up” and “going to bed” ceremonies, when he dined in private, and when he received certain courtiers or ambassadors. Louis XIV died in this room on 1 September 1715 after a reign of 72 years." Alice explained the background of the room before moving across the room to describe some of the paintings.

After she pointed out which painting was which, they moved on to the last room in the King's Apartment which was the Council Chamber.

"The Council Chamber is adjacent to the King’s Bedchamber and opens onto the Hall of Mirrors. It wasn’t until 1755, during the reign of Louis XV, that it took on its current form when two rooms were combined: the King’s Cabinet, where Louis XIV held his council meetings, and the Cabinet des Termes (a more private space, where the king spent time with his family or certain guests after dinner). The chamber is decorated with fine woodwork crafted by Antoine Rousseau and based on drawings by Ange-Jacques Gabriel. The elaborate motifs illustrate subjects addressed by the king during council meetings, such as war and justice. The room was also used for official presentations, which were a necessary rite for admission to the Court. Madame Du Barry, among others, was thus presented to the King on 22 April 1769."

When Alice finished explaining what the rooms is for, they moved on to the next room. Throughout the tour, Arabella and Harry is holding hands. They held hands while examining the room. Arabella in her mind was noting the history of the place as well as the design. She liked a few of designs the palace has and kept some of it in mind. She also made a mental note later to talk to Jane about contacting their contractor and interior designer so she can revamp her wing in Huis ten Bosch Palace.

When they entered the Hall of Mirrors, Arabella was entranced. It was absolutely stunning and majestic.

"The Hall of Mirrors, the most famous room in the Palace, was built to replace a large terrace designed by the architect Louis Le Vau, which opened onto the garden. The terrace originally stood between the King’s Apartments to the north and the Queen’s to the south, but was awkward and above all exposed to bad weather, and it was not long before the decision was made to demolish it. Le Vau’s successor, Jules Hardouin-Mansart, produced a more suitable design that replaced the terrace with a large gallery. Work started in 1678 and ended in 1684." Alice showed them around the room while explaining what the purpose of the room is.

"Courtiers and visitors crossed the Hall of Mirrors daily, and it also served as a place for waiting and meeting. It was used for ceremonies on rare occasions, for example when sovereigns wanted an extra dash of lavishness for entertainment (balls or games) held for royal weddings or diplomatic receptions. During the latter events, the throne was placed on a platform at the end of the hall near the Peace Room, whose arch was closed off. Rarely has the show of power reached such a level of ostentation. In 1685 the Doge of Genoa and the ambassadors of Siam (1686), Persia (1715) and the Ottoman Empire (1742) crossed the full length of the gallery, under the scrutiny of the French Court seated to either side on tiered seating, before they reached the king. It was also here that the Treaty of Versailles was signed on 28 June 1919, ending the First World War. Since then, presidents of the Republic have continued to receive official guests here."

Throughout the next three hours, the couple toured the entire palace and was awestruck. So much history as well as beauty was in the palace. They toured the War Room, The Peace Room, The Queen's Apartments, The Gallery of Great Battles, as well as the gardens. After the tour was done, they thanked Alice the tour guide and head back towards the hotel to get ready for dinner. Which was still a surprise for Arabella.

When they got back to the hotel, the room was dimly lit, and there was rose petals on the floor leading to the bathroom. Arabella gasped in surprise and turned to Harry.

"Oh Harry." She smiled before tilting her head up and kissing him softly. She then took his hands and followed the roses. It ended up at the bathroom and inside, there was a bath ready for them. It was very beautiful and romantic with the Eiffel Tower at the background. Arabella just fell more and more in love with Harry every second of everyday.

They had a romantic and relaxing bath together and got ready for the surprise dinner Harry had planned for Arabella. Harry had surprised her again with a new dress from Dolce and Gabbana. It was an off shouldered white dress with gold linings and embroideries as well as some flowers at the top half of the dress. The dress itself was tight at the top until her upper waist and then it flows until a little after the knee. She paired the dress with a white Badgley Mischka heels that is embroidered. She also wore a cape like coat from Vilshenko, that’s colored black and has some flowers down the upper middle part. She paired her outfit with some diamond necklace, a simple one, her engagement ring, the cartier LOVE bracelet that has A&H engraved on the inside as well as diamond drop earrings  

The engaged couple left the hotel once both Harry and Arabella was ready. The journey itself wasn’t long. It was less than ten minutes, even with traffic. The whole ride to their destination, Harry kept Arabella distracted by tracing figures on her arms and her having to guess what he drew. Once they have arrived at their designated destination, Harry asked Arabella to look outside the window.

"Oh Harry." Arabella whispered underneath her breath, looking up the Eiffel Tower in awe.

"Come on." Harry said as he opened his door and try to get Arabella out as well. "We're having dinner up there."

"But, how? Won't there be people?" Arabella asked as she followed Harry towards the lift that's going to take them up.

"Well, it does have its advantages when you know the French president." Harry said. "No, really.  Gran asked me the other day what I was planning for valentine's day. And I told her I haven't got much yet, all I know is that I want to take you somewhere and be incognito for a while. I don’t want to share you for valentine's day. She said she can make something happen for me, and told me about this trip a few days ago."

"Aunt Lilibet is really sneaky." Arabella laughed. "She called me the other day and asked where I wanted to go. I told her I wanted to go to Paris, a place I haven't been since I was young. She then just said thanks and hung up the phone."

The pair laughed as they made their journey up the Eiffel Tower. Once they have reached their destination, Arabella gasped again, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. The room was covered in candles, (the battery kind so it doesn’t burn out) and rose petals everywhere. There was a table set for two with the view of the whole of Paris.

Arabella turned around and pulled Harry close to her.

"I love you so much Har. Thank you for doing this for me today. I honestly have never felt so loved by someone until I met you. You are the best thing that's ever been mine." Arabella smiled up to him before leaning up and giving him a sweet sensual kiss.

"Arabella, there's no one I can think of that can replace you. You've made my heart so full since the day my mother died. You are the reason I'm even here right now. I couldn’t stand thinking about Paris let alone be in Paris since that night but because of you, I am here. On top of the Eiffel Tower, with the love of my life." Harry said as he pulled away from the kiss. "Now come on, before the food gets cold."

Together they took a seat at the table and had their food served to them.

"Honestly Harry, thank you for today. I really love it." Arabella said once they’ve finished their meal and wait for dessert. The whole time during their dinner, they bickered back and off, joking with each other, teasing one another and kept the conversation light and full of love.

"It's okay. I love pampering you and being able to shower you with love. Especially today." Harry said as he sipped his wine. "Just letting you know though, you'll have to think of what to do for Valentine's next year."

"We can make it our little tradition." Arabella said. "Do a surprise trip every year, we'll take turns of course, so you can get surprised too."

"I'll drink to that." Harry chuckled. "Cheers."

"Cheers baby." Arabella smiled at him and leaned over the table to give him a sweet kiss.

With the moon shining on them and the whole of Paris as witness, Arabella and Harry kissed until they run out of air.

Next Chapter

#chapter 21 #phff #prince harry #prince harry fanfic #in a heartbeat #in a heartbeat phff #royalty #british royal family #dutch royal family #princess Arabella

[vampirevodka-blog]

Automat (1927), Edward Hopper.

     The bells strewn over the door chime, announcing my arrival to the boy manning the counter. He’s not Elia—who would normally be here on a Tuesday afternoon, but he seems kind enough. I smile, politely, and he asks if there’s any way he could be of assistance.

“Yes, please, there’s a book I’ve been reading here, it’s called We All Looked Up? Elia leaves it behind the counter for me for whenever I can seal myself away for a little.” He ducks down under the countertop and I take the chance to tap out a few buttons on my phone screen—Do not Disturb. I rarely get the opportunity to visit this place anymore: it’s always something or other with work, or my parents, or university that grabs me by the arm and yanks me back every time I even think of escaping. Especially with Anthony’s kid on the way, and what with how busy my schedule has been up until now due to exam season…

“Ah, here it is. By ‘Tommy Wallach,’” he reads off the cover, his tongue cluck-ing on the ‘ch’ at the end rather than the smooth sh I’m familiar with my mother using, as well as using myself. He holds the book out to me, half-grinning, dimples etched into his cheeks. “Is it any good?”

“It’s…” I pause, considering, because how do you explain to an individual you’ve only just met that you’re reading a story that explores how human behavior may make people respond to an end of the world catastrophe? “It’s a bit sad, but it’s interesting.”

“Hm.” He glances down at a phone—presumably his own—that’s chimed from where it rests on the counter. His eyes flick back up to me, the hazel poorly concealing his sudden loss of interest, and he asks if I would like to order anything.

Tea. I ask for a cup of chamomile with honey, thank him, and find my way to the table I always sit at whenever I come here. The shop itself—Papercup, a place the size of a walk-in closet with books, records, newspapers, magazines lining the walls up to the ceilings—is situated right next to a little café that a friend and I used to frequent. We aren’t friends anymore, and I loved the aura Home Sweet Home had encompassed itself in: the couches and décor making even the most out-of-place individual feel genuinely at home. It hurt too much to return by myself, though—we had had memories in the little atrium with the fairy lights, the bathroom with the submarine-esque wallpaper and rounded mirrors. Once I thought I’d try and go back myself—they have the best sweet potatoes fries I have ever tasted—and found myself in a hurry to leave before any tears actually fell. I’d aimlessly stumbled around the streets of Mar Mikhael in just the right direction, because I found myself standing in front of a small little nook with a cherry-wood bench outside and glass windows for the exterior wall. Granted, it had been busier that day: jam-packed because of the rain, there had barely been enough room for me to stand, let alone do any reading. I didn’t mind, though; I had a fresh-baked scone that melted in my mouth and was surrounded by quiet conversations, stories shared over warm cups of coffee and fat slices of pound cake, and I fell absolutely in love. This place always felt magical, like one of the few gems left that the outside world hadn’t managed to get their slimy, greedy hands on yet, and the atmosphere was so heart achingly raw that I found myself fitting right in amongst the dusty records seamlessly. I settle back into my seat, relishing the faint scent of worn books and aged paper mingled with the bitter aroma of coffee, and felt content.

           There was a strict policy against smoking indoors, I soon discovered after I’d begun to frequent the coffee shop. Of the four tables that fit in the café, three were occupied: an old woman with a cat, a couple of girls at the seating right beside the window. Papercup had smelled like gingerbread—this had been right before Christmas, when everyone was out anxiously buying gifts and trampling over each other in department stores—and I’d opted for peppermint tea to fit the atmosphere. Elia—who had taken a liking to me ever since I’d asked if they had any books by Viriginia Woolf at hand—was seated across from me, a paintbrush shoved through her hair, precariously balancing her massive curls into a bun atop her head. There’d been the snick of a lighter and a spark of light off to the left; Elia was up like a flash and politely informing the elderly woman of how much trouble she’d get into if she allowed her to carry on inside, but that the woman would be more than welcome to finish her cigarette outside. The woman apologized and Elia helped her relocate outside, her fair falling out of place slightly after the effort of opening the fold-up table they keep in the back. She’d come back to the table, eyeballing the box of Marlboros that had magically appeared on the table while she’d been away (read: that I’d rapidly searched my bag to fish out, just because she was funny to annoy like that), and she locked me inside after closing hours while she’d chain-smoked the few left, making face through the window.

Because of this, I knew better than to even make such possessions visible—the staff was far too much like a family, and family members force you to share everything with them, even if you don’t want to. I’d already smoked before I turned onto this street. I start when my tea is placed before me, and the boy laughs, apologizing and returning to where he’d been perched behind the counter. It’s only the two of us in the place, but it’s not awkward at all: there’s a soft song on the speaker overhead that I can faintly recognize as one of the new ones by Harry Styles, and there’s the soft whirring and dripping coming from the coffee machines. It’s serene, and I set the book on the table, away from me a bit, and pull out my watercolors and sketch pad.

There are already thousands of sketches of this exact café, from this exact location, scattered throughout the pages. Some in colored pencil, one in acrylics—one of them, though. One of them is of a different side of Papercup, one late at night after closing hours where the overhead lights have been shut off and the coffee pots long since emptied and the entirety of the place blanketed in silence, the streetlights in the window making the rickety wooden ladder perched up against the bookshelf-wall look copper.

Sometimes I wish that I did work here, instead. That I accepted the job when Elia’s boss—Raul—had offered. Sure, the pay is nowhere near what I make at Roadster’s, and tips are basically a foreign concept, but at least the shifts aren’t anxiety-inducing and my co-workers would offer me a lousy greeting at the start of a shift. I bring my cup to my lips, breathing over it gently to cool the tea before taking a sip. I set down the mug and pick up my pencil, hand sliding along the paper, eyes on the point in the room where the glass and the bookshelf walls meet.

The bells chime and I’m startled out of my train of thought, eyes on the newcomer. Messy hair, a beanie. Oversized jean jacket and a crazed expression with a partly-opened mouth.

The customer blends seamlessly into the sketch and I request a cup of water from not-Elia. The song changes to the 1975 and I decide that today Papercup’s wallpaper will be lavender (in reality, the walls are a beautiful crème, but while that color’s nice in real life it’s such a bore to paint). The flowers in the vase at the front of the shop are sunflowers—vibrantly yellow and purposely bleeding outside the lines, bringing light to the entire establishment.  There are koi fish swimming in the empty spaces; bleeding vermillion and blue-black shadows cast on the walls. I give the books titles—Harry Potter, All the Bright Places, Ever Since New York. I’ve added a record player shoved up against one corner because it’s something I’ve felt this place was lacking since the beginning. I nurse my tea as a I wait for the colors to dry, before adding the final touches in white acrylic to give the painting—the room, the feeling—more depth.

It’s not the best I’ve done—the customer’s depiction is clearly rushed and nothing I would ever boast about—but the blurriness at the edges work. It feels right: fuzzy on the outermost parts, slightly removed from reality; the world within one of its own. One that is calming and not riddled with shouting family members and lousy customers and stressful coursework. One where fish fill the air with symbolism and intent and don’t poop all over pedestrians like birds tend to do.

My tea cup is taken, and I know that he’s refilling it again. I put away the art supplies, carefully making sure the paint is dry, and hum along to the soft lull filling the place.

I smile, happy with where I am. I open my book and begin to read where I’d left off, the top right corner of the page forming a small triangle to mark the spot. There were only a few cars out on the freeway, busted up…

#writers on tumblr #hey everybody I'm alive #this was an assignment someone paid me to do and I'm very proud of it so y'all get to see it too #edward hopper #art #quiet #peaceful #fashion #diy #food #cafe #coffee shop #quaint #vintage #art history #original character #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #spilled words #Spilled bullshit

[joshwritesforu]

The Wonderful Winston - Part 3, Candy Gram

Content Warning: Slurs

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

Harris Nguyen is very tired. The bags under his eyes seem to pull his entire face down with them. He has messy, patchy facial hair that just screams “yes, I am indeed a boy turning into a man.” He stands in the gas stop quick-mart candy aisle. He reaches for the Peanut M&Ms, but stops when he hears a noise. He turns and sees a woman pushing a stroller. He looks back at the candy. Peanut M&Ms. He quickly snatches them and stuffs the bag quietly into his hoodie pocket. He then swipes a pack of Twizzlers, slipping them into his jeans. Harris finally takes a package of two Twinkies and puts those in his hoodie pocket, carefully placing them next to the Peanut M&Ms and clasping his hands together in the pocket so to make the act more believable, and stop the plastic rustling noises. He then takes a bag of Hot Cheetos to the counter.

“Two fifty-eight.” The clerk never even bothers looking up at Harris. It’s 2 a.m., after all. Everyone’s just about dead inside. Harris hands over three dollar bills.

“Keep it.” He quickly walks out, and successfully gets past the automatic door. Success. Harris has pulled off yet another Ocean’s Eleven-style heist with efficiency and believability. He’d personally rate this an 8/10.

Harris promised Mr. Winston he would stop stealing. He promised he’d stop doing most of the things he usually does, actually, but stealing was a big one. And Harris wanted to keep the promise, really and truly, but committing was harder than he could have ever expected. It was just so easy, and what, was the gas station going to fold because some kid took six bucks worth of junk food?

Although he did make the promise.

Five months ago, Harris broke Tommy Bautista’s jaw. When Tommy ran to the office and Harris realized he was in deep shit, he went straight to Mr. Winston’s classroom. He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because Mr. Winston was one of maybe two teachers in his lifetime who didn’t actively hate him.

“You gotta help me out, Mr. Winston.”

“What’s wrong, Harris? You got questions about the test?”

Harris looked at Mr. Winston like he just asked if dogs could fly.

“What? No. I just punched Tommy and it looks like he’s real hurt. I think I really screwed up.”

Mr. Winston closed his laptop.

“Why did you punch him?”

“He called me a faggot! Multiple times!”

“Was there a reason you went straight to violence?”

“Uh, yeah, he called me a faggot. Like, five times.”

“Okay. Here’s what you do. You apologize. Even if you don’t think you have to, do it anyway.”

“Why? I’m not a faggot.”

“Stop saying that. Let me finish. Call me in. I’ll tell them about your improvement in my class, and how I think your behavior is improving as well. And promise them it won’t happen again. Seem sincere and, even better, be sincere. I think they’d take that.”

“Tommy doesn’t have to do shit? That’s fucked, man.”

“Listen. Tommy’s an asshole, but he doesn’t give the teachers and staff trouble. You’re on thin ice, kid. And Tommy can be an asshole before he’s hit with real-world shit that’ll leave him crying, but you still have a chance. I really think you do. But not if you get expelled.”

“Whoa. Are you allowed to say that about students?” “Are you allowed to punch a guy?”

Harris sat down.

“Do what I tell you. I can get you out of this. But only if you promise to give a damn, if not in any other class, at least mine. Okay?”

“Alright. Fine.”

“Good.”

Mr. Winston extended his hand. Harris reluctantly shook it. And lo and behold, Mr. Winston was right. Harris only took a week’s worth of lunch detention, and in return he started showing up to class. It was hard at first; Harris would barely stay awake long enough to catch what Mr. Winston’s opening line of his Great Gatsby lecture was. His eyes would wander to the girls in class, and he could only glimpse the notes on the board when he was switching views from Andi to Jennifer. But Mr. Winston wouldn’t stop trying. It really was like one of those teacher-student prestige Oscar-bait movies, but with way more dick jokes flung around. Harris came into Mr. Winston’s classroom during empty hours, considering he didn’t really have anywhere else to be, and no one else to hang out with. Every day, something new would come up.

“Man, Daisy’s a real bitch, huh?”

Mr. Winston would chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that. I mean, consider Tom’s behavior, and how that might affect how she acts. Maybe she’s just as pained as Gatsby is, and we just don’t see it as much.”

“Yeah. Or maybe she’s a bitch.”

After a few weeks, things did start getting better. Harris’s grade went from an F to a C-. Mr. Winston got to improve a student. And they both made a new friend.

Yep. Real Oscar-bait, prestige film bullshit.

Later on, Harris had an idea. Kissler Oaks High, for some reason, did not have a book club. So with a newfound inclination to read rather than beat up kids on the reg, Harris started one. Mr. Winston would be advisor. They met every Thursday at lunch, and the club had six core members: Kelly, Lopez, Omar, Sheila, Gretchen, and Toby. It was a tight-knit group, a collection of black sheep kids who didn’t seem to belong anywhere else. The type of kids who were actively willing to discuss a novel for their precious lunch hour. This was insane. Harris had actually started a club, a club for nerds, and he enjoyed it. He truly had become what he once hated.

Harris sits on the curb. He takes out his peanut M&Ms and tears into them like some feral animal digging into his prey. He chooses out a green one, and pops it. He rolls it around in his mouth, lets the candy coating melt, and chews the soft chocolate. If everyone knew this is how Harris ate sweets, he’d probably get endless shit over it.

He looks up at the stars. They’re sparse, but at least he can still spot some, even discounting the satellites and occasional helicopter. He swears that he was able to see more of them when he was younger.

His phone rings. COME ON AND SLAM, AND WELCOME TO THE JAM! He looks at the caller ID. It’s Kelly. He picks up.

“Harris?”

“Hey Kelly, what’s up.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“...Nothing much.”

“You know how Mr. Winston didn’t show up to class for like two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why?” “Thought he was sick or something.” “Dude, I think he’s gone missing.”

Harris chuckles. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.” “Why do you say that?” “Considering people are saying that he’s gone missing. Check the news.” Harris tries to check on his phone, but it won’t load.

“Hold on, I’m out of data.” Harris walks over to the newsstand, and picks up a paper. He flips through it and

gets to the missing persons section. In a sea of lost kids and elderly folk, sure enough, Mr. Winston’s profile is splotched on the page. He has a beaming smile and wears a cardigan.

“Holy shit,” Harris says. He closes and opens the newspaper as if the image is a hallucination that would go away.

“Why hasn’t the school said anything about this?” His voice gets more strained.

“They’re late to everything. And I assume they’re waiting on more details.”

“Details? What details? This is happening because there aren’t any details!” He slaps the paper back in its plastic container.

“Yeah, I don’t know man.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Don’t think we can do anything. The cops are already on it.”

“Sure, like the cops have a healthy thirty-something dude on the top of their priority list. They probably assume he’s gone hitchhiking or something.”

“I don’t know about that. But besides, we’re kids, Harris. We’ll just have to wait, I guess.”

“This is horseshit.”

“I know. Seeya in class.”

Monday. Literature class. For the sixth day in a row, the students have had to suffer under the boot of the teaching style of a lame-ass, slow-talking, nasal-voiced substitute teacher. Harris can’t even remember the man’s name. When he takes roll, it’s like the scene from Ferris Bueller, except far less funny and far more tragic.

“Mark Allen?”

“Here.”

“Jacy… Is it Jacy? How do you say that?”

“Jacy.”

“Jacy. Thank you. Jacy Anderson?”

“Here.”

“Luis. Sorry, how do you pronounce that? Soft or hard ‘S’?”

Thursday. Lunch period. It’s been three more days without Mr. Winston, and now the club is just seven kids gathered around an awkward circle.

“So, uh, how’s it going. What did you all think about-” Harris looks at the cover. “Slaugher-House Five?”

Sure, Harris was the club president, but he wasn’t exactly a great conversation leader.

“I don’t know. I thought there was too much cursing,” Sheila starts.

“Shut the fuck up, Sheila. Why are you always bitching about the dumbest shit?” Lopez bites back.

“Guys, calm down. Even though Sheila’s being an idiot right now, that doesn’t mean you can all have a free-for-all Hell in a Cell action bloc,” says Omar.

Harris zones out. He whispers to Kelly: “You’re in charge.” He walks to the principal’s office and knocks on the secretary’s desk.

“Is Mr. Gonzalez in?” Harris asks.

“Yes, what do you need?”

“To see him.”

“Let me just call in-”

Before he can finish, Harris storms straight to Principal Gonzalez’s office. At this point, he knows far too well how to get there.

The secretary gets up.

“Hey, I need to call in-”

Harris opens the door and sees Gonzalez eating a salad. He sighs, and pushes his lunch aside.

“Why didn’t John call you in?”

“Where’s Mr. Winston?”

“He’s out.”

“Oh really? Cause last time I checked… anywhere that wasn’t you guys, he’s actually missing. For real, missing.”

Gonzalez sighs. “Close the door.” Harris closes the door and sits down.

Gonzalez clasps his fingers together and places his hands on his desk.

“Harris. We don’t want to cause more panic than necessary.”

“A teacher’s missing!”

“Yes, but telling everyone won’t be productive. The police are doing their best, and we don’t know the extent of the situation.”

“The extent of the situation is Mr. Winston could be in deep trouble!” “And there’s nothing we can do about it, Mr. Nguyen. It does nothing to ease the problem and I’m afraid announcing it will only make things far worse. If you’re so inclined, though, there is something I believe you can do.”

“What’s that.”

“There’s a hotline where you can call in and give any information you can. I’m sure you have something you can give. Here’s the number.”

Gonzalez scribbles down a phone number and hands it to Harris.

“Alright. Thanks.”

Harris leaves and Gonzalez digs into his salad.

#novel #long form #long reads #literature #young adult #high school #The Wonderful Winston

[readbookywooks]

The Ministry of Magic

Harry awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in his ear. For a few moments he lay immobile as the prospect of the disciplinary hearing filled every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Mrs. Weasley had laid out his freshly laundered jeans and T-shirt at the foot of his bed. Harry scrambled into them. The blank picture on the wall sniggered. Ron was lying sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, fast asleep. He did not stir as Harry crossed the room, stepped out on to the landing and closed the door softly behind him. Trying not to think of the next time he would see Ron, when they might no longer be fellow students at Hogwarts, Harry walked quietly down the stairs, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and down into the kitchen. He had expected it to be empty, but when he reached the door he heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. He pushed it open and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for him. All were fully dressed except Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry entered. 'Breakfast,' she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire. 'M-m-morning, Harry,' yawned Tonks. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. 'Sleep all right?' 'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I've b-b-been up all night,' she said, with another shuddering yawn. 'Come and sit down....' She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process. 'What do you want, Harry?' Mrs. Weasley called. 'Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?' 'Just--just toast, thanks,' said Harry. Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, 'What were you saying about Scrimgeour?' 'Oh ... yeah ... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions....' Harry felt vaguely grateful that he was not required to join in the conversation. His insides were squirming. Mrs. Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade in front of him; he tried to eat, but it was like chewing carpet. Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his T-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders. He wished she wouldn't. '...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired,' Tonks finished, yawning hugely again. 'I'll cover for you,' said Mr. Weasley. 'I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway....' Mr. Weasley was not wearing wizards' robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to Harry. 'How are you feeling?' Harry shrugged. 'It'll all be over soon,' Mr. Weasley said bracingly. 'In a few hours' time you'll be cleared.' Harry said nothing. 'The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you.' 'Amelia Bones is OK, Harry,' said Tonks earnestly. 'She's fair, she'll hear you out.' Harry nodded, still unable to think of anything to say. 'Don't lose your temper,' said Sirius abruptly. 'Be polite and stick to the facts.' Harry nodded again. 'The law's on your side,' said Lupin quietly. 'Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.' Something very cold trickled down the back of Harry's neck; for a moment he thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on him, then he realised that Mrs. Weasley was attacking his hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the top of his head. 'Doesn't it ever lie flat?' she said desperately. Harry shook his head. 'Mr. Weasley checked his watch and looked up at Harry. I think we'll go now,' he said. 'We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.' 'OK,' said Harry automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet. 'You'll be all right, Harry,' said Tonks, patting him on the arm. 'Good luck,' said Lupin. 'I'm sure it will be fine.' 'And if it's not,' said Sirius grimly, 'I'll see to Amelia Bones for you....' Harry smiled weakly. Mrs. Weasley hugged him. 'We've all got our fingers crossed,' she said. 'Right,' said Harry. 'Well ... see you later then.' He followed Mr. Weasley upstairs and along the hall. He could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr. Weasley unbolted the door and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn. 'You don't normally walk to work, do you?' Harry asked him, as they set off briskly around the square. 'No, I usually Apparate,' said Mr. Weasley, 'but obviously you can't, and I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion ... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for....' Mr. Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as they walked. Harry knew it was clenched around his wand. The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already lull of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr. Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm. 'Simply fabulous,' he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. 'Wonderfully ingenious.' 'They're out of order,' said Harry, pointing at the sign. 'Yes, but even so...' said Mr. Weasley, beaming at them fondly. They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr. Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr. Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows. 'Four stops, Harry ... three stops left now ... two stops to go, Harry...' They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr. Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic. 'Where are we?' said Mr. Weasley blankly, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thought they had got off at the wrong station despite Mr. Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, 'Ah yes ... this way, Harry,' and led him down a side road. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors' entrance before.' The further they walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally they reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. Harry had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic. 'Here we are,' said Mr. Weasley brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. 'After you, Harry.' He opened the telephone-box door. Harry stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. Mr. Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. Mr. Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver. 'Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too,' Harry said. 'No, no, I'm sure its fine,' said Mr. Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. 'Let's see ... six...' he dialled the number, 'two ... four ... and another four ... and another two...' As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr. Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them. 'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.' 'Er...' said Mr. Weasley, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, 'Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing....' 'Thank you,' said the cool female voice. 'Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.' There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square silver badge with Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again. 'Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium ' The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Harry watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over their heads. Then he could see nothing at all; he could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, though it felt much longer to Harry, a chink of golden light illuminated his feet and, widening, rose up his body, until it hit him in the face and he had to blink to stop his eyes watering. 'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,' said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr. Weasley stepped out of it, followed by Harry, whose mouth had fallen open. They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The wall's on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall. 'This way,' said Mr. Weasley. They joined the throng, wending their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As they passed the fountain Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read: All proceeds from the fountain of magical brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries If I'm not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons, Harry found himself thinking desperately. 'Over here, Harry,' said Mr. Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying SECURITY, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet. 'I'm escorting a visitor,' said Mr. Weasley, gesturing towards Harry. 'Step over here,' said the wizard in a bored voice. Harry walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back. 'Wand,' grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it. 'Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?' 'Yes,' said Harry nervously. 'I keep this,' said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. 'You get this back,' he added, thrusting the wand at Harry. 'Thank you.' 'Hang on....' said the wizard slowly. His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on Harry's chest to his forehead. 'Thank you, Eric,' said Mr. Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates. Jostled slightly by the crowd, Harry followed Mr. Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Harry and Mr. Weasley joined the crowd around one of them. Nearby, stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises. 'All right, Arthur?' said the wizard, nodding at Mr. Weasley. 'What've you got there, Bob?' asked Mr. Weasley, looking at the box. 'We're not sure,' said the wizard seriously. 'We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.' With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of them; the golden grille slid back and Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and Harry found himself jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at him curiously; he stared at his feet to avoid catching anyone's eye, flattening his fringe as he did so. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box rang out again. 'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office.' The lift doors opened; Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again and the woman's voice announced: 'Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre.' Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. Harry stared up at them as they flapped idly around above his head; they were a pale violet colour and he could see MINISTRY OF MAGIC stamped along the edge of their wings. 'Just inter-departmental memos,' Mr. Weasley muttered to him. 'We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks...' As they clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling. 'Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.' When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it. 'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau. ' 'S'cuse,' said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again. 'Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.' Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr. Weasley, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement. 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.' 'This is us, Harry,' said Mr. Weasley, and they followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. 'My office is on the other side of the floor.' 'Mr. Weasley,' said Harry, as they passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, 'aren't we still underground?' 'Yes, we are,' said Mr. Weasley. 'Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise.... Just round here, Harry.' They turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read AUROR HEADQUARTERS. Harry looked surreptitiously through the doorways as they passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything From pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt. 'Morning, Weasley,' said Kingsley carelessly, as they drew nearer. 'I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?' 'Yes, if it really is a second,' said Mr. Weasley, 'I'm in rather a hurry.' They were talking as though they hardly knew each other and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr. Weasly stood on his foot. They followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. Harry received a slight shock; blinking down at him from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs--even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters' wedding--papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels. 'Here,' said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. 'I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.' Kingsley tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, 'Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.' Then he said in normal tones, 'And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.' 'If you had read my report you would know that the term is "firearms",' said Mr. Weasley coolly. 'And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment.' He dropped his voice and said, 'If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs.' He beckoned to Harry and led him out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Mr. Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr. Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. Harry noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it. 'We haven't got a window,' said Mr. Weasley apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. 'We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, Harry, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet.' Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him. 'Ah,' he said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from its midst, 'yes...' He flicked through it. 'Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing--oh dear, what's this now?' A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr. Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, '"Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately." This is getting ridiculous ...' 'A regurgitating toilet?' 'Anti-Muggle pranksters,' said Mr. Weasley, frowning. 'We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing--well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those--pumbles, I think they're called--you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.' 'Plumbers?' '--exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it.' 'Will it be Aurors who catch them?' 'Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol--ah, Harry, this is Perkins.' A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting. 'Oh, Arthur!' he said desperately, without looking at Harry. 'Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it--an urgent message came ten minutes ago--' 'I know about the regurgitating toilet,' said Mr. Weasley. 'No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing--they've changed the time and venue--it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten--' 'Down in old-- but they told me--Merlin's beard--' Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp and leapt from his chair. 'Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!' Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr. Weasley left the office at a run, Harry close on his heels. 'Why have they changed the time?' Harry said breathlessly, as they hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as they streaked past. Harry felt as though he had left all his insides back at Perkins's desk. 'I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!' Mr. Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the 'down' button. 'Come ON!' The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button. 'Those courtrooms haven't been used in years,' said Mr. Weasley angrily. 'I can't think why they're doing it down there--unless--but no...' A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr. Weasley did not elaborate. 'The Atrium,' said the cool female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in. 'Morning, Arthur,' he said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. 'Don't often see you down here....' 'Urgent business, Bode,' said Mr. Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry. 'Ah, yes,' said Bode, surveying Harry unblinkingly. 'Of course.' Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable. 'Department of Mysteries,' said the cool female voice, and left it at that. 'Quick, Harry,' said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps. 'Down here, down here,' panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. 'The lift doesn't even come down this far ... why they're doing it down there...' They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes. 'Courtroom ... ten ... I think ... we're nearly ... yes.' Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest. 'Go on,' he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. 'Get in there.' 'Aren't--aren't you coming with--?' 'No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!' Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.

#OrderofthePhoenix #HarryPotter