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harianadimples · 3 years

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R O S E S - Chapter V

WC: 13,162k || table of contents || Warning(s): mature content; forbidden love type of smut, little drops of angst here and there

Anna endured through the remaining hours of rehearsal by the prospect of seeing Harry at the end of the day. He'd managed to weasel his way into her mind no matter what she did. When performing scenes with her co-lead Patrick, who by no means had any resemblance to her Harry (Patrick had slicked back, raven hair, and brown eyes), she would picture him instead. Her crush on Harry had spread, infecting not only her heart but her mind too. She'd sometimes see the cameraman as Harry and saw him among the lighting crew too. Every extra was suddenly Harry. She swears she even saw his reflection in her gin and tonic.

When she returns to the hotel it's nearly nine in the evening.

"Oh, welcome back miss Rose," Dolores greets her from her spot behind the front desk.

"Good evening Dolores, any letters for me?" Anna asks as she stands by the elevator. She presses the button to go up and comes to a standstill.

"None today," Dolores replies.

The elevator chimes as it arrives. Anna waits for one of them to open, wondering which one Harry would be in. At last, she hears one of the doors open. She makes her way to the farthest elevator, anticipating Harry's appearance within, but her smile falters quickly when she sees Norman inside– and Harry with him.

"Oh, you're back already," Norman speaks up first, grinning when he sees Anna. She appears somewhat frazzled, which amuses Norman as he takes her hand, pulling her into the elevator. "I was just talking to Henry about you," Norman says, gesturing to Harry who bites on his tongue to keep himself from correcting Norman, not wanting to know what Norman would do if he were to dent his confidence.

"You usually work late when you're working from the hotel offices," Anna says, trying to sound casual in her response as she mulls over the fact she, Norman, and Harry were currently in one elevator together.

"Well, I put aside some time so I could have dinner with you when you returned. It'll have to be here in the lounge café since I still have a lot of work to do," Norman says. "I was waiting for you upstairs, but thought I'd just wait for you in the lobby, and here we are now."

"Right, then, do you mind waiting here while I go and freshen up?" Anna asks him.

"Sure, but hurry back," Norman says as he takes her by her waist and leans down to peck her cheek before leaving. Anna sighs in relief when he turns the corner, and quickly presses the button to close the elevator doors again. She presses her floor number before Harry can even try to reach for it.

"What did he say to you?" Anna asks him quietly.

"He asked about my shifts here operating the elevator. Apparently, his fiancé likes to go out on walks looking all pretty and irresistible, and he's under the impression that she doesn't go on these walks alone. I told him that I've only exchanged pleasantries with her, so I wouldn't know anything about these walks she goes on," Harry says.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think he'd pry," Anna sighs deeply with regret, "he mentioned his worries about me walking alone, but I tried assuring him that I was fine since I don't go very far. It's rich of him to be distrustful about my whereabouts and who I'm with like he wasn't literally sleeping with his personal assistant for months behind my back. Fair enough, I suppose I'm no better than he was," she murmurs, glancing at Harry with a small smile. "Am I a bad person for loving you?" She asks Harry with a timid voice. It's so soft that Harry's heart nearly breaks from how genuinely mournful she sounds.

"I don't think you are a bad person," Harry says.

"I think I am," Anna admits, "not because I think it's wrong to love you, but I feel like I'm betraying him by not loving him."

"That doesn't make you a bad person, it makes you a hypocrite," Harry points out. He looks at her with an expression that says, 'so what if we're hypocrites, I LOVE YOU'; his eyes smirk at her as he absentmindedly laces their fingers together and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, thanks," Anna sighs, groaning, "God, this is all very complicated, and from here on out it'll only be difficult if Norman remains skeptical of me. He'll probably want to sleep with me just to appease his fragile ego." Her expression twists into one of distaste. It's so sudden that Harry chuckles as he pulls her towards his chest in an embrace that he hopes would comfort her, though he feels unsettled by the image of Anna and Norman being intimate. He scolds his brain, reminding himself who Norman was and who he is. "He's still your fiancé," Harry reminds her (and himself), "I can't necessarily keep you from him. I'm merely me," Harry sighs. "I don't have much to offer you."

"You're plenty enough. You have my whole heart Harry Styles," Anna pouts before kissing him.

"Thank you for reminding me, Ms. Rose, but what of your status as a hypocrite?" He teases her as she sighs deeply. "Honestly, I don't give a fuck. I'll embrace that title if it means I don't have to surrender my happiness to please a man whose heart I probably don't even have anymore," she mutters, "and perhaps, never had in the first place."

"You'll always have my whole heart, Anna," Harry says, "among other things. When things are a little less hectic, we should go out on a real date. Somewhere nice where no one knows us, and we can just forget for a while."

"That sounds real nice," Anna sighs, "I can't wait."

Their noses touch as they lean into each other with the same starry-eyed expression: it is certainly love.

...

Anna is distrustful of Norman's sudden change of demeanour.

Usually, after an argument, he'll mope around her for a few days before he eventually fucks her forgiveness out of her. It certainly never fixed their problems, but kept them on low heat; Norman only enjoyed the slow burn of their afflictions as it usually leads to great sex no matter the outcome; he's masochistic in that way. But where Norman couldn't see an issue, Anna could see that the rift between Norman's sexuality and her own couldn't be more obvious. His sexual prowess spawned from years of experience and experimentation, meanwhile, as Anna fell several years short of his senior, her experience was limited to just Norman (not counting her on-screen romantic partners of course because they don't necessarily count). She knew Norman had never been in a serious relationship prior to her, as he'd never been looking for one; he wasn't interested in monogamy either, but once he met Anna he vowed to change. In other words, she knew what she was getting into when they began their relationship, though, she'd argue, that she didn't fully understand what a relationship with a man of his nature would entail for her.

Of course, over the years she developed a better understanding of Norman. He'd never been the romantic type, so his façade didn't do much for Anna except alert her of when his intentions were to coax her to sleep with him or do some other favour for him. Though it seems even now, he's still full of surprises.

...

Norman and Anna take the elevator up to their apartment following their dinner, and it's relatively quiet between them.

"I have to get back to work," Norman says as they stop by their front door. "Unless you'd like to fool around, then I can make up an excuse to tell the boss," he smirks, knowing that he is the boss.

"Dinner was nice, but I'm still upset with you," Anna huffs, unlocking the door for herself to walk through.

"Oh, come on Anna, I finally did something your way. Give me a little credit here! You're always talking about this romantic bullshit and how much you wish I was a better boyfriend, and now fiancé, yet, even when I do something out of the kindness of my own heart, using up my precious time just to appease your needs, you still don't put out for me! If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're cheating on me!"

Anna tilts her head back as she howls in laughter. "Oh, my God!" she shakes her head in utter disbelief at the man-child standing in front of her. "I just knew that dinner was just your way of getting me to sleep with you."

"You're my fiancé, you're practically my wife. I'm entitled to receiving from you, and I'd like to have to not have to beg you every time I want to fuck you, only to be turned away because you're 'too tired," he complains, emphasizing the last two words in a high-pitched voice meant to mock her.

"You're not entitled to shit, acting like that just because you can't get what you want. How about you treat me like a proper human first instead of treating me like I'm some sort of pet or sex toy to you! You hardly treat me with any respect, and you constantly belittle me when your ego is on the line. I might have given in easily in the past, but that won't be the case anymore. How I choose to express myself and how much of myself I decide to share with someone will always be up to me. I am my own person. You have always been jealous of my success because you had barely a part in it. My talent speaks for itself, and there's no part of my talent that comes from you. Everything I have I've worked for myself, and I built myself from the ground up."

"Oh, please, Anna. Do you really think I had no part in your success? Who do you think found you the best manager in the business? Who do you think helped you gain more connections in the industry? Who do you think spoke with the studios, producers, casting directors, everyone and anyone, so you'd get the best roles in movies? Who do you think got you that spot on Broadway?" Norman lists off each instance of his outreach on his fingers, glaring at Anna who shies away from him when his voice becomes too loud. "I did, Anna, and neither of those times was to sleep with you. I love you, God damn it! You just annoy the hell out of me sometimes."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing me that you love me," Anna whispers as Norman sighs. "I love you, Anna, at the very least, I care about you," he says.

"Did you have that in mind whenever you kept going back to her?" Anna asks him, disregarding the woman's name entirely as it honestly could have been more than one woman at this point. Her question silences Norman as the two looked at each other as the truth resounds deeply within Norman's eyes. He always has that in mind, but he simply doesn't care. It's so easy to say you love someone, and they'll just believe you.

"I don't think your problem with the idea of me cheating on you comes from a place of love. You're only frightful of the idea that someone bested you in what you perceive as a game. You hate to think someone could make me genuinely fall in love with them, and that they wouldn't have to guilt me into feeling indebted to care for them. Instead, they'd only have to treat me with kindness and humility, and give me their whole heart for me to give my whole heart to them in return."

With that Anna closes the door on her glassy-eyed fiancé, sighing in deep relief as she turns on the lights in the apartment.

...

"I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself," Harry says.

He peers across the way at Anna as she stares out at the city below them. They'd decided to do a little sightseeing from the hotel roof instead, rather than walk since Norman was working in his office on the ground level of the hotel tonight and neither wanted to confront him again. Regardless, Anna doubted that she and Norman would cross paths anytime soon (she knew Norman had a small bed in his office for when he was too tired to come up to their apartment so he'd likely be staying there tonight). Their fight was explosive, and for once, productive. She'd finally confronted Norman on his mistreatment of her, and bringing the truth of his so-called affections into the light only made the case of her own infidelity even more reasonable, regardless of any hypocrisy.

"Let's not talk about him anymore," Anna says as she kicks her feet over the edge of the ventilation box she's perched on. "Tell me about your day," She insists cheerfully, "Did anything interesting happen when I was gone?"

"It's quite embarrassing for me to admit this but, I can't remember much from today because I've been so caught up in you. Honestly, I had a conversation about the weather with one of the guests– she couldn't have been farther from your resemblance being that she's probably eighty and was dressed in dark colours, and all I could see or think about was you. Completely unprovoked, you suddenly popped into my mind. I was trying to think of a good story to tell you this evening because I adore that cute look you give me when I tell a good story. Makes me feel like I'm somebody," Harry chuckles.

"I admittedly went through a similar day," Anna grins. "You ought to get out of my mind, I'm genuinely terrified now. But yes, you're supposed to tell me what you dreamt about last night. If you tell me your dream, I'll tell you mine."

"Alright, alright. We were in Lake Geneva within the isles of Switzerland, staying in the Villa Diodati blanketed by the affluence of mother nature. The dewy grass smelt like spring morning because it had rained the night before. The trees around the property were like Gods gracing the earth with spindling arms bearing the sweetest fruits. Our garden was vast with every species of flower possible alive. You were in one of your floral dresses with a large sun hat on, dancing through the field while I painted the scene for you to put up in the villa with the rest. You're the happiest you've ever looked. Freer than you've ever been. I feel the same of course, and I couldn't be more in love."

Harry's voice fades off as Anna watches him begin to get lost in his memory of his dream. He has a far-off look in his eyes, his lips firmly set in a smile that allows his dimple to show, and it's enough for Anna to walk over to Harry and kiss on because he's looking more precious than usual. The way he speaks of her being in his dream makes her heart swell and cheeks warm.

"I thought you'd say something about what you did after I got you all worked up last night, but this is nice too," Anna murmurs as she holds Harry's face in her hands. There's a sizable difference between them that she finds nice.

"Don't get me wrong, we made love on every inch of that Villa," Harry says with a bigger grin, "you didn't let me finish before you attacked me with kisses."

Anna laughs and kisses Harry again anyway.

"Okay! Okay! Jeez, Louise! I know I'm irresistible, but paws off the money maker!" Harry jokingly attempts to pry Anna away from him, only to grab her around the waist and pull her into his lap so they can kiss properly.

They move to sit next to each other as they continue to talk. Neither wanting to end the night just yet and so they bring up any excuse to prolong their conversation.

"I may have recently proclaimed my super fan status by telling James that you love wine with your cheesecake," Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "He'd been going on and on about all these rumours about you that he picked up through the grapevine, and so I thought I'd express that the only way he'd get to know the 'real' you and not the person people have drawn up through rumours, is by simply speaking to you as I did. He may have the impression now that I've hopelessly fallen in love with you. He wasn't very happy knowing I'm competition, especially since we see each other often in the elevators. James's always had a jealous tick."

"He isn't the kind of friend who'd allow another person to come between you two and your friendship, is he?" Anna asks him.

"I'd hope he isn't. However, he's not the kind to accept a loss," Harry sighs, shaking his head. "I hate the thought of breaking his heart, but love shouldn't be a game when feelings are involved. I don't want to treat our relationship like it's a goal. I want to be with you because I love you, not because I want to win against my best friend or prove a point, you know?"

"I know, and I love you too," Anna says, though she's quite breathless and out of it as she gazes at Harry, completely mesmerized by the existence of a person like him.

"What?" Harry asks her when he notices her staring.

"Nothing," She grins, leaning in to kiss him again.

...

The tension between Anna and Norman worsened throughout the rest of the month.

Norman refused to apologize and let the truth damage his ego, and Anna refused to surrender her position against him. The last she saw of him was when he returned to their apartment that night to gather some of his clothes. He came up a quarter to four expecting Anna to be asleep, but her mind was still reeling over the events of that day so she hardly slept, but she pretended long enough to watch him move around their bedroom, picking up articles of clothing and whatever else he needed before eventually leaving.

Other than that night, Anna saw him a few times when she'd leave for work; he'd be on his way to work himself, and wouldn't spare her a glance. She presumed he was now staying in one of the vacant rooms. She didn't attempt to maintain a semblance of normalcy between them as she was aware that she'd only appear as a figure of someone's ideation of her regardless of how she presents herself. Strangers tend to take what they see and 'know,' and use their half-drawn vision of a person to speculate; it's entertaining for them when these are real people and real relationships.

Anna has come to know most of the hotel staff on a more familial level. She's closest to Harry without question, having spent the most time with him. Second to Harry would have to be James who she sees more often in the elevators now that he's become punctual for his shifts, though they haven't had a chance for a proper sit down. At one point, she visited Harry while he was on break. He was in the worker's common room, speaking with a bell boy who was introduced to her as Elwood. She sat with the pair for the next few minutes, listening to Harry complain about some of the irritable guests. Since then it wasn't much of a surprise to any of the staff who'd come in to relax, to see Anna there with Harry. Sometimes she's brought a book with her to read while Harry naps or she eats with him, having brought him a packed lunch (cucumber sandwiches cut in small cubes, just how he likes them) and a bowl of blueberry and oats, and yogurt for herself.

While her personal life reached a pivotal point, her career couldn't have been flourishing more.

Her opening show is in less than a week's time, and she's in the middle of a small promotional tour. Her schedule lately is mostly various interviews with journalists for newspapers and magazines from the boroughs, and some even as far as California, who travelled to Manhattan to interview her and the cast. During this time, she and Harry couldn't see each other as often (and as late), even if the interviews were being conducted in one of the board meeting rooms in the hotel. Nevertheless, she still saw him every day in the elevators. They'd share pleasantries every morning, but most of their conversations were held between their eyes.

It's a quarter to seven when her interview with Dale, a reporter from the Brooklyn Times (the last one until the show runs) wraps up. She leaves the board room with William after exchanging goodbyes with the reporter and the others who were in the room.

"Tomorrow they want to do one last full rehearsal, then you'll have the day off before the show," William explains to her as they walk. "You've earned it. I've seen how much of your soul you've put into this show these past few months, and I'd say this promotional tour was a success."

"Well, I love what I do, no matter what," she sighs, with a tired smile. "I've been focusing on developing a balance between work and my personal life; that's what's kept me sane throughout all of this so far."

"Good, I've noticed you've been smiling more. Work is a commitment but it's not someone you can go home to," William chuckles.

She and William part ways as they approach the lobby. She stops in front of the elevators and watches William walk through the entrance of the hotel and disappear into his Lincoln. The door shuts behind him. His chauffeur enters the driver's side. As the car leaves, she presses the button for the elevator. The soft click that follows renews her impatience that she'd forgotten in the past hour.

An eagerness to finally get more than two minutes with Harry (which honestly outweighed her excitement about her last interview) had been tucked away in the back of her mind. It was great motivation to keep going in each interview after answering the same questions for each reporter who sat with her, but she couldn't wait to see Harry.

As she stands by the elevator, she watches the row of lights above the elevator doors go out with each floor the elevator descended on. She's soon joined by two other guests who wait nearby, dampening her mood only slightly since she hoped to be alone with Harry when the elevator came down, but she brushes it off when the elevator arrives; she can wait some more. The elevator chimes as the doors open. Several guests spill out making the front of the hotel look livelier. Anna smiles and stands aside as they pass her. She can sense Harry looking at her from inside the elevator, and feels almost drawn to him by their shared sense of impatience as she finally walks in along with the two other guests.

"Afternoon, afternoon," Harry greets each of the guests with a warm smile and a tip of his hat. His gaze settles on Anna who's leaning on the opposite wall facing him. "Af-ter-noon," He tells her but says the word slower, and maybe it's just in her head, but she feels like the guests who're with them can sense the tension between them. She kind of likes it. Maybe even love it. She feels caught like she's being judged for feeling aroused by Harry's voice. And shit she can't wait to kiss that harrying smile off his face.

The elevator shakes as it begins to ascend; she notices that Harry hasn't pressed the button for the seventeenth floor. The two guests eventually get off on the fourteenth floor, leaving Anna and Harry on their own as the doors close again. Anna pushes herself forward and approaches Harry with a small smile. With his outstretched hands, he anchors her by her fingers, pulling her towards him.

"Hey," she whispers to Harry and kisses him like he's a breath of fresh air. Harry chuckles and lets the elevator stall to give them more time. "You looked so beautiful today. I've been wanting to tell you that since this morning," he tells her as he takes her in.

"Thank you, William informed me much too late that this reporter would be accompanied by a photographer. I hardly look any different from how I look when I'm dressed down," Anna huffs. Her makeup was done the same fashion as always, though it's twice as thick to appear better in the photographs. Her choice of attire is a blood-red dress decorated with large black outlines of rosebuds; red shows up wonderfully in a black and white film.

"I don't think there's an issue in that. You aren't the uppity type and your attire reflects that" Harry says.

"I suppose. I do feel like I've got a mask on though. I'll be washing my face with extra consideration for my pores when I get upstairs," Anna sighs as she taps the parts of her face where her makeup has begun to break down from her oiliness and the long day.

"I haven't got any lipstick on me, do I?" Harry asks as he purses his lips. Anna hums in thought as she takes his face between her fingers and inspects them closely. There's only a faint imprint of her red lipstick on the peaks of his lips, yet she kisses his pout until they become a deeper shade of magenta. Harry begins laughing when he realizes her intent. "Don't think you kissed me enough, lovie–." Harry draws his words in a playful manner but quiets himself to a low hum when she kisses him more passionately.

Anna clearly intends on leaving a stain on his lips, which frightens him and turns him on all the same.

When the elevator begins to descend again (someone's pressed the button for the elevator), Anna pulls away with a heavy sigh. Harry chuckles and gives her nose a light peck. His light touch thrills Anna and her cheeks heat up as they hide in her hands. She slides away from Harry and quietly watches his reflection as he composes himself in the metal panel of the elevator.

Surely enough his lips looked a darker pink than usual, with a faint ring of red bleeding into his moustache area and chin. Harry blows a breath as he inspects the stain closer. He sees a reflection of Anna giggling quietly into her hands through the metal panel of the elevator and shakes his head at his girl with a small smile.

"You're going to get me killed one day," he says, as he tries to wipe the edge of his mouth at least, so his lips didn't look so done in. He didn't mind the lipstick transfer much but he'd have preferred to look more 'Marlene Dietrich' and less 'Marlene Dietrich after a day'.

"I didn't think it would stain!" Anna laughs as she hugs her man from behind. "If it bothers you, you can clean it off with a wet washcloth and some soap," she tells him.

"It's fine," Harry sighs, giving her hands a gentle pat as he takes in their appearances in the metal panel. "Your lipstick is smudged too," he adds, "makes it obvious that we were kissing," he says, smirking.

"Suppose it does," Anna shrugs and hides her smile on his shoulder.

"S'kinda nice, though. Bit of a mess but proof like no other that I am irresistible to you," Harry says, earning a playful shove from her, causing him to chuckle. "Oh, you know you love me."

"Unfortunately, I do," Anna sighs, though she can't keep a smile down when she sees Harry making kissy faces towards her in their reflection. "So, I have one last full rehearsal tomorrow, then I have the day off, and I'll be all yours," she says, smiling, "got any ideas where we can have our first date?"

"I think we're technically on like date one-hundred and nine," he says.

Anna's gaze lingers on Harry for a short moment. Sometimes she needs reminding that he's a real person whenever he acts like this. 'This,' is entirely unfamiliar to Anna, because she didn't believe those good men like Harry existed. This is, of course, due in part to her lack of faith in Norman; seeing how accomplished and blessed he is, and how his narcissism ruins the picture every time. As well as the other businessmen and industry men she runs into through her career. Sure, good men still exist in this world, but they weren't going to be any of the men around her– but Harry– the universe made an exception with him.

"I guess so–," she begins but pauses when the elevator slows to a stop.

The doors open revealing James waiting for the elevator. He looks at Harry and Anna with a fluster of emotions. While Anna removes herself from Harry, she senses tension between the men as their stare down holds. Although she can't hear their silent conversation, she believes James's trying to make sense of what he's seeing. Harry keeps himself collected, innocently greeting James with an outstretched hand. Anna, on the other hand, felt uncertain of the seemingly peaceful nature between the men.

"Sorry, I'm late. It took some persuading to get Margaret to let me work the graveyard shift. She said I wasn't reliable. Can you believe that shit?" James huffs as he enters the elevator.

"Thanks for doing this man," Harry says as he gives James a pat on the shoulder. "I owe you one."

"Nah, you've covered my morning shift for me more than I can count. Most of the time without me having to ask," James sighs.

"You'd do the same for me, I mean you are," Harry chuckles. "I'm gonna go clock out, then head to my room. I'll see you two around." Harry exits the elevator and turns the corner before she can blink. She's taken aback by how sudden Harry left, but she supposes he did what he did to throw James off. But she's not so sure ignoring James's questioning look would erase the image in his mind.

"Heading up?" James asks her, tearing her away from her thoughts.

She nods, yes, in answer, (genuinely) yawning as her long day finally catches up with her. "Sorry," she apologizes, slack-jawed as she cups her hand over her mouth.

"It's alright, I understand. You must be exhausted from how much you get around," James says.

"Excuse me?" Anna glances at James, noticing that he's staring at her with an odd expression.

"You know, back and forth from the theatre and the hotel. Just think it must be tiring," James says.

"Ah, it's not so bad after a while. You get used to the whole routine of it," she says with a shrug. "There's never an absence of that feeling of coming home to something, like, you push through the day so you can come home to this one good feeling."

The elevator chimes as it opens on the seventeenth floor.

"Have a good night James," Anna says, as she turns the corner.

...

"What's going on between you and Anna?"

Harry hears James enter his hotel room.

James slams the heavy door shut behind him. The noise makes Harry jump for a moment, but he had expected this reaction from James once they were alone so he reacts to his question with indifference and doesn't move from the love seat.

He mentally prepared himself for this confrontation. He knew James was a good person, but his judgement can get easily clouded, and easily swayed all the same.

He calmly lowers the book he's holding face-down (as to not lose his place) and sighs, "For the last time James, nothing is going on between me and Anna. Is it a crime for a man to give his friend a hug?"

"I'm not an idiot Styles, I practically caught you two," James mutters as he glares at Harry. "Don't think I haven't noticed how close you two have become. Now, I gave you the benefit of the doubt because you're a nice guy, and I didn't want to believe that my own best friend is trying to get with the girl he knows I love. Clearly, I was wrong about you."

The conviction and certainty in his tone silence Harry. It takes him a moment to compose an intelligent response, afraid that if it isn't his words that give him away, his expression would.

"An innocent hug is hardly an incriminating case," Harry says calmly. "I think you ought to lay off the... opiates," he whispers the last bit because while it holds some veracity in a personal context it had nothing to do with Harry or Anna and their situation, and he could tell by James's dishevelled appearance that he probably isn't sober at the moment.

"And your lips," James mutters over him.

"What about my lips?" Harry asks.

"They were red... like her lipstick," James says, though he seems uncertain of himself as he finally looks at Harry. Harry rubs his mouth with his fingertips and shows the lack of colour to James.

James's expression changes, turning into one of confusion and self-doubt as he rubs his eyes with balled-fists. "I could have sworn..." James trails off as he leans in close to Harry's mouth to inspect the skin around it. His close proximity allows Harry to smell the alcohol on James's breath, and see how blown out his pupils were, like two black holes in a sea of white, confirming his assumption.

Harry takes James by his cheek, gently pushing him away when he figures James's gotten it in his head that his evening's indulgences had conspired against his better judgement again. He can see James besieged by his headspace and quickly enters his kitchen to start a new pot of coffee. He glances at James who's sitting at his countertop with his head bowed in his hands.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, James," Harry frowns, crossing his arms as he leans down on the countertop across from him. "You're killing yourself man, and it's killing me to watch."

"I know. I'm just... trying to figure my shit out," James mumbles.

"You can, and you will. Just... do it without the distractions," Harry says as he rests his hand on his shoulder.

"Honestly... Anna's the only thing worth suffering through this job anymore," James sighs. "It's stupid, I know. She's engaged– to the boss-man of everybody– but there's something about her that restores my faith in the future. She's kind; she still sees us as people. People trying to make it. She gets it, somehow. She gets that there's a different kind of suffering people like you and I are in, and she doesn't dismiss it; doesn't just preach about a better future. She tries. Tries to do more for other people who don't have what she has. You see how she is with everyone. She believes there'll be a future when people come together– not if but when. How do you not fall in love with a girl like that?" James asks, sounding genuinely upset and conflicted with his feelings.

Harry decides to be honest. "I know what you're saying," Harry says, "I know how you feel." Though he doesn't outwardly admit his feelings, the two share a look that seems to answer the question that's been pervading James's mind and their conversations for months.

"Can't help who we love," Harry says, "but if there's one thing that these difficult times haven't taken from us yet is our hearts. We still feel because it hasn't really taken everything from us, and I think that means we still have a chance to come back."

James finally lifts his head. He appears to have composed himself, a soft expression now replacing the one of distress. Harry gives him another reassuring pat on the shoulder and turns to pour him a cup of coffee.

"You sound just like her," James says as he wraps the cup Harry places in front of him with both hands. Steam rises between them. The air is rich with the smell of dark roast. "But be honest with me Harry- as a friend, as my brother- about what I saw in the elevator. It wasn't a hallucination, was it," James phrases his early question as a statement; as a fact.

Harry dwells on what James is asking him. He doesn't like lying to James, who's one of his closest friends since he moved to the city, and who, if he was in his position, Harry reckons would be candid with him about a relationship that's important to him, and trust him to keep such a complicated relationship, a secret. But in spite of that, he knows neither of them would be totally fine knowing the other were after the same girl which is exactly their case. It's probably best for him to not be as transparent about the nature of his relationship with Anna to James's face. To spare his feelings, and because he wasn't really sure where he and Anna stood. Are they together? Well, relatively, in his head, yes, but he knows it's more complicated than that. But if he's certain about anything, it's how he feels about her. He knows he loves her, and that he wants to be with her, and as far as he's concerned the feeling is returned.

He feels no guilt for loving her; for being someone with a brain, with a heart who understands why this woman should be loved and is willing to give her all that he can and more.

"I love her," Harry admits with no hesitation, "it doesn't matter what you saw, or what you think you saw. What we can agree on is that there are more people in this building, in this city, in this country, who love her the way she should be loved by the one person who can't bring himself to."

James remains silent. Harry watches him drink his coffee quietly. James doesn't pay him any mind; he doesn't look at Harry for the rest of the night.

...

James still stayed the night.

Harry had thought about sneaking out to see Anna, but he didn't feel right leaving James after his evening binge. He wanted to make sure James wasn't alone when he woke up. He knew Anna would understand, and besides, he'd get to have a whole day with her soon.

What's one night to them?

James was unwell in the morning, which Harry knew would be the case so he'd put the trash bin on James's side of the bed and a glass of water for when he woke up dehydrated. James doesn't have to ask Harry to take his morning shift because they share a look that's pretty telling of how James must be feeling, and Harry nods and accepts it without further question. He prepares a fresh pot of coffee for him and James and brings him a mug and another glass of water before he leaves.

Harry enters the locker room, turning the light on for the rest of the workers who'll eventually be coming in. He walks towards his locker and opens it, picking off his uniform coat from its hanger and shrugging it on. He buttons it up all the way and places his cap on the crown of his head before shutting his locker. He inspects himself in the jaded mirror near the door, pressing down any wrinkles that appear in his trousers while he takes in his appearance.

When he's ready, he heads back to the elevators and takes his place inside by the button panel. It's a few minutes before the elevator begins to move, meaning that someone on another floor had pressed the button for the elevator. Harry rubs the little bit of sleep that pricked his eyes and prepares himself to put on the most cheerful 'good morning' he could muster at four in the morning.

The elevator stops on the fourth floor and begins to open.

"Good morning–," Harry freezes, seeing Norman leaning into a ginger-haired woman sucking fervently at his neck.

It's incredibly awkward for Harry when they step inside. He's unsure about Norman's expression when he sees him. There's little recognition, but he can see the cogwheels in Norman's mind circling as he looks Harry in the face.

The woman with Norman clearly isn't Anna...and everyone clearly knows Norman is engaged to Anna.

And Harry would argue that everyone knows that Norman's nothing but a cheater; an asshole undeserving of Anna. But no one is brave enough to tell him that to his face. Not when their livelihood rests in his hands. But boy did Harry want to punch the smirk off his face when Norman's attention returned to the woman chasing his lips for a kiss.

"What floor?" Harry asks, trying not to let his annoyance show.

"Ground floor," Norman says.

Harry presses the button and sighs deeply as he turns farther into his corner. They've begun kissing again, making unkind noises that he wishes his ears weren't able to pick up.

"Same time tonight. I'll have someone pick you up."

"Why can't we meet in the mornings like we used to? I miss spending the day with you. All you wanna do now is fuck."

"Are you complaining?"

"No."

"Good."

Their hushed conversation ends when the elevator stops on the ground floor. Harry holds back a gasp when he catches the face of the woman as she leaves. He recognizes her as the ginger-haired woman who's been coming around often for months now. The realization saddens him for a moment, thinking of Anna, and how he's certain that this woman has been coming to the hotel even before he knew Anna on the level he does now. He surmises that Norman didn't stop cheating on Anna even after she found out; despite the promise he made to her when he proposed and the promise he made to earn her forgiveness at the time.

Norman doesn't leave with the woman, his sanguine appearance immediately falling apart in front of Harry as soon as the elevator doors slide shut.

"Harry," Norman reads his name tag, "you don't speak of what you just saw to Anna or the press, and I'm willing to negotiate to raise your salary by two to three figures." The quickness of his offer sounds so rehearsed to Harry that he nearly laughs. He wonders how often Norman's gotten caught in the past and who else's silence he's bought.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, you came to me once expressing concern that Anna could be with someone else when you're not around, yet here you are trying to keep her from finding out that you are with another woman... I can't help but ask why you're still with Anna if you could just end your relationship with her and spare her the heartbreak," Harry says.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Norman says after a moment.

"I think you should," Harry retorts, insinuating that he'd rather know the truth than accept bribery from Norman.

"Look," Norman sighs, "you are with someone long enough that when they're not there you feel incomplete like it feels wrong; too different for comfort. It's like that with Anna. She is the one constant in my life that keeps me grounded but at the same time... I'm terribly bored. These hard times have most of us searching for something to numb the reality of the aftermath. Some people drink, some people take a pill or jump off buildings. I fuck my ex-assistant."

Norman caps off his bluntness with a heavy sigh. "It's only sex. I'm not in love with her. When we're done here, Anna and I will move back to London, and we'll be married. Until then, she doesn't need to know. Spare her the heartbreak, as you said," he says. The elevator moves again as he speaks. "I'll speak to Margaret. I'll have her increase your pay."

"You don't need to do that–," Harry starts but Norman stops him. "I admire you holding onto your dignity," Norman says, but Harry can't help but sense false pretence in the sentiment. Norman pauses. "However... it's a lot of money for you," Norman continues, "Money I'm sure you need. Don't take it as bribery. Look at it as a forthcoming raise for the extra hours you clock in."

The elevator stops on the seventeenth floor, prompting the end of their conversation.

...

Harry stares at the cheque that Margaret gave him. She had come up to him while he was putting away his uniform for the night, and when he turned to her at the call of his name she pushed the envelope into his chest then walked away without another word.

He knew by the look she gave him, that Norman had done what he promised to do and it wouldn't be the first time.

...

"Then, I had to hide from Rochelle so I could eat my cheesy omelette in peace, but William ended up finding me– Harry? Hey... what's wrong with you... come back down."

"Hmm, oh... sorry," Harry sighs, rubbing his arm as he finally looks at Anna. There's a concern in her expression as she takes him in. He can tell she's trying to figure out what he's thinking, and frankly, he's unsure if he'll be able to give her an answer she likes.

But if the last few hours have done anything for Harry, it allowed him to properly think and decide what to do with his knowledge of Norman and the woman he's been seeing behind Anna's back. He knew even before he saw his cheque that he'd tell Anna the next time he saw her. Well, that didn't happen when he saw her leave that morning, or when she returned from rehearsals. Now, they're on the rooftop, sharing their day with each other and Harry knows it's the right time to tell her.

It should be easy. Just tell her, his mind incessantly recited, but his heart wanted him to hold off telling her the truth. Not to protect Norman or some other selfish reason, he thinks. But the more he dwells on what good would come from it he's reminded that he doesn't really know the whole nature of Norman and Anna's relationship. Surprisingly he heard some sense in what Norman told him. How they'd been together for so long that naturally, Norman found the idea of not having Anna around as strange. But Harry still held his own sense in higher regard, because he'd only fallen in love with her and it shows that he probably isn't hurting Norman by loving his fiancé. Not when Norman thinks it's justifiable to cheat because he sees it as a coping mechanism that he'll drop eventually. Anna doesn't deserve that. She doesn't talk about him much anymore (nothing more than a few callbacks to something he did in the past), but now Norman has planted a seed of reality in Harry's mind for him to overthink.

What if she feels strange without Norman?

What if their relationship is only 'great' for now because of the thrill of having to sneak around?

What if she realizes what life she'll be trading in return for a life with him?

Harry knows he and Norman were at odds because Norman basically made Anna out to be not enough for him to keep his love and interest in her, while Harry found a good friend and a beautiful soul in her footprint.

Harry had already told Anna that he had nothing much to offer other than his heart. And while she expressed disregard for the implications of what he said, Harry knew better than to ignore the obvious class divide. Norman could easily support her for nine lifetimes and could buy her a smile whenever she was missing one. All Harry can do is promise to love her, and to never hurt her, and to treat her with the appreciation and respect she deserves.

You're plenty enough, he recalls her telling him. He remembers how her eyes shined for him when she spoke in her soft voice, you have my whole heart.

He looks to her as she sits across from him, legs folded, hair flowing behind her as the nightly air blows colder winds into their faces atop the roof. Her cheeks are a soft pink colour and her eyes are a bit watery from the dry windy weather. Harry takes in her appearance some more while mindlessly taking in every word she spoke. In a few moments, he'll have to rip the smile from her pretty face. He braces himself as he waits for a window of opportunity for him to speak.

"Have you..." he begins, "have you seen Norman at all recently?"

"Oh–. Um, occasionally when I leave for work. I've encountered him once or twice around the elevators but I don't speak to him or really acknowledge him past that. Why?" She asks, "did he speak to you again?"

"Yes– and– something else happened, as well," Harry stammers, then forces his nerves down to form a more straightforward answer. "I bumped into him this morning when I started my shift. Well, it was James's shift technically; I covered for him again. He... uh... he was getting on from the fourth floor, and he wasn't um... he wasn't alone; he was with another woman. I have reason to believe he's having an affair with her."

The wind howls in their ears, drowning out the silence that overcomes the two as Harry looks at Anna waiting for her reaction.

"I knew it," she whispers, "I fucking knew it," she repeats, though it is harsher as she shakes her head in disbelief. "Was she blonde? Brunette? Ginger?"

"Ginger," Harry answers reluctantly, silently surprised by the level of composure she kept as she spoke.

"Of-fucking-course it's Ginger!" Anna suddenly yells, which startles Harry and causes him to nearly fall off the box he's sitting on, but he feels her quickly reach for him and pull him back by his forearm. "I knew that good-for-nothing sack of shit is still fucking her!" she yells, grunting as she stands up. She paces in front of Harry, hands on her hips as she shakes her head, expression full of disbelief. Harry can't tell if she's upset or pissed beyond feeling sad about it, because she seems to pride herself for being right about Norman being unfaithful.

Harry watches Anna approach the edge of the building, towering over the city with her eyes aglow. He wonders what she must be thinking as she becomes quiet. Her shoulders rise and lower as if she's let in a gulp of air and pushed it out.

Anna finally turns, looking back at Harry who's still sitting. She walks towards him and sits in his lap, with her thighs across his knees. Harry immediately wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his nose in her neck. He feels how quick her heartbeat has become, and how heavy it seems to pulse under her skin.

"Does Pedro have any cheesecake left from today?" Anna asks suddenly.

Harry meets Anna's eyes which are looking at him with distress. "We can go look," Harry offers, as Anna stands.

...

Anna had been crying quietly into her wine glass (her second full glass of the night), her cheeks puffed out by the cheesecake they found hidden in the very back of the hotel freezer, and Harry can't help but feel a rush of déjà vu to their first night together. It seemed like the wine and sweets brought out a delayed reaction in Anna, but now he's wondering if she'd have any tears left to cry when she stops.

As much as it pains Harry to watch her cry, he doesn't try to dictate how she should feel and react to the news about Norman. She wasn't hysterical, in fact, her outburst on the roof earlier seemed as close to the reaction he'd expected from her as her whimpering at the moment was. Of course, she'd feel hurt by what Norman told him in the elevator, but her emotions were highly conflicting with one another. She'd initially felt joy for being right, and somewhat confident in what it means for her and Harry. The image wasn't fully realized when she'd paced the roof trying to think of how Norman's affair with Ginger would change how she feels about her relationship with Harry, but as she gazed at the city, trying to see over its horizon, she'd realized one thing about herself: that she'd been a fool; that those small moments with Norman where she thought they'd fixed the mess he'd caused were a farce. She'd worked so hard to preserve what was left of their union despite his cheating because she'd believed that they'd eventually be okay. Now she's being told that there's nothing she could have done to keep Norman happy; the idea hits her differently as she thinks of herself as being the problem. That's what Norman told Harry, after all. But it also hits differently in that she's gone and fallen in love with the elevator operator, so she's not in any place to be as mad or as hurt about Norman being with someone else.

There's a difference there that Anna catches when Harry tells her that Norman didn't really love Ginger, but saw her more as someone expendable; she could cater to his needs and his ego wouldn't have to worry about hurting her feelings. From the way it sounds, Norman expects Anna to still be with him by the time he ends contact with Ginger when it suits him. Norman expects Anna to love him unconditionally and to remain by his side, cooped away in their future London home as his trophy wife while he goes to work, leaving her to wonder and worry for the rest of her life if he's with someone else.

She'd really be a fool then if she were to let that happen.

Anna wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling, "Okay, I'm done with that." She downs the rest of her wine and pours herself another glass. "We should be celebrating. I'm gonna be on fucking broadway tomorrow!" She guffaws, bringing Harry to grin as he bumps his glass with hers.

"To your first Broadway show, and the rest to come," Harry says.

"And to us, and our future: please... don't... cheat on me," Anna says the last part in a light voice, clearly joking with an edge of emotion lingering beneath, which makes Harry's heart hurt for her a little as he smiles, but it doesn't really reach his eyes. "Never," he asserts. "My mother didn't raise an idiot."

"I'd love for you to come and see me. You can be my plus one," Anna says. She's suddenly giddy at the idea of having Harry watch her in her element. He'd been someone who kept her from ending it all and made her feel so loved and appreciated, constantly reminding her how important she is. So what if her impact is not earth-shattering, Harry had once told her that someone out there will see her and feel something, and that's what makes her art so special. She has the power to make people feel for her characters, taking them on a life journey in the span of two hours, and in that time they may learn something about themselves and the world.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes how Harry is that person for her. The longer she looks at Harry, seeing him smile at her request, she feels a new set of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

"I'd like that, very much," Harry grins, a dimple appearing on his cheek, "I've never been to the theatre before, or seen a broadway stage."

"You'll have to wear a suit," she says. "I reckon you'd look so handsome in one. You look so good in your uniform; it's sort of a suit."

"I have a suit that I bought for job interviews. You can come up to my room and take a look at it... see if it's theatre-friendly," Harry trails off. He's looking at her in a way that makes her breathing catch in her lungs.

Anna nods without saying much else, following Harry out of the lounge café.

...

It takes a moment for the light in Harry's room to turn on. The delay of the flickering bulb stops by the time the pair are by his wardrobe cabinet.

"Make yourself comfortable," Harry motions to his bed. Anna perches herself on the edge, facing Harry as he begins rummaging through his wardrobe, but her sitting doesn't last for long as she inevitably falls on her back with a soft bounce. She feels hot like she could melt right through Harry's bed. She spreads her arms out, willing herself to sink deeper into this floaty space in her mind.

"What do you think?" Harry's voice lifts her from the veil she's in for a moment as she raises herself onto her elbows to look at him. "I know it's nothing fancy–."

"It's nice, Harry, but honestly you'd look good in anything," she says as Harry chuckles, "you're making me blush, lovie."

The suit is a dark colour; black or dark grey, she couldn't tell. It truly wouldn't matter to Anna if the suit were any colour of the rainbow, but she notices he's being fussy about the suit regardless of her comment. "You'd be surprised by what's accepted as fancy these days," She says as Harry hums, turning to place the suit back in the wardrobe.

"Growing up, my mother had a friend who was a modiste and she taught my mother how to sew. It came into good use while she was a laundress because the family she tended to had so many children, always running around, dirtying and ripping up their clothes, but I guess it didn't matter to the parents because they'd tell my mother to just throw them out. Instead, my mother would bring them home, fix them up, and alter them to fit me and my sisters. She kept the habit even after she quit. She always had an eye for potential, like she knew what greatness lay ahead." Anna sighs. She is laying down again, staring at the ceiling with a wistful smile as a highlight reel of her mother played in her mind. When she looks at Harry again she realizes that he's looking at her. She's thinking of something to say next, but he's already laying next to her before she can think to ask. They both turn to rest on their sides so they can face each other.

"Do you think she knew you'd end up here in New York, on Broadway?" Harry asks with a curious, yet knowing grin.

"I think she knew I'd go wherever I could sing and dance and not be kicked out," She laughs, though she can't help but smile solemnly, "No, I think she knew that I was the kind of girl who likes to sing and dance and that I could make money doing it. I resented her for how she put me through so much work when I was younger, but being her age now when she had me and thinking about what it must have been like for her to have to raise three girls alone at the time, I can understand the pressure she was under; we really needed the money. I now like to think she was teaching me to seize every opportunity to do something great, but that it's the hard work and necessary sacrifices that'll get me to where I want to be."

"She's proud of you," Harry concludes.

Anna smiles timidly at the confidence in Harry's voice. She still hasn't gotten used to someone responding with such certitude to her doubt, and the fact that she knows she can trust Harry, it makes her feel so lucky to the point of concern; she's so in love. She swipes her thumb over Harry's chin in a loving gesture as their eyes meet, silently questioning the other.

When they kiss, the warmth in Anna's body intensifies, spreading to her shoulders first then to her ears. It's a ticklish feeling and makes her giggle into the kiss. Harry takes this opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips, and for a few minutes, they're just lying in his bed making out like a couple of teenagers in love. Harry props himself up on his elbow so he can hold Anna while they kiss. Half of him covers her body as she lies completely still aside from her head which follows Harry's lead in the kiss, her fingers pulling and digging into his hair. Harry breaks from her lips to kiss her neck. As soon as his lips touch her skin she feels parts of her body tense instinctively from the ticklish feeling, but at the same time, her body unravels when she remembers that it is Harry making her giddy.

"Can I?" Harry's fingers already grasp the top button of her dress, while his eyes search hers for consent, but all Anna can do is nod as she hears her heartbeat in her ears.

One by one Harry undoes the buttons on her dress. His lips follow each window of skin that begins to show. When his nose bumps the material of her bra, Anna feels him hum against her skin before raising his head to look at her; another question of consent lingers in his lust-filled eyes. Anna grins, nodding as she helps move them along by pinching her collar, pulling them apart so the top of her dress is spread open. She looks at Harry for his reaction and is not at all disappointed when his lips part for several seconds while his eyes linger on her chest.

"Are you just gonna sit there and stare at me all night, or are you gonna help me get this thing off me?" Anna teases him, which causes his cheeks to redden as he playfully nibbles on her shoulder while pulling the top of her dress over her shoulders; it's just enough so he can reach around her back. He unhooks her bra and pulls the garment over her shoulders and down her arms.

This time, Anna notices Harry's more frugal with his staring. Probably not wanting to disrespect her by making her feel like an object to be stared at, but regardless of what she imagined he might have been thinking at that moment, it's his sigh mixed with a moan that makes her cheeks warm up and realize how exposed she is to him. She's flattered by his subtle glances at her chest, but it immediately changes when his lips attach to the top of her left breast. Anna moans when she feels his teeth sucking and nipping at her skin, then licking over where it stung.

"Careful, you'll leave a mark," She murmurs, trying to sound serious, but her voice catches when his head shifts and his lips barely catch her nipple, making her whine out his name instead which makes him chuckle and look at her with a toothy grin before he returned to her breast where he was sucking her skin beforehand.

"That's the point, lovie," Harry murmurs as he sits up again, "have a look."

Anna glances down at her chest and sees the love bite that's been raised on her skin, and it takes her a moment to realize that it's in the shape of a heart, over her heart. Her response to what it meant is another kiss which she prompts by sitting up so she can hold his face with the intention of having him as close to her as possible.

"Harry," She pulls away momentarily to look at him. Both of them are breathing hard. "Make love to me," She whispers, in case it isn't tonight, so she can feel better if it isn't tonight but the bump she feels digging into her thigh leaves her with high hopes. "I love you so much, I want you so much," She mumbles pathetically, "please, make love to me."

Harry smiles softly and nods, kissing her again with the intention of instilling some reassurance through the gesture. Harry helps her finish undressing first, leaving her in just her panties while he took off his clothes. Now it's Anna's turn to try not to stare because she'd only had a vague impression of his cock from the times he'd gotten hard in his work slacks which were loose enough to show a subtle imprint of what he had. But now in his boxers, she could see everything. Well, not everything since he's not completely naked (yet), but she can see how large a bulge he has and she has to try her hardest not to look affected by his appearance.

Harry approaches her at the foot of his bed. Her knees knock together as he pulls her panties off before he nudges them apart again with open palms that slide along her thighs to spread them open, exposing her soaking centre to him. Harry hums thoughtfully before he glances up to meet her eyes.

Suddenly he's lowering himself onto his knees, which makes Anna's eyes widen with surprise. "Oh, what are you doing?" She asks him timidly, her voice small as she looks at Harry.

"I'm going to help you fit me... I'm, uh, I'm quite big and I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh," She whispers cooly, trying to mask her intrigue but she can't really think properly with how Harry's looking at her from between her legs. When she feels the warmth radiating from Harry's open mouth graze her sensitive skin, Anna jumps and clears her throat, "Oh, um, you should know that... um... no one's ever..."

"No one has ever given you oral sex!?" Harry finishes before her, open-mouthed as if she'd said something wrong.

"Norman didn't like the idea of giving as much as he liked receiving," She shrugs.

"M'gonna take proper care of you, lovie," Harry assures her, "gonna make your cute little honey pot ready for me, s'that alright?"

"Hmm, yeah," She bites her lip, feeling the dull ache between her legs pulsing harder as Harry smiles into her thigh. He kisses her skin and starts a trail leading downward, never breaking eye contact with her.

"M'gonna start licking you now," Harry says, and it makes it even harder for her to breathe as she nods, giving him the green light to begin.

Anna feels her lower lips being spread apart. Harry's cool fingertips on her warm, wet skin make her skin tingle as she considers how he's staring at her pussy like it's his last meal on earth. She inhales sharply through a moan when she feels his finger rub over the length of her slit, barely dipping into her hole before he raises it to his lips. "You're dripping all over my bed, lovie, leaving a mess already." She watches with wide eyes as he hums low in his throat. "Taste real good."

Harry drops his head down again, licking her clit directly. He moves with a flourish, kitten licking her sensitive bud, eager to taste more of her on his tongue and wanting to help her feel good. He swirls his tongue some, and wriggles the tip along the valley of her core before dipping in and curving his tongue out; he repeats this until she's writhing on the bed and can't help but try to close her thighs around his head. Harry chuckles and pulls her clit between his lips, sucking hard. Her heart begins to race when his chin grazes the hood of her clit as he moves to look at where he's eating her, pulling her lips taut before he's back to licking into her.

"Harry!" Anna jolts up and pulls on his hair, practically fucking herself on his tongue as she whimpers, "More, more, please, don't stop."

Harry hums and proceeds to ease his index finger inside as he continues licking over her clit. Anna's taken aback for a moment, having never felt another finger other than her own, and Harry's fingers are much thicker and longer. As Harry begins moving his finger in and out of Anna, he watches her reaction carefully to see if she's still doing fine, but also to enjoy how responsive she is to what he's doing.

"Can already feel how tight you're gonna be around me, lovie," He teases her, "squeezing my finger so nicely, but I gotta open you up some more." Harry pushes in another finger and begins pumping his fingers in and out of her as he sucks on her clit again. His palm faces upward as he starts a come-hither motion with his fingers.

"H-Harry, that's it," Anna moans.

Harry rubs the pad of his thumb on her clit so he could speak. "Like that?" Harry asks, smirking at the feeling of her clenching around his fingers in small intervals.

Anna is enthralled by the pleasure she's experiencing to make a coherent response to Harry's question, but her body is different. Her orgasm arrives as a bright light. First as the result of her squeezing her eyes shut so hard that she could see stars, and then it's the feeling of the serotonin in her body being lit up by the same fuse. Only, she's not truly been set off, much like how after her orgasm the dull ache between her thighs doesn't leave and leaves her wanting to ride Harry's cock until the sun rises on them.

While Anna comes down from her first high, Harry sits back on his feet and cleans his fingers. He's tempted, looking at the way she's glistening, to lick her some more but the throbbing of his cock in his boxers fights this desire with something that burns stronger. She reaches out for him, drawing Harry closer to her so she can hold him for a moment. He kisses her cheek comfortingly, "Was that okay?" He asks her after some silence as her harboured breathing slowly gains normality.

Anna snorts, sighing deeply. "That was more than okay," She giggles. "That will become a regular thing," She adds as Harry chuckles, "I'm more than happy to oblige," He nods with a smile. "I'm gonna make love to you now."

Harry kisses her as he maneuvers himself to hover above her. He straightens up for a moment to push his boxers down. Anna gets a short glimpse of his cock as it bounces out, curving upward to his navel. Harry takes the tip between his fingers and gives his underside a gentle rub just to give himself a little of the pleasure he's been desperately needing for the last half-hour. Anna spreads her legs again, bent at the knee, as she anticipates feeling Harry inside her for the first time. He presses his tip against her opening, sighing shakily as he glances at Anna to see if she's fine enough for him to continue. Anna winces as he begins to push in.

"You alright?" Harry asks, his concern painting his features when he hears her make a noise.

"Y-Yeah... you're just... really–," She can't finish, because she already feels the uncomfortable stretch from just his tip; she couldn't fathom what it'd feel like to have all of him inside her.

"M'sorry," Harry mumbles, though his modesty is hard for Anna to believe because he can't possibly be seriously apologizing for this. "I can stop if you want, can go back to licking you."

Anna replies by hiking her foot over his bum so she can pull him down further into her. The dull stretch burns, even more, making her moan and pulse around him.

"O-oh-kay," Harry stutters, readjusting himself so he can have more control as he continues to push the rest of himself into her.

When he bottoms out, Anna gasps at the feeling. It's inexplicable, just how full she is. She shuts her eyes and sighs deeply, moaning as she clenches around him. The image above her is no less angelic than the feeling of being this close to Harry. Harry is struggling, he's really trying not to finish so soon because he really wants to make her feel good, and if he finishes now it'll take him a few minutes to recover. But she's so inexplicably tight; she feels so good, he wonders if he'll ever feel true happiness after knowing his pleasure has peaked.

"I love you," Anna breathes right over his neck, sending chills through Harry though it's more to do with hearing her say it to him coupled with being this close to her than the whole physicality of the situation.

"I love you too," Harry returns as he ducks down to kiss her before he begins to pull himself out, stopping until only his tip is inside before pushing back in. He continues moving in and out of her at a snail's pace, wanting to relish in the vice she becomes whenever he fucks deep into her.

"More," Anna whimpers.

"More?" Harry huffs, quickening his pace slightly, "S'that good?"

"Yessss. Moreee," She's well aware how whiney she sounds but she couldn't give less of a shit. Harry is acquainting himself with places within her that's never known another touch, and it's making her question what the hell is this feeling because she's never felt so good before.

"Y'feel so good around me, lovie– fuck," Harry wheezes, "fit so well together, don't we?"

"Hmm, yeah," Anna smiles through the pleasure as she begins to move her hips, following the rhythm of Harry's thrusts. She makes sure to clench when he's pushing into her because it makes his forehead crease and lips part in a whimper of her name that makes her feel good in a different way.

Anna soon feels the coil in her stomach begin to unravel as her whimpering of his name turns into a high whine between moans. "Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, uh, uh, uh, Harry," She repeats, getting louder with each trembling drive of his prick into her. Harry swallows her moans in a kiss, relishing in the way she's tightened around him, but he doesn't want to silent her pretty sounds; her moans, the slapping of their hips, and the squelch of her pussy as she takes his prick. It's bringing him close, fucking her through her orgasm.

"Fuck Harry, fuck, harder," She squeaks, like a little mouse, biting on her lip as she looks up at Harry with her pupils blown out, a little teary, which has made her mascara smudge.

It's her expression, right then, that causes the string holding Harry together to snap. "Fuuuck," he draws the word out as he quickly pulls himself out, wrapping his hand around his soaked cock to finish himself off. His cum spurts out in several strings, connecting with her outer lips and clit. Harry paints his tip through the valley of her pussy, mixing his cum with her juices, making them both shake from the sensitivity and aftershock of their orgasms.

As Harry's about to wipe himself with his boxers, Anna stops him and crawls up onto her knees, pushing him to lay down with a small smile. "Let me," She says as she takes him into her mouth. Harry's eyes widen a little as her fingers gently grasp him. She licks around the shaft first before tending to his balls. "Oh-m'sensitive babe," Harry jolts a little when she suckles on his tip, but she only giggles and gives him a quick, hard suck before popping him out of her mouth. "M'finished, anyway," She says as she moves to lie next to him.

The room smells of sex for the rest of the evening, but Harry's too tired to get up and light some candles; he probably should have done that before they did anything. He's much too comfortable next to Anna on the bed, even though their limbs are quite awkwardly entwined. He knows that if he moves right now the ache in his bones will come back. Sleep dawns on Anna first as her eyes had already felt heavy after her first orgasm, but now she feels soft and warm and fucked out, which are all wonderful ways to get her to fall asleep. Harry chuckles when he notices she's fallen asleep on him, and gently rubs her hip as he kisses her forehead. God, he fucking loves her, Harry thinks to himself as he reaches over her and pulls the sheet over both of them. He turns himself so he's facing her, leaving his arm to drape over her middle as his exhaustion finally overtakes him.

...

The next morning Harry took her again in bed, then she rode him in his chair before he bent her against the shower wall and made love to her in there. It's interesting to her, how different sex can be when it's with someone you truly love. Somehow it's not just the climax that feels good, but to share that intimacy with the love of your life, it somehow elevates that feeling. Anna realized that it's not something she's familiar with because she's never been in love before.

The longer she dwells on it, staring at the hush cheque that Norman had organized for Harry lying on his coffee table untouched, the more she's sure about ending things with Norman once and for all. Her worries about being a hypocrite seemed to dissipate as she stared at the envelope. Its contents, Norman's money, his power, all encased on paper would be the last trace of him ever being in her life. Norman may think he's gotten away with his escapades but here she is, well aware of his affair and still hurting, but she'll get over it and Norman will just have to deal with his losses. Norman will just have to learn that power isn't someone you can go home to, and he'll have to do it by himself.

Next chapter will be posted Oct. 18 at 3pm EST

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry fic #harry styles fic #writing

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harianadimples · 3 years

Text

R O S E S - Chapter IV

WC: 4045 || table of contents || Warning(s): none

Anna stands in front of her mirror, running her fingers through her hair to smooth down the small imperfections she could see. She isn't wearing the same dress she wore to set. Instead, she had slipped into a flutter-sleeved number that was a marigold colour, with a pattern of small white Easter lilies. She knows it's one of her much bolder dresses but it had been collecting dust in the back of her wardrobe waiting to be brought out on the eve of her engagement, but Norman had always voiced how the patterns were an eyesore and how his money would be better spent on the new, more muted dresses that populated the fashion market– like the ones her peers wear. But she bought it anyway (with some money she still had from her talent show exploits) and allowed it to collect dust until she decided tonight it would finally have its moment.

As she's leaving, her sight lingers on Norman who's lying on his stomach sound asleep. She tip-toes through the door and doesn't release the breath she's holding until she's at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

When the doors open, it's Harry inside. He's wearing a pair of grey slacks held up by suspenders with a white shirt tucked in. He seems to be swimming in the maroon cardigan that covers his shoulders seemingly three sizes too big, but nevertheless, it only made his shoulders look broader, yet softened his overall appearance as well. His hair is in an untamed curly state beneath a Houndstooth patterned newsboy cap.

"Hey," Harry greets her with a toothy grin. She smiles and enters the elevator, pressing the ground floor button before standing on his right. "How long do I have you for tonight?" he asks.

"I don't know, an hour, maybe more if you don't bore me," Anna teases as Harry chuckles. "There's only so many places to walk through at this hour, it's hardly my fault. I think I've been a decent tourist guide so far. Do you mind if we stop by my room first?" He asks.

Anna shakes her head. Harry presses the second-floor button. When the elevator stops on his floor, she follows Harry out and walks next to him as he explains his plan for them tonight.

"I was only pulling your leg earlier by the way. You could never bore me," Anna assures him, feeling the need to retract her earlier taunt to appease the niggling guilt in her chest for possibly offending Harry. "I like how you have a new story for the same buildings we walk by. You're a natural storyteller."

"Thank you lovie, but I knew you were only joking," Harry grins and gives her waist a gentle squeeze. They're in front of his door then and he jiggles his key into the slot before pushing the door open. "After you, milady," Harry exaggerates in a posh accent, bringing her to laugh as they both enter.

The room is noticeably smaller than her and Norman's apartment. It's to be expected, being a room on one of the lower level floors; she's sure the rest mirrored the layout of this room. From what she can tell the room had a studio layout. The main part of the room is occupied by a queen-sized bed with twin dark-oak drawers on either side and a single love seat right against the window. There's a relatively small kitchen separated from the main part of the room by a single countertop where she imagines Harry eats his breakfast and dinner. The wardrobe cabinet narrowly fit in the far corner and had some clothes spilling from the slight opening of the panels. There's only one other door in the room which Anna presumes is the bathroom. The room is plainly decorated; if it were up to her she'd try to get more art pieces in the rooms to bring an air of sophistication into the blandness of the décor but Norman didn't like spending more money than needed, and he already felt like he'd given enough to his employees.

"Sorry, it isn't exactly the Palace of Versailles in here," Harry says, having noticed her taking in the state of his room, which made him regret not having her wait outside. She must think he's a slob given the state of his room. "James sometimes stays overnight when he needs company but leaves my room looking like a twister, ate it up and spit it out," he explains.

"That friend of yours, James, he's quite the character," Anna says thoughtfully as she sifts through her recent encounters with the blonde man.

There was a time when she found James in the elevator doing up the zipper of his pants. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, but it was his yawning and the distinct stench of alcohol sinking its teeth into her lungs that gave her an idea of why he appeared so unkempt. She didn't think further of it, after all, she herself was nursing a hangover at the time. He'd been very nice to her on other days, and always cheerful when they talked. Mostly to wish the other a good day since she only ever saw him in the morning. Between James and Harry, she's seen more of Harry even outside of their late-night walks since he'd cover for James sometimes. Anna finds it sweet that Harry is always there for his friend like that, and rarely ever asks for anything in return or complains. He's mostly concerned for his friend's wellbeing, given their circumstances; he knows James is doing his best to cope.

"Funnily enough, he's expressed the same sentiment about you," Harry chuckles. "It changes every time we talk about you. Today he has you envisioned as this untouchable, wingless angel, which is just a normal person if you really think about it."

"You two talk about me often, then?" Anna asks with a short laugh.

"James usually does most of the talking. I reckon he's in love," Harry laughs as well. "I mean, I don't blame him." There it was again. Phrased differently, but the sentiment is there, and it's all Anna hears as she hides her blushing cheeks by turning away from him. "You're only a well-known actress, and by association, the most famous person staying at this hotel. I tell him every time: "It's not true love." At that last throw-away complement, Anna's smile falters a little.

"Then again, I'll tell him anything to get him off my back about you. He swears there's something going on between us. It's become difficult to keep you my little secret," Harry admits as Anna looks at him. She notices he's holding a rose. "I try not to bring you up in our conversations myself because I'm afraid I'll reveal too much about you, and the last thing I want is for James to really fall in love with you. Not just the character he imagines you as, but as the 'Anna' I know. Perhaps I'm a little selfish for thinking this way, but I don't like the idea of sharing you with him in that way. I know that roses are your favourite because well, it's your namesake, and they're the only flower that keeps its beauty even when it dies. I know that you spent most evenings in your teenage years escaping to jazz clubs in London. You wish to become an art collector or become a painter, yourself, so your home didn't feel so cold and barren of you. Your obsession with everything floral would translate well into that. It's already leaked into your fashion sense. You just love what flowers and nature represent: rebirth. You believe in the rebirth of this world so much, hell, you have me convinced that things will get better. I really like that about you, Anna. You see the beauty past death."

As Anna listens to Harry speak she feels something stirring within her that pours over when she takes the rose from him and holds it close to her heart. Shortly thereafter they leave for their walk; Anna is still holding the rose Harry gave her. It's relatively darker outside than usual as the half-crescent moon provided the two with enough light to see their feet tread through the street. Anna stays close to Harry, their arms linked together as they talk about their day.

"The opening show is next month," Anna sighs, "it'll be at the Winter Garden Theatre. Every time I set foot on that stage, even if just for rehearsals, it all feels so surreal."

"You must be very excited then," Harry says.

"Yes, but, it's all very bittersweet. On one hand, I can't wait to perform, but on the other hand, in six months' time I will be moving back to England and preparing a wedding," Anna can't help but frown at the prospect of what she'll be leaving behind when her time in New York ends.

"Neither of those scenarios should be bittersweet to you. You love the stage and your fiancé. I mean, all things considered, don't you?" Harry asks.

"Is it okay if we don't talk about him?" Anna asks.

"Sure lovie," Harry whispers.

...

Harry made every attempt to delay saying goodnight to Anna.

First, he'd stop occasionally to tie his shoes, making sure to take at least half a minute on each shoe (he ties them lazily so they'll eventually come undone again). When he got the impression that she was beginning to catch onto him, he turned to simply walk slower, making up some excuse that his 'bad leg' was not up for a speedy walk tonight. He told longer, more elaborate stories, enjoying both her doe-eyed expression and equally adorable curiosity as she begged for more.

Before either of them realizes, they're back at the hotel.

Harry continues to be sluggish with his actions as he presses the button for the elevator. He leads them inside, pulling her by the hand. He spins her in the middle, taking her by surprise, but she laughs and quickly steps through as the elevator gently shakes with their footwork.

Harry presses the button for her floor. Anna sighs deeply and stands closer to Harry. To accommodate the small space between them, Harry wraps his arms around her (their height difference makes it so his arms cover her shoulders) and lets his hand rest by her waist. She tucks herself right under his chin as they fitted themselves closer together. Her ear is right where his heart is; it's beating very fast. Anna smiles and lets her hand rest on his heart and lets her head rest nearby.

"I'm going to miss you so much," Anna sighs, unable to mask the sadness in her eyes when she looks up at Harry to see what he had to say.

"Don't say goodbye to me just yet lovie, we've still got time," Harry says with a light-hearted laugh, but Anna could see that his smile wasn't quite reaching his eyes. Instead of bantering with him, Anna decides to enjoy their proximity and even tries to squeeze herself closer to him. It's impossible, but Harry isn't complaining.

The elevator jolts to a stop on the seventeenth floor. The doors open behind Anna but she lingers inside the elevator in Harry's arms, wanting nothing more but to stay with Harry and talk about things: random things, unnecessary things, boring things, anything, any excuse just so she doesn't have to say goodnight to him so soon.

"I'll still be here tomorrow, Anna," Harry says as she hums in acknowledgement into his chest. "I know but it's always hard to say goodnight and go," she murmurs, finally moving away from Harry. Before she decides to leave, she stands on her toes and leans into Harry, kissing the corner of his mouth gently. "Goodnight," she tells him with a wistful smile.

As she's about to leave, Harry gently pulls on her arm. She turns, wondering what he wants, but her thoughts are silenced when he cups her face and kisses her.

Harry doesn't care much about whether he's graceful when he finally kisses her, having finally given in to the temptation and his unbridled desire for her. He's a little sloppy, sucking on her bottom lip full of unabashed desire. The rest of his body eventually follows the momentum of his kiss. He stumbles forward but he's quick to push on the wall with one hand so as to not crush her. But a need to be close to her gets the best of him as he presses her up against the other wall, cupping her face to guide the kiss better. The elevator doors close again. It takes him a moment to register that she's kissing him back, whimpering his name into his mouth as he tentatively licks into her mouth, humming deep in his throat. His hands are now wandering her waist, fingernails surely leaving half-crescent moons under her dress that he's careful not to tear, but damn did he want to.

"H-Harry, I h-have to go," she stammers over his lips, each word spaced out by a kitten lick.

"I know, lovie, I know, just give me a moment," Harry mutters, sighing as he nuzzles his nose against hers. "Just–. Let me– let me think up something for later," he says, holding her at arm's width as he takes her in.

Anna isn't too sure what he means by that, but as she takes in her man standing before her, her gaze inevitably reaches the front of his pants where a large bulge has formed. 'He's hard,' she thinks (screams) to herself. Suddenly his request made sense.

"Come 'ere," Harry murmurs. He kisses her again. He's gentle and sweet this time, kissing her slowly, but just as sensually as before. It's not long before they're spending another couple of minutes just kissing in the elevator. The crude sound of their lips smacking did little to settle either of the pair down. For a few moments, they were like two mischievous teenagers, sneaking off to fool around.

"Have I told you that I love you? Because I do," Harry says when they finally part, lips pink and swollen, and still wet as he breathes heavily.

"Kinda," Anna responds, thinking of his speech earlier with a small smile and a short peck on his lips as she holds onto the collar of his shirt. "Think up something good tonight and tell me what you came up with tomorrow," she tasks him while winking before pressing the button to open the elevator doors. She gives Harry one last look before disappearing around the corner.

Instinctively, she quickens her pace. 'I can't believe I said that,' her mind screams as a short giggle comes after. She's usually not the one to provoke a man like that, but something about Harry brought out a nuanced side of her confidence that felt utterly empowered when around him. She's still smiling to herself when she enters her apartment.

Suddenly, the apartment floods with light.

"Where were you?" Norman asks, voice deep and slick with unrest.

"I–I... went for a walk," Anna answers, "it was so hot, I couldn't sleep. I just needed some fresh air, that's all."

"Dressed like that?" Norman asks, doubtfully.

"I'm tired Norman, can we not do this right now?" She asks him calmly, "Let me change and we can go back to sleep."

Anna doesn't wait to hear Norman reply as she walks into their closet, pulling the dress she's wearing off and hanging it back in her wardrobe. She slips on the nightgown she wore before and enters the ensuite to wash her face.

"Were you alone on your walk?" Norman asks from the other room as Anna momentarily freezes.

"Yes," she replies, patting her face and hands dry before entering the bedroom again. She climbs into her side of the bed, pulling the sheet over her legs as she lies on her side so she could face Norman who's laying on his side as well. "I didn't want to wake you," she tells him honestly, but of course, withholding the reason why.

"I'd have rather you woken me up, I would have gone with you. Heaven knows those street rats like to congregate at this kind of hour in and around places like this, hoping to scrounge up a meal from the bins in the alleyways. You could have gotten mugged," Norman huffs.

"Well, I didn't, and would it hurt you to have a little more compassion for those not as fortunate as you and I? You should know that there are other people who work just as hard as you do and earn hardly enough to feed themselves; it's not their fault they're not reaping much in this screwed-up economy," Anna contests.

"They're not my problem to solve, Anna, what do you expect me to do? Feed every hungry mouth? Give every homeless man a room?" Norman asks.

"You could! There's more and enough rooms," Anna says.

"Oh, yes, please, allow me to jeopardize my business to support the entirety of New York City's deprived," Norman's tone is sarcastic as he grumbles, "like I said, Anna, they are not my problem to solve. Don't try to speak on things you clearly don't know anything about, my sweet."

"You could at least treat them with some common decency. They're not any less human because they don't have the privilege to sleep as soundly as you do in this bed wrapped up in Egyptian cotton," Anna says pointedly. "I might not know much about the hotel business, but at least I know how to treat people with kindness. These hard times will pass, but it shouldn't have to kill everyone for it to end. Sympathy is still free."

"You expect too much from this new world Anna," Norman sighs as he shakes his head. "When will you join the rest of us that isn't trying to escape the reality of things? There won't be an end to this suffering anytime soon, and those of us who are lucky to have escaped it shouldn't risk falling into its pitiful ruins. Instead, we should carry ourselves forward, and lead by example."

"You're impossible," Anna huffs as she turns herself around so she doesn't have to look at Norman's impassive expression any longer.

Norman sighs deeply, knowing he upset Anna again, but he's had enough of her naïve charitability. He's already dealing with the tension between his shareholders, and the last thing he needs is to have his image as a well-respected business aficionado suffer under his fiancé's assertion to become some kind of martyr for the city.

...

Norman leaves before Anna the following morning, as he usually does, according to his arrangement with Ginger who usually waits for him at their room on the fourth floor when he's working in his office in the hotel.

"Fourth floor, please," Norman tells the young elevator operator as he steps inside. He takes a few short minutes descending each floor to check his appearance. He makes sure his suit is tidy, that not a single hair on his head looked out of place, and then his breath, to which the operator next to him offered him a mint. "Thank you," Norman says as the young man nods curtly.

"No problem, sir," James replies.

Norman exits on the fourth floor and makes his way to the last room at the end of the hall. He knocks in an old tune, one that served to let him and Ginger know it was the other on the other side. Within a few seconds, the door opens.

"About time," Ginger purrs as she takes Norman by the length of his tie, pulling him in through the door.

...

Norman finishes redressing himself and leans over to kiss Ginger one last time.

"Hmmm, you haven't fucked me that hard in a while," Ginger points out before lighting a cigarette. "Another fight with the missus, I presume." She blows out a cloud of smoke.

"She isn't my missus yet," Norman says, shaking his head as he stands. Looking down at Ginger who's giving him a look that says, does that detail really matter, he sighs, "We've still got time."

"You should go before you run into each other. She'll likely be on her way out now," Ginger says.

Norman nods and lets Ginger be. They've timed their rendezvous well. In the mornings, Ginger will arrive at the room before him. To ensure that her arrival wouldn't be met with speculation he negotiated hush money with the ground-level staff. Norman usually leaves for work before Anna needs to leave anyway, so they've avoided suspicion so far. They only need to make sure that neither Norman nor Ginger run into Anna on her way out. Surely, she'd suspect the worse, and she wouldn't be wrong.

Norman tries to make himself look as if he hadn't just been fucked. He exits into the hall when he sees there's no one else around. He makes his way towards the elevators and presses the button going down.

When the elevator opens, he sees that it's the same elevator operator from earlier. There's disappointment hiding in the young man's expression as he quietly murmurs a greeting to Norman, a stark contrast to his previous lively behaviour. The man looks heartbroken.

"Ground floor," Norman tells him.

The doors close behind Norman as he finds himself a spot near the back. At ground level, the guests began to empty out. He's about to join the rest when he spots a familiar head of hair just to the left of him.

"Shit, shit, shit," he mutters under his breath as he quickly darts behind a large plant. Hopefully, Anna didn't see him.

"You can elaborate on that dream of yours tonight," Norman hears her say.

"If you insist, it's hardly a dream worth telling. I'd rather I show it to you," a man replies.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, I'm steering the car here," she laughs softly.

"Yes, ma'am, well, have a good day," the man says.

Norman watches as Anna walks towards the front doors. He spots William, her manager, waiting behind the glass with her bodyguards. Now he's confused. Who the hell was she talking to? Their conversation topic seemed too coincidental for it to not be relevant to her coming home so late from a 'walk' she'd insisted she went alone on.

Instead of walking through the lobby towards his offices, he retreats into the elevator, wanting the comfort of some silence while he thought more about the conversation he'd just overheard between his fiancée and this mystery man. He glances at the elevator operator next to him and hums thoughtfully. "What's your name, kid?" he asks the man.

"James, sir," the young operator replies.

"James. Tell me, James, how often do you operate the elevators?" He asks.

"I only work the morning shift, sir," James says.

"So, you wouldn't happen to know who operates the elevator in the evening, I presume," Norman says.

"Oh, that would be Harry Styles, sir. Only, he operates the elevator in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon as well. He's quite lucky... in that regard," James mutters. Norman nods understandingly.

He supposes he'll have to ask this Harry fellow about his fiancée's whereabouts the previous night. The elevator soon opens again for more guests. Norman clears his throat and proceeds to leave, making his way across the lobby (greeting the staff he happens to pass by) to his offices.

...

The elevator stops on the fourth floor. The chime of its arrival following the sound of metal grazing against each other as the doors slid open, brings Harry back from his daydream about Anna. In walks, the familiar ginger-haired woman who he recalls having seen the previous week asks for the same floor.

"Ground floor please," she says with her head bowed as she's fixing the buttons on her blouse, yet the stench of her cigarette breath still managed to waft into Harry's nose.

Next chapter will be posted Oct. 11 at 3 pm EST

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #writing

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harianadimples · 3 years

Text

R O S E S - CHAPTER III

WC: 1356 || table of contents || Warning(s): none

Their evening strolls became a nightly engagement, albeit one that required more effort on her part. They could only meet after Harry's night shifts ended, while Anna sometimes was at her apartment by mid-afternoon or slightly later. This left Anna to herself, needing to wait for Harry before she could tell him about her day. Though, sometimes she'd make up a reason to use the elevator just to see him for a few minutes.

Seeing Harry became somewhat of a necessity for Anna. She couldn't put her confounding feelings into words, but the yearning and need to be around Harry was always there and intensified whenever she was away from him. Each walk seemed to grant her more access to his elusive soul. She's learned enough about him from that first night to know he's the kind of person who truly cares about everyone around him, and would gladly put anyone else's wants and needs before his own, not to appease his ego, but to see to it that they are content in themselves. Though that is not to say that Harry is a pushover. He's capable of speaking his mind with the competence of knowing the proper time and place to say and do the right things. There's been more than a few times when Anna's blinded by her privilege, and Harry is there to pull the Persian rug beneath her feet to let her land on the cold concrete of reality. While he can be rude and harsh at certain times, he's equally gentle and kind. She didn't think men like Harry still existed. The kind of man to be well rounded in his interests, who bares himself so willingly as he does emotionally, who preserves his humanity when too many have fallen off their moral bearings, who's naturally as charming as he is that he somehow knows exactly what to say when she speaks to him.

And frankly, he's quite handsome as well, but not in the traditional sense. He helms a sense of effeminate beauty in his features which Anna felt oddly drawn to. She finds her speech catching in her throat whenever he speaks. His voice tended to be much deeper when it was worn out, but would rise in pitch when he wanted to express more energetically. It was quite pretty, which was another thing about her thoughts of Harry that she felt was odd because she didn't normally think much of another's voice unless they were singing. She did once catch Harry humming a tune when she rode the elevator and gathered he had the ability to sing too– another point for him if she were counting. She was right, and one night he sang the song he'd been humming, a lullaby that his mother used to sing for him.

"My mother never sang lullabies to me," She admitted to him. To which, he responded, by singing louder.

Harry always knew what to do at the proper time and place.

Norman didn't know much about this part of her life. When they first met when she was thirteen, he was hardly interested in her as he was several years older, but when she grew older and eventually their paths met again on the eve of her nineteenth birthday, a relationship between them was formed. Their first date was hardly a fairy tale dream; she only recalls a simple dinner full of him talking about himself, and then him taking her against the wall of his ensuite later that night. Their relationship began very frivolously and raunchy, and in a way, an act of defiance against the standard her mother upheld for her for years. He offered her a cushion of comfort for years, never really allowing her to fall and learn to get up by herself.

With her career pretty much solidified for long-term success, more of Anna was expected, and she believed she was prepared. If only her fiancé saw the same amount of potential within her that Harry did.

Whenever the weight of her obligations begins to wear her down, Harry is the first person she turns to for strength. Sometimes she doesn't have to reach out to him because he'll see her and just know that she isn't feeling well, and they'll walk for a little longer that night.

Norman didn't suspect a thing. He was either not home or when he was home, too tired to sense that Anna had left their bedroom. He hasn't touched her in weeks. Normally she'd be upset. In the beginning, she'd been furious, but now, it's something she'd like to remain for them, at least until she's sure that he hasn't laid with someone else or that her confounding feelings towards not wanting to sleep with her fiancé were resolved.

...

"Good afternoon Anna," Harry greets her when she enters the elevator one afternoon.

She's just come back from an early call-time and appeared worn out but content as she greets him with the same cheerful expression, "Hey Harry," she reaches into her purse and pulls out something wrapped in thin wax paper, "it's a bunch of finger sandwiches from craft services. I wasn't sure if you had a chance to eat during your break. I know you're not getting a free meal anymore because of the shortages," Anna says somewhat apologetically as she holds the package out to Harry.

"I'm not doing this because I pity you or anything, but I remember you saying you like the cucumber ones here so I made sure to get a lot of those for you. You can share the rest among your friends if you'd like."

"Thank you, lovie," Harry chuckles as he takes the sandwiches from her.

They're not alone in the elevator for much longer, as a second person joins them. Anna, still staring mindlessly at Harry, sees his expression twist into a smile. "James," he nods at the man who had entered the elevator, "aren't you supposed to be somewhere else right now?"

"I thought I'd pay my good friend a visit. I haven't seen much of you lately. Oh, Ms. Rose, what a pleasant surprise," The man, James, says.

Anna glances at Harry, then at James who she struggles to recognize. Though by him referring to James as his good friend she assumes Harry must have mentioned him before. Perhaps this is the other elevator operator Harry had once talked about; the figure in his stories was described as a carefree, free-spirited individual.

"James is the one I told you he thinks about you when he plays with himself," Harry suddenly says.

"Harry!" James cries out and glares at his 'friend,' while Anna struggles to keep herself composed as she looks at Harry with a confused yet amused expression. "Pardon me miss Rose, but I deeply apologize for the lies this one has told you about me," James says. She looks towards him and watches as he quickly leaves the elevator.

"Was any part of that true?" Anna asks Harry when the elevator doors close on them again.

"Which part?" Harry asks.

"Has he really... thought about me?" Anna asks him, her eyes burrowing into his own for a sliver of truth in his answer.

"Yes, but can you blame him?" Harry replies, that devilish grin of his returning as he reaches over her shoulder to press the seventeenth button.

"Do you think about me?" Anna asks.

"I wonder sometimes if you're having a better day than I am, especially when Sir Henry and his gestation poison the air in here," Harry says.

His response is admittedly disappointing, which leaves Anna unsettled with herself. Why did she want to hear Harry admit that she thinks of him when he plays with himself? He's just her friend, and friends don't have thoughts like these about the other. The elevator suddenly feels very hot, and Anna is more than glad to feel the light shining on her when the elevator doors open on the seventeenth floor.

"I'll see you tonight," Harry says, his innocent words, for a moment, flashing as pure filth in her mind as she nods slowly.

The next chapter will be posted on Oct. 4 at 3 pm EST

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry fanfic #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #writing

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harianadimples · 3 years

Text

R O S E S - CHAPTER II

WC: 3.2k || table of contents || Warning(s): suicide ideation

Harry is quite lucky, he thinks. He considers the circumstances that led him to need to leave school to provide for his family. It's only his mother and sister now; his father had perished in the war, leaving their family with virtually nothing but debt. Furthermore, in the bleakness of this great depression, he considers himself quite lucky in that when he arrived in New York prepared to work the lowest of jobs he had instead managed to be employed in one of Norman Gates' lavish hotels– one of few that remained in the larger part of the city, in fact.

Of course, 'elevator operator' was not in Harry's mind when he was told verbatim from Margaret, his supervisor, that a position at the hotel was recently available; the previous employee took his own life the day before he started. Harry figured from the rush of it all that the position was probably decent, but even if the title didn't immediately amuse him, he reaped the benefits that were included. The pay wasn't too bad, enough to send most to his family while he kept just enough to keep himself fed; Mr. Gates was evidently a generous man and provided his employees with their own room at the hotel, and one hot meal every workday. So really, Harry couldn't complain at all about being an 'elevator operator'. That didn't mean he didn't have difficult days. In the remnants of an ill-fated world, Harry found personal solace in books. His earliest memory is of his mother reading to him. He must have been around four when his mother came into his bedroom one night with Jean-Jacques Rousseau's, Reveries of The Solitary Walker, and proposed she read it to him. He recalls the scent of his mother's perfume, a sedative mix of vanilla and floral notes that bloomed under his nose as she held him close to her heart. It was a stark contrast to how his father tended to smell like the factory when he came into his room to tell him stories. Harry used to think he had never received the news of his father's death and he had been so young, so it'd been easy for him to grieve his father, but it'd come to him that night in the form of his mother reading to him, and he supposes it's the gentlest way for a child to learn about death without really addressing it.

Harry leaves the locker room after his shift ends, dressed in his civic attire now as he heads to his room on the second floor. It's one in the morning, but first, he wants to head up to the roof like he usually does every night for a smoke. He gets off on the seventeenth floor and takes the rest of the stairs leading up to the roof. It's windy when he pushes through the door. The gravel crunches under his footsteps as he walks forward, taking in the night sky and the city below him while reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter.

When he lights the cig, he takes a long drag and exhales deeply, closing his eyes as he treats the cycle as a form of meditation after a long day. He looks around again, making his way to his usual spot (an old billboard advertising the old Nightfall swing club that shut down several years before) where he'd sit and contemplate on his future, his family, and the struggles in between.

What he does not expect to find is a weeping woman standing at the edge of the building holding onto an iron support beam of the billboard above them.

Her back is to him, her body shaking in sync with her woeful crying, her shoulders visibly shrinking her body like a little mouse. Harry knows the familiar situation far too well; he's heard of it and has seen it himself.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you alright?" Harry teeters on the question as he takes in the fact that the woman was merely in her nightgown: an ivory silk dress that fell to her mid-thigh, barely catching the moonlight. Another question catches in his throat as the young woman turns. "Ms. Rose," he speaks softly with caution as he sees how distraught she is by her expression. Her pink cheeks are wet with her tears, her eyes pinched to accommodate her strain to not appear like she's distressed, but it's too late as Harry can hear the pain in her voice. "Oh, I'm fantastic," she rasps, cynicism clearly in her tone as she wipes furiously at her eyes.

She doesn't look anything like the kind and cheerful woman who's been taking his elevators every day; he doesn't even recall anything that gave away an inclination for raising concern for her wellbeing.

His feeling of surprise turns into empathy almost immediately.

The state of the times they're in. He gets it.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologizes, "it's rather chilly tonight, isn't it? Not quite the weather you'd expect this early in September."

Harry approaches the edge but keeps about an arm's distance away from her. He takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in the other direction as he waits for her to say something. Nothing. Harry wracked his brain for something else to say that may bring her back down to earth.

"The street isn't as far down as you think it is," Harry tells her, making eye contact with her glassy eyes that are questioning him both in disbelief and confusion. "I've done the math," he explains, "this is a 17-story building, and including the extra story designated for the set of stairs to reach the roof we're about 130 feet to 135 feet high, give or take. If we're to be rational about what we expect to come from falling from this height, we should first consider the relative circumstance that would ensure a quick, painless death. The mess is ultimately out of our control, but we should be considerate towards whoever must clean us off the streets and try to fall near a fire hydrant. Now, I reckon our best chance is to nosedive–."

"Why are you talking like that?" Anna cut him off.

"Like what?" He asks.

"You keep saying we... us... our," she notes, "I was here first. I'm going down alone."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," Harry shakes his head, "according to my job description I'm to be at my post during each hour to assist and accompany our guests to whichever floor they require. You intend on going to the ground floor, and so I will be going down with you."

"You're an absolute idiot," Anna retorts through a snort, rolling her eyes, "you work the bloody elevator, it's hardly a distinguished career. I even doubt it's in your job description to weigh the odds with a guest on the rooftop of the hotel, so do us both a favour and go home. Spare me the feelings of guilt for bringing you down with me."

"Or... you come down... with me to the lounge café, where it isn't chilly, and we can eat all the mini cheesecake we want. I know Pedro keeps a few for himself every day."

Pedro is the hotel's head chef, who's known for his sweet tooth as much as appearances, which is why his cheesecakes were well scouted by most guests who stay. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who didn't love his cheesecake.

"I do love Pedro's cheesecake," Anna confirms his thought verbatim.

"You're going to have to come off that ledge if you want cheesecake, or I'll just eat them all myself," Harry tells her.

"You wouldn't," Anna turns around and stomps in Harry's direction as she contests his threat, poking him in the chest, "I'm only ever allowed to have one every other Saturday, and I literally live here. Hell, I'm engaged to the owner of this place. I should have some leeway around here."

"I suppose you should if that's so," Harry says.

"I'll have some cheesecake. I'll be violating part of my contract, but to hell with it! This is a protest. I have every right to my daily cheesecake even if it breaches my dietary plan," Anna mutters as she storms past Harry.

"You have one?" Harry questions in slight shock, though he can't help the smile creeping on his face, pride clear in his expression. He puts out his cigarette, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he follows Anna inside.

...

"What did you say your name was?" Anna mumbles her question through cheeks full of cheesecake.

"I didn't. My name's Harry," he happily replies.

"Harry, Ha-rr-y, H-arr-y," Anna repeats his name several times, drawing each syllable out as Harry quietly indulges in the sound of her pretty voice.

"I suppose you already know who I am," Anna sighs, tipping the rest of her wine into her mouth as she looks at Harry expectantly. He's swirling the wine in his glass, watching a whirlpool form as he thinks deeply about her. Suddenly he sets down the glass then makes eye contact with her again. He dives forward, pushing his right arm out then straightens himself up again, breathing heavily before uttering, "Thank you," in what she sees as a terrible impression of her (no matter how true). "You're an ass," she mutters, shaking her head while holding back a smile.

"I thought I was an absolute idiot," Harry says with an evident grin.

"That too," she rolls her eyes, "but now a drunk one. An absolute drunken idiot who's gone ahead and eaten the last cheesecake even though he promised to split it with me!"

"Oh–so–ee," Harry seems to try and apologize through full cheeks as Anna shakes her head, "It's fine, I'm not that heartbroken over it. But you owe me."

Harry washes the rest of the cheesecake down with wine, looking towards Anna who had fallen silent but still attentive to him. When their eyes meet, no words are exchanged but some questioning looks instead, yet neither wanted to ruin the peace by talking.

It's currently a quarter to three, and they're in one of the booths in the empty lounge café, both full of cheesecake and warm from the wine. Harry knows he'll have to sit through a lecture from Margaret in the morning if she notices him sliding down the elevator wall from exhaustion and being hungover so he limits himself to two glasses, meanwhile Anna seems to intend on finishing the rest of the bottle. He assumes Anna probably had a day off the next day, and those come rarely for someone like her, so he understands why if so she'd want to let loose like this.

"Harry?" She asks softly, "Do you have someone to go home to?"

"Home as in here where I live? Or home as in where I'm from?" Harry asks.

"Suppose I should have asked you what home is for you," Anna sighs, "I don't quite know myself to be honest and wanted to hear your opinion on that."

"Well, I think home is someplace where you feel safe and embraced, and loved. Like you wouldn't rather be anywhere else. It's someplace or someone that's made you so happy, so sure of everything you feel, that you feel drawn to it. For me it's the house I grew up in; my mother and sister are still there. But right now, home for me is this hotel; my room is on the second floor. I'm here to do my job so I can do my part in providing for my family. It's difficult to find work outside of the city because it'd require one to move away, so I offered. It allowed my sister to continue with her studies, and my mother not to worry about the shadier men from the city taking advantage of her."

"That's admirable Harry, really," Anna sighs deeply, "I fear that I may have offended you earlier by implying that your career wasn't distinguished. I truly apologize for what I said."

"It's alright. And I hardly disagree with you," Harry says, "being an elevator operator is not as fanciful as being an actress."

"You get to know all sorts of people," Anna disagrees.

"Do you not meet people as an actress?" Harry questions.

"Oh, you do, but to know someone is truly different. I may be revealing a secret of the industry, but honestly, a lot of it is for show. The glitz and glamour of Hollywood are quite sinister. After all, it's first and foremost a business. You can imagine how tiresome it can be to put up a façade to appeal to every prospect producer or director, and other actors and actresses. Everyone's trying their hardest to impress their superiors, befriend some of their colleagues to make your way up the ladder. Some might even try to sabotage some of their peers on the way there. You're hard-pressed to find a true friend in this industry who isn't trying to be close to you for fame or money or any of that sort. That's not including the strict rules provided by management that you have to adhere to such as maintaining a certain image, following a dietary plan, a required appearance to every socialite event, all while following a strict work schedule."

"I suppose that's enough to push someone over the edge," Harry nods solemnly as he listens to Anna go on.

"I hardly get any time for myself, which is ironic to want when my bastard fiancé is never home, probably out fucking Ginger again," Anna spits as she grips the neck of the wine bottle. "You know, he promised tonight he'd be home early so we can go out for dinner to celebrate how well I've been doing. But you know what he did? He didn't even bother coming home! Didn't bother to ring the lobby to let me know he wasn't coming home. He had one of his secretaries call me well past the hour he said he'd be home! But it's fine! I couldn't have had a better evening."

Harry is driven to silence by her venting. He watches as she drinks straight from the wine bottle, his eyes widening when she does so for several seconds.

"I'm just tired," she admits quietly, "so tired."

"Would you like me to bring you up to your room?" Harry asks.

She rolls her eyes, and softens the creases in her forehead as she looks at Harry who looks at her with an expression that seems to say, I know what you really meant, but you don't have to say more if you don't want to. It isn't a look of pity, and that alone brings a small smile to her face as she sighs deeply, "I'd like some fresh air first. It appears as if the wine has caught up with you," she giggles as Harry yawns.

"No, no I'm fine," Harry coughs and finishes the rest of his wine. He quickly cleans their mess, hiding the evidence of their late-night tryst before he takes Anna by her hand. "You've got two feet lovie, do you remember how to use 'em?" He teases her when she stumbles slightly into him upon standing.

Anna scoffs, pushing Harry back making him chuckle. Gravity makes it so he brings her with him as he's holding her. Anna needs more help than Harry does, and finds it more comfortable for her to hook her arm around his, while his hands keep a careful clutch around her elbow.

...

The sun is rising when they return.

The city is waking up. Harry rarely gets to see the sunrise; he thinks these simple pleasures are reserved for those men in suits who need to rise before the sun to do their jobs. On the days when he operates the elevator in the early morning, the sun is already half risen, and he only sees a framed glimpse of it whenever the elevator opens on the seventeenth floor (the other floors open to mirrors or a wall). To watch the sunrise, feeling its warmth bringing the city to life, next to the young woman still holding his arm, overshadows the throbbing beat in his temple.

They had walked the entire night. At some point in silence, but for the most part, they talked about almost everything. He learned that Anna was the third born in her family, raised by her single mother with her two sisters who were also interested in the performing arts but Anna had been her mother's only golden goose, as Anna put it. Her mother had her doing small appearances, usually talent shows or market showcases, for any amount of money since she was three. This was until she was scouted when she was thirteen, at which then she was put under the care of her management and studio. She knew Norman then, not as the neurotic hotel chain owner he is today, but as the prodigal son of Alastair Gates, and a close confidant of the studio executives. Apparently Norman once had a heart, but since the market crash he'd become an entirely different person; a product of the times, Anna and Harry both agreed.

Harry had once admired the man; respected him for how he kept his business afloat, all without mistreating his employees, but he's wary of whether he still feels the same way.

While he is a good businessman, Norman doesn't seem to know how to love. Of course, Harry doesn't want to upset Anna by admitting her fiancé's one fault to her, but he figures she knows as much in her heart but refuses to accept it. He can't imagine being in Norman's position, having a fiancé as beautiful, and charismatic, and funny, and strong-willed as Anna, and not be satisfied. How could he turn away from someone as naturally illuminative as Anna? Who or what could be worth Norman's time, and how could he allow it a place above this angel? Nonetheless, Harry is somewhat thankful for Norman's shortcoming as it's allowed him to know Anna on a deeper level and not just as the Hollywood actress who resides on the seventeenth-floor presidential suite.

Harry doesn't step out with her when they reach her floor, opting instead to give her a gentle smile and reassuring pat on her hand as he listens to her thank him for listening to her. "The pleasure was all mine," he tells her.

"I–I don't have many friends; I rarely get a chance to speak and have someone truly listen; no one seems to really care about what I say. I suppose I'm wondering– I'm asking if– do you mind if we do this again," She asks him timidly, appearing like an angel against the sun shining through the window behind her.

Harry chuckles and nods, "I'm always here," he says, "lucky for you, sharing delightful conversations with guests to lift their spirits happen to be in my job description! But, I'll happily listen to you babble on, laugh, cry, and yell about the latest gossip."

His response makes Anna genuinely smile as she steps out of the elevator.

"Thank you, Harry, really," she says as the elevator doors begin to slide close.

The next chapter will be posted on Sept. 27 at 3 pm EST.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #writing

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harianadimples · 3 years

Text

R O S E S - CHAPTER I

WC: 3K+ || Table of Contents || Warning(s): tones of toxic relationship(s)

Anna lies comfortably still in bed, ruminating on the events of that morning. She faces the nineteenth-century mahogany clock on their nightstand; she's been in this position since waking up this morning.

Her slumber had been interrupted by her fiancé's voice resonating from the other room. Blinking away her sleepiness, the time on the clock read only an hour before she planned to bound, but she knew when Norman stepped into the room, shutting the door loudly behind him, that he wasn't in the mood to listen to her complain, and frankly she didn't feel up to arguing with him again over the etiquette of allowing people resting to rest. Without so much as a 'good morning,' Norman approached her with a pinched expression, his hair already sticking out every which way from pulling at the ends, and the shirt she'd ironed for him the night before looked like a wrinkled mess hanging over his undone pants. Before she could question his appearance and why he'd disturbed her sleep, he crawled over her body, still wrapped in their bedsheets, and pulled the bundle loose enough so her backside was exposed to him. Anna recognized the low hum coming from behind her, and the familiar feeling pressing into her centre now exposed as Norman hiked her nightdress over her waist.

"Norman," she mumbled, voice slick with the fact she'd just woken up.

Norman silenced her with a kiss, immediately digging his tongue into her mouth with a satisfied moan. He pulled away to nip at her nose as he chuckled lowly, "C'mon Anna dear."

"I'm tired Norman," she sighed, but Norman wasn't having it. He knew how to get her.

"Suppose I'll see if Ginger is available then," Norman baited her with the name of his personal assistant, knowing it'd upset her. When Anna turned to him she slapped his chest hard, but Norman didn't flinch and was rather amused seeing the jealousy stirring in his lover's pretty eyes as they glared at him.

"You promised you'd fire her and never see her again," she heeds the way he reacts and how he speaks, waiting for something to seep through the cracks of his practiced grin.

"I did, and I won't," Norman murmured, "now, let me show you how much I love you, and how sorry I am– show you how no one, not even Ginger, can fuck me as good as you do."

From there Anna fell under Norman's curse again.

...

Anna did not realize she had fallen asleep until she suddenly jolted awake naturally. She checks for the hour and sighs deeply as she rises. Her body is still sore. She stretches as she makes her way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Anna runs herself a bath, discarding the silky nightdress into the hamper before soaking herself in the warm rose water. She makes the effort to relax, knowing her schedule for the day (a mix of recording at the studio and rehearsals for her performance) would be hectic. With it being her first Broadway stint Anna knows she's guilty of prioritizing her career over her future husband, but it's 1937 and Anna can't help but feel drawn to the changes that are stirring the pot of normal she's become tired of. She's incredibly lucky to have survived this far. She recalls her explosive argument with Norman over her job, how his fragile masculinity bore through his angry tirade like the new diamond on her finger; a shiny promise that came after his infidelity, which serves as an incessant reminder of how her shortage of attention for Norman led to him cheating.

With the jewels, he draped over her heart came his agreement to support her dreams. They moved from their lavish home in the British countryside to the vivacious city of downtown Manhattan, New York into the penthouse suites of one of the hotels Norman owned. The Gates Hotels company was one of few businesses to helm from the market crash relatively redeemable. Norman often credited his father, Alastair, for saving the company in '29 though by his death in '31 Norman had already become the de-facto owner and CEO of his father's company. It's undeniable that Norman is an intelligent and competent businessman, but Anna still had her qualms about Norman. Nevertheless, she kept them to herself to lessen the already burdensome strain suffocating them from the aftermath of the market crash.

Anna exits the bath and slips on a robe. She enters through the bedroom and into her and Norman's closet, wherein the corner hung by a metal hanger is the floral dress she'd pressed the night before. Anna favoured more unusual prints that defined her personality while still being on-trend. Today's dress helmed the essence of a Monet, one of her favourite artists. She slips the dress on and stands in front of the mirror, taking in the dress with admiration twinkling in her eyes. The wide sleeves give the illusion of angel wings, a cape effect that compliments the slender bias cut of the dress as it falls just below her knees. Anna caps off her appearance with a dusting of a light-brown eyeshadow and mascara. Then comes her favourite part of her routine: her lips. She bought her first tube of lipstick with her first paycheque (she was thirteen when she was signed by the studio) and since then the crimson pigment became a staple in her routine. She dusts some rouge on her cheeks to bring some life back into her face and runs her eyes over her appearance one last time before deciding she looks decent enough. Her hair's somewhat dry now as she combs through it with a brush so it would look neater once it dries completely; her hair would be handled by the team responsible once she arrives at the studio– her makeup, however, is entirely her own (a condition she made early in her career). In the meantime, she eats breakfast in the kitchen as she reads over her script.

...

Anna is aware she's running late as she sprints for the elevator, instinctively diving her hand through the closing space, anticipating a new bruise for her makeup artists to hide again, but another arm appears and pushes against the weight of the sliding door. It gives Anna a moment to stumble into the elevator, breathless and rather shaken, but she quickly composes herself and faces the stranger who held the elevator for her.

"Thank you," She says, smiling at the man standing by the buttons. His velvet coat and pressed pants provided the title of his elevator operating position. His perfectly quaffed hair and green eyes are what she notices next, as they seem to softly question her presence.

"Floor, ma'am?" He asks quietly, timidly, as his gloved index finger hovers over the panel of buttons.

Anna blushes, realizing it's probably why he's staring at her, "Oh, yes, the ground floor, please," she says after a painful minute.

He smiles at her answer, revealing a dimple on his left cheek, but she reckons it might be forced because he doesn't say much after pressing the button and moves to stand straighter by the button panel as the elevator descends.

When the elevator doors open again on the ground floor, she is immediately greeted by her manager and a slew of men standing outside with their cameras. "There you are, Anna!" William shouts as he links his fingers under her elbow and pulls her along, "You do realize how terrible the traffic is at this hour, and you're due on set in thirty minutes and have yet to have your hair done and costume changed!"

"My apologies William, I lost track of time," Anna says, placing a pair of frames of the bridge of her nose while muting her true complaint of how sluggish she's been feeling; feeling both up to work in what she believes is her childhood dreams, but also wanting to run away and live in a small village working in a bakery or something less debilitating like it.

"As the star of the show you must realize your responsibilities, and something must be done about the weight you've been gaining. You have an image to uphold! I will not allow you to turn into those bottom feeders." William continues as they walk to the car waiting out front, but his words begin to fade in Anna's mind as she tunes him out in favour of daydreaming about a life where she was a star, only liberated and in control, like stars in space; oh, how she envies them. Sometimes she felt as if she were in a chokehold by her manager, by the studio, by Norman, by her own mind, but soon she'll finally take that leap off the edge and get her well-deserved rest.

...

Harry holds the elevator for three beats, long enough for his distilled eagerness to watch the young woman walk away. He very well knows who the woman is– Anna Rose is her name, a name as soft and sweet as hers is difficult to forget without pardoning the fact she's a movie star.

He's never seen her movies (the luxury simply wasn't in his budget), but he did once get to see her sing when she performed for the hotel staff one Easter. He remembers it well because he didn't expect such a voice to come from someone so small, and she was pleasant to the ears, not like their resident entertainment, an operatic Frenchman by the name Theroux L'Amelie, who was never Harry's first choice for 'easy listening' in the first place. That had been the one and only time he heard her sing; his first taste of the Anna Rose, who remains as elusive to him now as she did that night. He's heard her name thrown around the common room between the bell boys and the concierges, and from James (his best friend and another kindred soul who's fallen for her charm), from whom he learned that Anna would be staying in the building with Mr. Gates indefinitely while she works on her latest project. The news carried through the building quickly, stirring nervousness and excitement among the workers.

James, having seen Anna exit Harry's elevator, waits until she is well enough away before slipping into the elevator with Harry. "Is it not my luck that she's late today," James drawls sarcastically, "she took your elevator instead of mine."

"Ironically, if you weren't late today I wouldn't have had to take your place," Harry says with a light chuckle, though he doesn't completely express the level of gratitude he has for the universe for having had his back.

"Never the matter, tomorrow I'll be early. Did she say anything to you?" James asks.

"Well, she thanked me for keeping the door from shutting. She seemed like she was in a rush; probably running late. She eventually asked for the ground floor," Harry explains as he recalls her appearance in his mind. He hadn't expected her to be so– dishevelled wasn't the right word– but it did take her a while to decide on the ground floor; her doe eyes blatantly staring at him also kept his mind quite disarrayed. But he kept calm and asked her politely what floor she wanted and she eventually answered. The ride was quiet but nice, and she was very nice. Nicer than most people of her stature who've come through the building.

"Man, what I wouldn't do just to have another second with her," James sighs.

Harry nearly voices his agreement, but he remembers he's just had a few minutes alone with her and figures it isn't what James wants at that moment. Instead, he offers James reassurance, "Your time will come again," he tells James.

Upon seeing a guest approach the elevators, James and Harry cordially end their conversation with a tip of their hats before James leaves the elevator. The young woman enters the elevator and murmurs the number 'four' to Harry as she crosses her arms and sinks into the back corner of the elevator. Harry nods and selects the floor for the woman. Harry steals a glance at the woman, worrying himself over and over why the woman looked so familiar to him. He tries to recall a recent ginger-haired woman he's met in the last few days, but can't seem to figure it out.

...

It's the end of another exhausting day. Anna lingers outside the hotel to sign some autographs. William is nearby while two of her bodyguards (upon Norman's insistence) remain a step away from her. She grits each smile and softly giggles at every comment spoken to her by the one's barking her name instead of answering directly to their pestering. She keeps her comments short and sweet, and tries to keep her attention on those she perceives are her true fans and aren't photographers eager for a good picture to inevitably sell.

"Alright folks, that's it for today! Ms. Rose needs her rest," William steps in and it's as if on cue, one of her bodyguards began to guide her into the building while the other kept the crowd back.

"I can go on alone from here, thank you, Robert, you may go," Anna tells the guard who's with her as he walks with her through the lobby.

"Have a good night then Ms. Rose," Robert says.

"Again, Robert, it's just Anna," she smiles as he nods shyly. "Let Eric know he may leave as well once the crowd dissipates."

Anna presses the up button and waits as the elevator chimes quietly for each floor it passes.

"Anna," she hears William call for her, and turns, "tomorrow's call time is the same as today. Don't be late this time."

"I won't, I promise," Anna reassures him, "I'll be outside, in front of the hotel before you arrive."

"I'll hold you to that promise," William says in a teasing manner as Anna laughs softly, nodding.

"Excuse me, ma'am," A voice interrupts, and it's then Anna realizes the elevator is there, so she apologizes to the operator quickly as she steps in. She waves to William as the doors begin to close. But as they do, another arm reaches between the sliding doors to stop them which startles Anna. She sees that it's Dolores, one of the concierges with a pile of letters between her arms.

"Sorry for startling you miss Rose, but mail arrived for you earlier today. Glad, I caught you before you went up," Dolores says with a nervous laugh as she hands Anna her letters with shaking hands. She's surprised when Anna takes the letters along with her hands and gives them a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you so much, Dolores," she says sincerely, "has Norman arrived yet?" she then asks.

"I don't believe so," Dolores shakes her head.

"Oh, alright, thank you," Anna says.

As Dolores leaves the elevator the doors begin to close again. Anna looks at the elevator operator who's been waiting patiently in his own quiet world watching her speak with Dolores, though when she looks at him his eyes snap back down to the floor which makes her smile to herself because it's a sight she's not used to (people tend to stare at her; men, in particular, lack any shame for it and tend to think she's feigning interest just by looking back at them in question, but this one seemed different). She realizes it's the same man from earlier operating the elevator, making her own cheeks redden upon further realizing it's the second time he's seen her flustered.

"Thank you for holding the elevator again–" "Oh– no worries," he says right as Anna speaks. He nervously apologizes, envying the dead, while pressing her floor number. She raises her eyebrow at his intuition but doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride up.

"Have a good night," he says, holding his breath afterwards as she brushes past him, shooting him directly in the heart as she murmurs goodnight to him as well.

...

When the elevator shuts again, Harry leans himself against the elevator wall for a moment, needing to compose himself as he revels in his luck. Meeting her once did him in, but to have spent another moment with her, though as fleeting as the first, Harry's sure he's going to enjoy the next few months.

...

Anna is nearly asleep when she hears the tap running in the other room. 'Norman must be home,' she thinks to herself as she blinks at the ceiling worriedly.

The pitter-patter of his feet against the marble flooring grows louder as he enters their bedroom. The bed dips from his weight as he sits in the empty space beside her. Anna hears him removing his clothes, then the sound of them dropping on the floor before the bed moves again as he tucks himself in.

Anna gives him a moment to fall under before turning to face him. Fortunately for her, he has his back to her, though it didn't really matter. She kisses his left shoulder blade and murmurs a goodnight to him, "I had a good day, thanks for asking," she sighs deeply into his skin. She gets a whiff of his scent then, noticing a mix of his usual musk and something entirely alien to her. She doesn't think much of it and eventually falls asleep.

Hello there, thanks for reading! I'm eager to read everyone's thoughts on this chapter as it's been so long since I've written, let alone, posted. I hope everyone's been well, and are just as excited to read further as I am to share the rest of the story with y'all. This one's quite dark, but expect a lot of mouth-frothing fluff (n smut) to come, as well as a helping of soul-crushing angst lol.

The next chapter will be posted on Sept. 20 at 3 pm EST.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #writing #fic: roses

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