The Things You Mean to Me // Harry Styles Series #1 - Holmes Chapel

Feeling Good In My Skin, I Just Keep On Dancing

The week leading up to Prom was completely boring. School, Harry, Dad. I mean, I like school, and I love Harry and Dad, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

He asked to see my dress about fifty times, but I told him that since we wouldn't ever be marrying each other, then we were doing the don't see the dress thing for prom. He knew when not to argue.

We argued for a minute about my hair. Of course he wanted it down, and I wanted an elegant updo. We compromised; I would have my updo and he would have a prom date. He was, ultimately, a very reasonable young man.

I swear I wasn't too much of a promzilla...

And then he wouldn't tell me what he was wearing. That was fine, but I did have one stipulation: that his trousers not hang below his ass, and that he be able to dance without having to hold them up with one hand. Reasonable, right?

I went to see him at Mandeville's on Saturday morning. The ladies out front made a bit of a fuss about how I'd only be coming one more time, and it made me pretty sad.

"You look sad." We were in the break room. "You do know, if you want to cry or fall apart, I'll be there to hold you, alright?"

I sighed, "I do know. And I am sad. But I'll be ok. It just kind of hit me that next weekend's it. My last in Holmes Chapel. Sometimes it seems more real than others. But tonight is what I really want to talk about. Don't forget to bring a bathing suit. Emma says the pool's really warm and nice."

"Maybe I'll go in without a suit." He winked. What a dork.

"You need to bring a sleeping bag or something. I think we're all going to sleep in the old hayloft. It's like a giant playroom now. Maybe we'll be able to sleep together..."

He smiled, "It's going to be a drink-fueled orgy!" Dork and perv.

"Ok, Casanova, whatever you say. Seriously, do you think you're going to get drunk?"

"Maybe. More likely I'll get pissed, though, being English."

I threw a croissant at his adorable head.

~

Harry arrived to pick me up, Anne and Robin acting as chauffeurs. He looked dashing and perfect in his deep indigo three piece suit, and his trousers stayed up just fine. I had chosen a boutonniere with pale green and white ivy leaves, which stood out on the blue material. His curls were perfect, grown out quite a bit since I arrived four months earlier, framing his face.

I could have looked into his eyes forever. I could have looked at his perfect mouth, the way his lips moved when he spoke, forever. I could have lost myself in the black hole of his big dimple and never come back. I could have listened his dusky voice and the charming Cheshire accent for the rest of my life.

I had it bad for that boy.

And he had it bad for me

He was biting his bottom lip because his hands, shaking, were too occupied to pinch it, as he slid the corsage over my hand. Made of dried lavender, baby's breath, and rosemary, it looked and smelled lovely. Harry whispered that the color of the lavender flowers reminded him of my eyes, and because it was dried, it would keep – which it has.

As we waited for Dad to get his camera, Harry said, "You were right about your hair. You're stunning." He actually sighed.

We stood in the front garden for pictures, by the pretty hedge and tiny flowerbed. The neighbors all came out to watch, telling us how handsome and lovely we were. Anne knew one family, and was looking quite proud.