❝ 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. ❞
a charming gentleman, harry styles, owns a theater in los angeles. there, he always catches sight of a...
The Paramount Theater stood proudly amidst the Los Angeles downtown lights, a building that Harry cherished with sincerity as it was passed down from his grandparents. At twenty-seven, Harry blended a polite poise with a deep-seated commitment to preserving the theater's legacy, spending his days ensuring every detail, from the antique décor to the immersive cinematic experience, was perfect.
"Mornin', Pete," Harry greeted warmly as he strolled through the lobby, where Pete, the jovial janitor and Harry's closest confidant, was busy polishing brass fixtures.
"Mornin', boss," Pete replied, flashing a crooked grin. "Got any big plans for the house today?"
Harry chuckled. "Always, Pete. We've got that Hitchcock retrospective starting next week. I want everything flawless."
Pete nodded approvingly, his rag moving methodically over the gleaming surfaces. "You've got the touch, Harry. Ain't nobody else could keep this place running like you."
Harry smiled gratefully, adjusting his tie as he glanced around the lobby with pride. "Labor of love." He says, letting the last word run through his tongue slowly, as if he wanted it to stay in his mouth until he feels it.
The evening wore on, and the theater gradually emptied as patrons bid farewell to another night of cinematic enchantment. Pete, who had been cleaning up after the last screening, suddenly rushed in, his face flushed with urgency.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I've got an emergency. I gotta go. You'll have to close up tonight," Pete explained hastily, handing Harry the keys before disappearing out the door.
Left alone, Harry sighed, feeling a sense of responsibility settle over him as he locked up behind Pete and began his rounds to ensure everything was in order. He checked the auditoriums, turned off the projectors, and finally made his way to the lobby, switching off lights and locking doors as he went.
As he approached the main theater, a faint sound caught his attention—a soft rustling, as if someone were still inside. With cautious steps, Harry pushed open the door and peered into the dimly lit auditorium.
There, bathed in the soft glow of the exit lights, sat a gorgeous blonde. Her silhouette was delicate against the backdrop of the empty seats, her presence both unexpected and strangely enchanting.
"Miss?" Harry called softly, his voice echoing through the silence.
Startled, Taylor looked up, her eyes widening momentarily before recognition dawned. "I... I fell asleep. I'm so sorry."
