After meeting Harry, there was rarely a moment where you got starstruck anymore. You were so sure that you were going to pass out or pass away when you first met, anyone that came after was a walk in the park in comparison.
That wasn't to say that you didn't get nervous around celebrities anymore. At events and red carpets where you were too shy to go up and talk to any of Harry's famous colleagues, you would tuck yourself against his arm while he held a conversation, never leaving his side for more than a moment.
Harry of course thought it was adorable how quiet you got. He was used to how you acted around his and your family or when it was just the two of you. You spoke openly, you danced around while doing household chores, you made Harry laugh behind the camera of various photoshoots, music videos, and interviews. It was safe to say that there were two sides to you: the more demure side that was reserved for the public, and the side that you were more comfortable sharing in private, mostly just around your boyfriend. It was a testament to him, really. Harry made you so comfortable that you couldn't help but be anyone but yourself, even if that meant you snorted when you laughed too hard or confidently confessed your love for sci-fi films and your desire to one day go to Comic Con (in costume, of course).
Both you and Harry were aware of these two sides. At the start of your relationship, he tried to get you to come out of your shell at parties and other events, but once he realized you were comfortable in not sharing the limelight with him, he let you be; though he made sure to always be by your side and was ready to leave at a moment's notice should you ever grow too anxious.
That is, until the concert tonight.
For your twenty-fifth birthday, Harry surprised you with floor seats to a Maluma concert, whom you loved and followed closely since before you met Harry.
To say you were excited was an understatement. You spent weeks trying to figure out what to wear, talking to your friend about what songs you thought he was going to perform, hoping Maluma might notice you in the crowd. You suddenly knew what it felt like to be one of Harry's fans at his concerts, counting down each day until it was finally the night of the show and listening to every album on repeat so you were prepared.
At first, your boyfriend didn't think much of your concert preparations, chalking it up to a normal level of excitement about seeing your favorite artist, but on the night of the concert, he started to notice that you were a little too excited to see Maluma.
"What do you think, bubba?" you asked, coming out of the bathroom to show Harry the outfit you finally decided on. It was a denim Prada bralette and matching jeans. It showed a little more cleavage than you normally had on display, but you'd decided to go all out tonight. Your collar bones were glittered, your makeup was flawless, and your typically curly hair was slicked back into a bun. You felt like one of those Instagram models, which was to say, you felt hot and confident.
"You...You look..."
She looked beautiful, of course she did. You could wear anything and Harry would think you looked absolutely gorgeous. The problem was, and it wasn't really a problem, was how good you looked. You'd gone to a number of his shows and you didn't put as much effort into your appearance. You didn't show up to his concerts in pajamas or anything, but this was definitely a different look for you. It didn't bother him necessarily, but it did make him wonder what was so special about this concert as opposed to his shows and all the other ones you'd attended together.
"It's not too much, is it? I just bought this top but haven't found an opportunity to wear it yet or if I even wanted to wear it, and I thought...Oh God, H, say something please you're making me nervous."
Harry shook off his insecurities before his girlfriend got all shy and hid in the bathroom and refused to come out. "You look fantastic, lovie, you always do," he said, surging forward to wrap his arms around your waist.
