Deadline - Harry Styles AU

four

"Are you okay?" He asks me, his words echoing through my head as I stare up at him in awe and  unease. Earlier when his piercing eyes locked onto me, that sick, queasy feeling I had been trying to rid from my stomach instantly resurfaced.

I couldn't believe I didn't recognize him. Not from a distance, not when he stepped out of that car or, while viewing his perfect side profile as he cupped his dog's face in adoration.

I didn't even get a chance to recognize the dark, luscious curls that every journalist has spent countless hours studying, but also becoming obsessed with. His hair, a rich, chocolate brown that framed his face in a way that seemed perfectly tousled yet effortlessly controlled.

One thing I did notice was how tall he actually was when you got close enough.

His attire was impeccable, a tailored suit that accentuated his tall and lean physique, which looked obvious in playing a significant role in his public image. It looked like he had just came straight from a magazine shoot. As a journalist I couldn't help but analyze every detail of his demeanor. From the way he held his posture to the slight furrow of his eyebrow as he concentrated. His commanding presence even more pronounced. As if he was born to command both attention and respect.

But there was one thing I must have overlooked from afar—

his eyes.

His piercing green eyes. Almost like a deep emerald, that were radiating with an intensity that seemed almost impossible to ignore. It wasn't something I paid attention to very much, as a journalist but when his gaze seemed to pierce though me and through the very essence of who I was. I suddenly felt myself feeling more vulnerable and forcing myself to not gulp.

He repeats the question again, and suddenly it hits me. He's right here and right in-front of me and I find myself having to fighting the urge to gulp again as he continues to tower over me. But one thing I realized for sure and up close was..

He was stunning.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine." I mutter, words I can barely speak out. Reaching for some of the pens that spilled from purse.

Meeting me on his knees, he kneels down, dropping to the floor and crouching down on the grass. The same grass that will undoubtably stain his trousers as he continues to graciously help me pick up my belongings. While I can't help but gawk at him because seeing a man of his status, helping me with something so simple seems impossible. Continuing  to help me gather my belongings like a true gentleman, handling each of them with care.

The same man that I had scrutinized from afar.

I could feel the guilt gnawing at my stomach unable to look at him and refocus on what I was doing and bite down on my lip, refusing to let a frown come out and feeling like an asshole. As he continued to help me pick up my things. My mind felt like it was going to spiral. A million thoughts both racing and exiting my mind all at once. Please don't recognize me. Please don't recognize me.

God, please don't recognize me.

It was impossible to forget what I knew about him.

What was also impossible to forget; was how in our world, it was common knowledge how fiercely protective  he was of his privacy and how much he despised journalists and the media. How he saw them as nothing more but intrusive nuisances who tried to tamper with the truth for a chance at virality.

We had all been warned. And I could count 100s of stories I had heard just from our office and from Nicole. The crazy stories of his ruthless lawyers and the crushing lawsuits they could unleash on anyone who tried to tamper with his meticulously crafted image.